Memories of my Grandma and Grandpa Reynolds

Memories of Grandma

Marvelle Rosetta Jones Reynolds

When I was in my first year of college, she would bake cookies and send them to me in boxes.

We’re talking a BOX full of cookies.

My favorite cookies to that date were peanut butter cookies – and she made them well. Too well. She’d always make them for me, because she knew they were my favorite. She’d send these fabulous sugar cookies, too. With sprinkles.

By the time she made them, sent them to me, and I received them – mostly they were rock solid within a day.

But who doesn’t love a good rock-cookie anyways, right?

If you put them in the microwave, they softened right up.

I had forgotten that until just now. I think if I had remembered that story at her funeral, I would have cried.

It’s a good memory and makes me feel loved, and miss her.

Maybe I should make cookies and send them to someone? Hmmm…

Since I shared one on my Grandma Reynolds, I should probably share one on my Grandpa Reynolds.

Memories of Grandpa

John Wesley Reynolds

I didn’t get to know my Grandpa Reynolds well.

I remember he could do a killer Donald Duck voice.

I know he served in WWII.

My main memory of grandpa was when I was very little. When we would come for a visit from Alaska on occasion, we’d stay in their house. I loved waking up to the sun streaming in from the big windows, and hearing the birds sing. It was perfect.

The backyard was huge. The first half was grass and had a giant mental swingset grandpa built for the grandkids. It had a teeter-totter swing. If you swung high enough your could 1 – see over into the neighbors jungle of a yard – which is super mysterious, even to this day – and 2 – the swing would start to lift off the ground, scaring you to death and letting you know you rock at pumping.

The second half of the backyard was a good sized garden. I remember the corn and grapes mostly. Grandpa would work in that garden from sunup – it was immaculate.

I’d wake up to the sun and birds, and jump out of bed. I’d go downstairs - and grandpa would have left breakfast out for me. I’d eat and then join him in the garden.

We came to visit towards the end of his life, when he was getting sick and his memory was failing. I woke up to the birds and sun, just like always. I ran downstairs – and there was no breakfast. Grandpa was in the garden working without me. I remember the sadness that crept in. He hadn’t remembered our tradition. He was bedridden not too long after that, and died shortly after.

That memory, of him leaving out breakfast and working in the garden with him, will always be one of my favorite childhood memories.

Love,
Brittney