Ankle Socks and a Johnny Cash Concert…

Today, as I pick at my writings, I am thinking of days gone by and those I miss the most.

I miss Uncle Cecil.

When I was a child, I was fascinated by the way Uncle Cecil put on his socks.  He wore those very thin white socks.  He would pull one all the way up his leg and then, in one fast motion, roll the sock down with the palms of his hands.  It made a fine thin roll at his ankle.  I tried doing that, recently, with one of my pricey trouser socks, and it didn't work as well.  Sock-rolling may be a lost art.

I also miss that, after Uncle Cecil would "take a drink" on Friday night, he would go to the livingroom, put a Johnny Cash album on the old record player, and sit on the sofa, alone, strumming his guitar along with Johnny.  I watched, mesmerized, from behind the door.   My own private Johnny Cash concert on Buttermilk Road in Anniston, Alabama.

Even though he isn't here anymore, Uncle Cecil lives on.  He told me some dandy stories before he went to meet Johnny and the Lord.