Sweet Memories

He was one of the first people that I met at the new church. I don't know if I noticed him because of his white hair or because of his gentle, kind spirit.  He reminded me so of my poppy. My poppy was a humble man too. I heard that he wasn't always that way when he was younger. That's how I knew him though.  I remember when I was a little girl I spent the night with them, him and granny. Probably not that often. But, I remember when I did. Poppy sat in his recliner. Ate ice cream at night. Ate chocolate syrup and biscuit for breakfast. Played with his little black and white bulldog named Shorty. Didn't talk a lot. He was so sweet to me. Granny was always busy. She was a great cook; known for her peas and cornbread.  I went to church a lot with them.  Granny and Poppy were of the Pentecostal faith. I went to the Methodist church. It was different. So I very well remember going to church with them. The church was small and old. A lot of wooden planks and pews. Just like the little white churches you see in magazines. I remember them singing. They sang a lot. A whole lot. People clapped their hands, played tambourines. People just called out page numbers for their favorite hymns. I remember poppy doing that a lot. I wish I could remember his favorite song. He loved to sing. He sang loud. He might have even led the singing. He prayed out loud too. He seemed to be louder at church. I also remember the altar call at the end of the messages when the pastor asked people to come to the altar if they wanted Jesus in their life. I remember asking granny one time if I could go to the altar when I was very young. Of course she said yes. Seeing this white haired man at church just reminded me of my poppy. It's not that he looks that much like him. So I'm not sure what it is. If it's his white hair or his demeanor in church. He is an elder in the church and you can tell he is very respected. I bet my poppy was an elder too. When I would go visit granny and poppy I remember granny making me tea cakes. I loved them. Soft. White with just the perfect shade of golden brown on the underside. Sweet but not too sweet. Hers turned out to be kinda squared in shape, the best I can remember. My favorite cookie. Last night, was the end of our bible school for the kids. Everyone brought their favorite desserts. As I walked down the line filling my plate I came to a plate of cookies.  My husband said, "Those look like sugar cookies." I knew at a glance. I said, "no." "Those are old fashioned tea cakes." I was so excited. I picked one up and immediately flipped it over to see what it looked like on the other side. Looking for authenticity. There it was. It really was a tea cake. Perfect color, texture, and little brown ridges on the backside of it that were made from baking it on the cookie sheet. I took a bite while still standing in the line. I was immediately transformed to my granny's little kitchen. I could see the hot water heater in the corner. The kitchen table by the wall with the plastic table cloth on it, laden with pickles, jellies, and left over biscuit hoecake and bacon. The white cabinets. The wooden door with glass windows and skeleton lock on it that led out to the back porch. And just a slight faint smell of warm cinnamon. A plate of tea cakes on the counter waiting for me when I arrived. And Granny standing their with her apron tied around her with arms opened wide.  I almost cried. As I walked to the table to put my plate down, an older lady called me over to talk to her.  She wanted to tell me how when they built the church they all thought the stage was too large. She said, "You know what, the Lord knew all along that we needed one that large. He knew that we needed one for all the children in this community." She was overflowed with joy about the stage being full with precious children that had come to bible school. For some reason, I just decided to ask her. "Do you know who made those tea cakes?"  With a huge smile and sense of pride she said, "I did." I wasn't the least bit surprised either. I knew she was the wife of my white hair friend, my "new poppy." I had told my husband earlier about my fondness for the elderly man and overhearing my conversation with his wife, he leaned over and said, "I think you have just adopted new grandparents." With warm fuzzy's all over I giggled like a child. "Yes, my granny and poppy definitely live on," I said.