Spunky

I was actually pretty young when it started...perhaps 3 or 4..but as the story goes, I was fully aware of my actions.

It began in my grandmother's kitchen at breakfast time. Gramma Punxy, as she was called, had an old-style house on a main street in Punxsutawney...the home of Phil. Her house had many interesting things and I was never bored during visits. There were the tiny figurines in the china cabinet, the heating grate that allowed you to holler through from the bathroom upstairs to people sitting on her sofa in the living room, and the train tracks with active trains at the end of her backyard. I never missed an opportunity to wave to the man in the caboose.

Gramma Punxy's house had an interesting configuration. There were three bedrooms: one was her bedroom of course; and the other two were joined at the end of the hallway. You had to walk through the front bedroom to get to the back. During family visits, sleeping arrangements were always determined like this: mom and dad had the front bedroom; my brother and sister were in the twin beds in the back bedroom; and the "baby" (me) slept with Gramma. Why? Because Gramma and the baby both snored! I relished sleeping in her room. Her cherry furniture always shined. Her bed was always made with a fancy bedspread..usually made of plush velour. And, being in her bedroom gave me more opportunities to sit at her vanity. It was a beautiful cherry vanity with a very large scalloped mirror and I adored sitting on the bench with the upholstered cushion...gazing at myself in the mirror. It wasn't that I didn't look at myself at home...but to look in her mirror was magical.

On the particicular morning it has been reported that I awaked with Gramma Punxy at her usual wakeup time, way in advance of her other guests, and tiptoed down the stairs with her. Gramma always had hardboiled eggs for breakfast and it was strange to me, having been given cereal or toast as a child. I believe now that it was somehow connected to her diet due to diabetes. The hardboiled egg was always followed by a shot of insulin.

On this particular morning, she had also made an egg for me. I was occupied peeling the shell when my mother entered the kitchen. I quickly asked for a cup of milk to go with my egg. When given half a cup (as I was a very young child most likely unable to handle a full cup), I expressed my displeasure. When told by my mother, "You may have more when that cup is empty," I quickly got out of my chair...cup in hand...and dumped it in this sink, announcing that the cup is now empty.

It was at that moment that I earned from my Gramma the name of "Spunky," a name she continued to use for me (her eyes twinkling) until very close to her death, when she was unable to determine which of her grandchildren was visiting. I treasured it. And her. Many of my happy memories involve her.