I am looking at the photograph of myself at age two, as I sit on the lap of Maime Barta Lawler. She made bread. I watched her kneed the dough. I smelled the yeast.
I am not alone when I smell yeast anywhere on this planet. The yeast is my connection with Maime Lawler. The woman who sat in a courtroom in her housedress and explained why she did not want the restaurant owner to take her front yard for a parking lot. She hobbled before the court record taker and said, "I would like to smell the roses from my garden."
Maime made her way back to her seat and sat down.
The court records show that the land that was to be redistricted as commercial, "is residential."
The woman who took records on the hearing was heard to say,
"Maime's rose garden takes precedence over the restaurant's parking lot plans."
Perhaps loving nine children and rose petals are bigger than convenience.
I miss my grandmother. And I miss my mother.