Three

I loved Grandma's sewing circle days.  The ladies of the group arrived at the hostess's house about nine a.m. bringing their offerings for the pot luck lunch.  A few minutes later the ice man would arrive with a huge block of ice.  The ice, carried with a pair of tongs, was a cube approximately a foot square--perhaps a little larger.  The iceman allowed me to escort him into the kitchen where he placed the ice in a large metal pan and chipped a small piece for me to suck on.

In the living room, the hostess would have set up a quilting frame with her latest quilt ready for the efforts of the ladies of the club.  I was the only child there.  It was my "job" to thread the quilting needles onto spools of thread for the ladies so that all they had to do was measure off a length of thread through a needle, cut it, and begin sewing again.  When my job was done I was allowed to play under the quilting frame--as long as I didn't pester the ladies by playing with their shoes. 

The food!  It was so very good.  It was homemade--we are talking 1950--all of the ladies contributed their best recipes.  Yes, there was some competition each month to see whose serving dish emptied first.  Beverages were homemade sweet tea, iced tea or coffee.  After the meal, several of the ladies would help clean up--put away food and wash and dry the dishes, and, they gossiped, and gossiped, and gossiped. 

When I was a little older, my step-mother told me that when she first met me I was one of the worst gossips she had ever heard.  Well, when one is three; when there is no one to play with; when one has been taught to listen to your elders, one repeats what one has heard.

 

Two

Dad and I were discussing my first word.  He said that I was two.  He was sitting on the front porch swing eating fried pork rinds.  Oh, my, daddy was eating and I wanted some.  He gave me my first morsal of the delectable treat.  I chewed and swallowed and in a surprised  voice said, "Bacon!"