Cranky Bastard

My Mother recently shared a story about her grandmother who lived in Deweyville, Texas. With National Geographics stacked on a chest in the entryway as a semblance of decoration, this hardy woman told of reaching her hand from the bed to feel for water. If it had creeped in, she would wake her husband and make her way to the boat tied to the front porch. Given the way the story was told, it was a common way of life on the Sabine River. Her husband who was the Constable for the town for some five years, they just kept on with life without much complaint. These were the folks who followed the wealth of oil to Texas in covered wagons. They had little to show for their rough lives, a few dishes that my grandfather gave me as a teen. It is an appropriate reminder that we come from strong ancestors who had much less, lost more, and still perservered.