As I mentioned in the previous post, Madison, Indiana is something of a postcard-picture-perfect town. The tint of the tree leaves conjures up such lasting memories for me. When it comes to Grandma Tanksley, though, it's a little foggier.
Grandma Tanksley is at the kitchen stove. My mother says she loved to cook. I guess it runs in the family, although that particular gene hasn't passed on to me. I remember her voice, a bit gravelly. This along with her fairly large frame made her seem somewhat intimidating to a four or five-year-old boy. But as far as I recall, she was generally a cordial and down-to-earth woman.