When I was a little girl growing up in the 1950s in the small town of Richards, Texas, (pop. 500 counting dogs and chickens according to my granddaddy) the summers were hot, and entertainment depended on my imagination unless my fifty-something-year-old grandmother I called Ma intervened to drive us to someplace exotic like Crabbs Prairie, an even smaller community than Richards, where her people lived. My relatively young grandmother loved to drive, and I loved to ride while she regaled me with her stories about family and friends – the rides were always too short.
Stay tuned for Part II.
I'll Call It Like I See It 
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