Alton, I'm so sorry for your loss.Granny, as I always knew her, was my inimitable, irreplaceable "grandmother." I don't have enough words or space to share even a fraction of my precious memories with her. She and Pee-paw made my childhood a loving, safe, happy, abundant place. Pee-paw must have pushed me on the swing for hundreds of hours and shuttled me to K-mart to spoil me with a toy many dozens of time. And Granny. . . sleepovers, manicures, snacks like Cracklin' Oat Bran or perfectly golden cinnamon toast, beauty pageants, Elvis and Gary Paxton on the record player--"You Ain't Smokin' Them Cigarettes (Baby They're Smokin' You)" was my hands-down favorite song. Later, as a teenager, it was watching her cook to try to learn the secret of her shockingly light peanut brittle, Merle Norman Super Lube cream treatments, Vince Gill, and sipping International Cafe Viennese Coffee together. Whether I was little or big we pretty much always shared the same recliner. I could praise her cooking ad nauseam--her hundred layer cakes cooling on the counter, her peppery, smokey field peas. . . Granny didn't mince words but, never-the-less, was the most relatable and fun adult in my life. I trusted her with my secrets and thoughts. She would always ask me weather I would still sit on her lap when I was grown; I promised her that I always would. And I did, until I thought she was too delicate. Whenever I came to Georgia, no matter how short my visit, my most important stop was always at Granny's. I will always love her and tell my kids about our times together (one of their favorite songs is, you guessed it, "You Ain't Smokin' Them Cigarettes"). My love is with you Granny.