Rick Patrick
Columnist
Recently, I had the opportunity to visit with my older sister. Since I am the youngest of three, perhaps I should clarify. I was visiting with my oldest sister, Linda. Many of you probably know and remember her. If you do, you know that your life is better for it.
It was a beautiful Sunday afternoon and Linda and I were taking advantage of the weather and sitting out on her gazebo, just visiting and watching hummingbirds as they buzzed around. Somehow, we landed on the topic of the time we both spent with our grandparents in Greenville. Linda has a few more memories than do I, simply because of more time spent. Linda actually spent much of her early years in the care of my maternal grandmother, “Mama Mae,” while my dad was serving in the Air Force (a good while before I made my entrance into the world). While we talked, Linda would reminiscence about shopping trips with Mama Mae and our Aunt Helen to Lucille's Dress Shop. Linda admitted that she wasn't quite old enough to fully appreciate an establishment such as Lucille's, but she also knew if she was good, she could look forward to a trip to the Van H. Priest “Ten-cent Store” for some kind of fun treat.
I mentioned to Linda a vague memory that has remained in my mind of a train ride from Greenville to Madison with my paternal grandmother, “Mama Patrick.” My sister assured me that such trips were not figments of my imagination. I remember the dark maroon of the bench seats on the train. They had thick cushions, covered with cracked leather. They were comfortable enough for a 30-minute ride to Madison, but probably not much beyond there. Sure, it probably would have been just as easy to drive the car. But I have ridden in a car from Greenville to Madison more times than I can count. Hardly any of those trips are still in my mind. I think Mama Patrick and Mama Mae both knew the intrinsic value of building memories. Whether by design, or mere happenstance, wonderful memories were made. I remember collecting “bonnet worms” from the tree on the side of Mama Patrick's house and then taking off on afternoon fishing trips at “Seven Bridges.” There were numerous, spontaneous trips to Madison to get a “creamo,” as my grandfather, Papa, called the vanilla soft ice cream cones one could get at the Hilltop Dairy Bar (where O'Neal's Buffet currently stands). There was always an adventure to be had at Mama Patrick and Papa's.