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Feeding My Grandma Essays

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Warm, fresh-creamed corn filled the last remaining compartment of the round Tupperware container. Two fluffy cathead biscuits, a hand-sized piece of country fried steak, and mashed potatoes topped with a generous helping of black peppered, sawmill gravy took up residency in the remaining slots. Frail hands struggled to snap the lid in place; years of use and vigorous cleaning had warped the hard plastic. Atop the lid, a faded "Property of Elizabeth Ryan" written in black marker was still visible, worn down by time and gallons of hot, soapy water.
She had three identical containers she used for Operation Feed Mrs. Willey. When she dropped off this evening's dinner, she would pick up the one from the previous night. The plate not in
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I do this because I feel in my heart that I should. Besides, I couldn't stand to see her go hungry. I hate the thought of any living thing going hungry. And her no-account son doesn't seem to take an interest in her." My grandmother wasn't prone to stern rebukes, so I knew her son must be a piece of work. I also knew he lived right next door to Grandma.
We walked down the steps of the small side porch, crossed between her work shed and the corner of her small house and into the back yard, past the empty dog pen. Her faithful companion, Sam, the biggest and gentlest German Shepherd I'd ever seen, died when I was five and she didn't have the heart to take it down. I'd catch her staring out the kitchen window from time to time when washing dishes at the kitchen sink and wondered if she was thinking about him. Sure, she had every stray cat in a one-mile radius lining up for her leftovers, but a part of her big heart left when he did.
Behind the pen, at the end of her back yard, we walked past her rambling, smooth-skinned Crepe Myrtle, my go to reading spot. I’d lost count of how many Hardy Boys mysteries I’d read at the base of that old tree. At the back of her property, the land sloped gently down towards 1st Street, before ending at the cliff and the CSX train tracks below. The land directly behind her house was empty and in the fall and winter, the tops of the railroad cars were visible as they whizzed by, east towards Newnan or west to Carrollton.
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