My grandfather played the fiddle.  And he was good at it.  Every time I went to his and Gran's house, he would usually play the harmonica and do a soft shoe shuffle. He called it a "jig." He was a quiet man except for music.  

He loved to play records of Sons of the Pioneers.  Ghost Riders in the Sky.  Tumbling Tumbleweeds.  Cool Water.  I can still hear those songs in my head.  He would sit by his radio as well, and lean his ear against the mesh front and listen to the Grand Ol' Opry.

Those are the things I remember most about him.  I don't remember much that he said.  Like I mentioned, he was a quiet man.  But I remember the music he loved. I remember him leaning into the front of the four foot tall radio.

He ran a small grocery store on the northeast side of Pryor.  And everyone on that side of town owed him money, because people bought on credit back then.  He kept them supplied until the first of the month.  Sometimes he never got paid, but he kept on keeping people "on the books."

He would put coca-colas, the kind in the green bottles, in the freezer of an old refrigerator, and turn them over and over during the day until the coke turned into slush.  When I would get home from school, he would give me the slushy coke and the end of the bologna which was tied with a string. He had a slicer sitting on the counter to slice as many slices as you wanted to buy.  But he couldn't sell the ends.  He handed those out to the kids on the block.

That was back before there were zoning laws.  People would roll carts down the streets selling ice cream, tamales and whatever else they wanted to sell.

I wish I could go back to that time for just one day.  I would appreciate it more. But when you are a kid, you take everything for granted.