04 September 2011

Ancient Memories

The first thing that I remember after the trauma of being born was sitting in the front room of my grand-aunt's house on the sofa with my great-grandma. My great-grandma's name was Carrie Williams Pressley. This is the only memory that I have of her. I don't have a clue who else was at the house at the time or even in the room, but I know that other people were there. Grandma Pressley died in 1967, if I'm remembering correctly. That is the year that I turned two.

I only remember bits and pieces throughout my childhood. I remember more than I want to about some things and nowhere near as much as I would like to remember about other things. But I remember sitting on that couch with Grandma Pressley and I remember the Sundays of going there to Aunt Mae's house for lunch and fighting with my siblings over the really cool, old, metal vanity chair. There weren't enough regular dining room chairs for all of us around her table, so someone had to sit on the vanity chair and I *always* wanted that somebody to be me. I don't know why that chair meant so much to me, but it did. I sure miss that house, that chair, and most of all, the people that lived there that loved me so much.

I don't know why I felt such a deep, enduring connection to the Pressley women, but they are forever in my heart. They are a big part of who I am. I am because they were and I cherish this single, isolated moment, with my great-grandma in an old mill house in the tiny little town of Calhoun Falls, South Carolina.

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