A six pack of toothpaste…

My Aunt Genevieve was as unique as her name. She loved to visit and when she was alive, we did not need ancestry. com. We relied on her memory.

Her memory was miraculous.

Recipes. Ghost Stories. Gossip.

She also had all kinds of things she was particular about. Salt in beans. Turtle necks year round. Music that featured an organ. She bit her lip and bent her head down and played “96 Tears” in the air.

We would pick up Mrs. Lillie Mae Seagle and then we would go visit Mr. Fabjon in Primitive Ridge.

Mr. Fabjon had one of those dogs that would drive you crazy. He would smell you all the way into the house. Mrs. Lillie Mae would fuss and it makes me laugh just thinking about it. “Fabjon, get that dog! He’s done smelled everything I got twice!”

I was already in the house because Mr. Fabjon would let us eat all of his miniature Butterfinger candy bars. For some reason, they always tasted like soap.

The mother in me now wonders if those candy bars were well past their expiration date. I am thankful that we will never know.

Sometimes though, I do believe that the reason I am never sick is we ate anything growing up.

Mr. Fabjon would tell us about people he gave quilts to because he was worried about them in the winter. He later found out they had sold them for a profit. It made him mad. His mother made those quilts.

I love to remember how he told us that the water truck wrecked during the Korean War and they had to brush their teeth with Flagstaff beer for six weeks.

How funny is that? A six pack or toothpaste? I am guessing it doubles as a mouthwash.

Don’t laugh,

Cheryl