This morning my almost ancient aunt told me, “You were so brave; I’d put you on the back of my Standardbred mare and we’d be off. Cars would pull along side us to see the horse and the cute three-year-old in my lap. You loved it; do you remember?”
She sighed; I could hear her smile. Anita was but a teenage girl when we first met and I was just a baby, her big brother’s first born.
New Orleans, at least where grandpa and dad’s sisters lived, allowed horses, chickens, goats, and miscellaneous farm animals.
“Every time I saw you; you wanted to go riding. You were the bravest little girl.”
What I do remember is my mother being fit to be tied by some of the things young auntie did with me. Anita was daring, the way teenagers are daring; who better for a little girl to imprint on?
The time she spent with me creating memories is the currency of our long lasting relationship. I adored being with this warm Southern woman; still, do.
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