My Texas Cousin

In winter, while school books still lay open before me, my thoughts wandered to my cousin.

Each summer Karen and her parents—Bill and Sylvia Nelson made the long drive from Texas, all the way to Alabama to visit our grandmother, Ricie in her rambling old house in our small town.

The journey took hours, yet their stay always felt far too short.

Karen and I would run up Ricie’s steep stairs, breathless with anticipation, to a place both  magical and mysterious. Dust hung in the air of seldom-used bedrooms. The hush there seemed alive, as if the walls were keeping secrets just for us. From the small-paned windows we looked out over the tops of  trees.  Karen and I saw friends of Ricie’s meandering and stopping to talk. Some climbed the concrete steps to her large welcoming porch. These gatherings were a daily activity among neighbors.

In the evenings, the same community of friends sat in a circle under a massive oak tree. The visitors were welcomed by a group of well-worn Adirondack Chairs.

Karen and I enjoyed our mischievous natures.  We were disciplined for our behavior, but we  continued to ignore the rules. And still, for a while Ricie let us roam in her world of creaking floors and secret corners and create memories that remain alive within our hearts today.

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