1991

Family Reunion

Grandma with Sparky

Lunch with Grandma

We leave about 11 o’clock, Dad’s says we’re going to pick Grandma up and then go take her to lunch after which we will bring her home and stay the night so that she can go to the family reunion on Monday. Grandma Mixson doesn’t drive, which at the age of 89 was probably a good thing, but by doesn’t drive, I mean has never driven a car, ever.  Born in 1901, horse and buggy were the main means of getting around, it wasn’t until the mid-1940’s that they got their first truck which Grandpa always drove, so she never learned to drive.  Now she depends on Dad and her friends to take her places.

Dad with Grandma Mixson in front of her house

We drive across town and head west on highway 441, crossing Paynes Prairie then passing Micanopy.  It is a familiar drive, one that we had done hundreds of times growing up to go see Grandma and Grandpa. Back when Grandma and Grandpa had the farm, at that time, we would turn off 441 and drive into Micanopy where we would turn right at the big brick building, taking the road west to the farm. Later Interstate 75 was built and we would take it but I always missed going the old way through Micanopy. After Grandpa died, Grandma married Mr. Yawn and they sold their farms and built a house in Orange Lake where Grandma now lived. Not in the lake itself, but the small community called Orange Lake named after the nearby lake.

The resturant at Orange Lake Overlook
(Google picture 2014)

We continue past Micanopy, through McIntosh arriving at Grandma’s house which sits right on highway 441.  We park the car in the driveway and go inside finding Grandma all dressed and ready to go to lunch. Grandma has lived alone since Mr. Yawn died back in ’78 but she has many family and friends to help her.  On Sundays a friend usually picks her up and they meet other friends for lunch.  Today Dad and I would drive her, she’s quite spry for someone who is 89, talking to Dad about the garden as we walk out and get into the car.  Today we are meeting Grandma’s friends at the Orange Lake dinner which is just a mile down 441 from Grandma’s house. The dinner sits on a hill with a spectacular view of Orange Lake although only from the parking lot, the windows of the dinner itself face towards the highway. Dad said that years ago the building was a roadside fruit stand which was all open to the road in front.

We get out of the car and go in inside where we find Grandma’s friends, two old ladies and an old man, sitting at a table for six.  As we approach the table and begin to sit down Grandma says, “You all know Morris, this is his son, my grandson, Larry.” The two old ladies in turn say, “Hi I’m so and so, nice to meet you.”, and I quickly forget their names. The old man was sitting on the end where I was standing reaches up his hand, which I shake, and he says, “Hi, I’m Sparky”.  Dad had been to lunch with them before, so they all knew him.  We sit down and shortly the waitress arrives and takes our order. Dad orders his usual, two fried eggs, bacon, and grits which comes with biscuit so big it takes four of those little plastic containers of jelly that are always on the table at a diner.  Lunch is lunch for me, not breakfast, I order the club. Diner’s make the best clubs and I wasn’t disappointed when the waitress puts it down in front of me, three inches high, three layers of perfectly toasted white bread with ham, turkey, bacon, lettuce, tomato in each layer, with just enough mayonnaise to hold it all together, cut diagonally into quarters, each pierced through with a large toothpick that has different color plastic frills on top.  It came with those big fat fries which I always find too soft, but the sandwich was perfect.

There was quite a lively conversation amongst Grandma and her friends, if you call hearing about which friend or relative was sick, not feeling well, was in the hospital, or had just died. Grandma at 89 was the oldest, the other two ladies were in their late 70’s and Sparky, well he just looked plain old but had a lot of enthusiasm. Dad, who I begin thinking as old, was a youngen at the age of 65 and I was just a boy at age 39.  They asked where I was from and I told them I lived in Virginia, and they all say, “A northerner.”, as if there is something wrong with people from the north.  It didn’t matter that I was born and raised a few miles down the road from where we were eating.  But they would give me some leeway, when one of them said, “Sparky here used to live up north.”, and Sparky says, “Yeah, I used to live in New York, but I came down here in 1650, and been here ever since.”  No, he didn’t say 1650, but he looked old enough that it could have been. Grandma and Dad always liked Sparky and years later Dad would name a dog after him.  We finished eating and I pay for Dad’s lunch, the bill came to almost $15, I leave a $3.00 tip, she was a good waitress, but I also wanted to impress Dad.  Grandma says goodbye to her friends, and we get in the car and return to Gainesville.

 

The Reunion