Alma Kerner, over fifty years later and I still think about this woman. It was the fifties, the time when life was in black and white, television was in its infancy and life was just so darn much fun!

Mrs. Kerner lived two doors up from me in a modest two story home. She was old, old as in the eyes of a seven year old boy, I really don't know how old she was then in actual years. Back then, one of our favorite summertime activities was to play "Cowboys and Indians" with our toy pistols and holsters. She hated guns and whenever she saw us playing she would come out and scold us. Unlike many of the children of today, we listened to and respected the neighborhood elders. We either stop playing or ride our pretend horses to the end of the block,out of view. I wonder to this day what had occurred in this woman's life to make her so anti-gun that she would halt a child's play. We learned to respect her wishes and stay out of her way while shooting the enemy off their horses. This was difficult because the old lady walked to the hospitals nearly everyday, alternating between the three that we had back then. She would visit strangers and bring them comfort. She was a good lady. She was especially a good lady when she would invite us into her home, which was often. There we would be treated with homemade bread toasted over her wood burning stove and covered with her homemade jams. I can still smell the wood burning, the fresh bread and those jams! I make homemade bread twice a week now, it just dawned on me as to why it is such a comfort food and why I love the smell as it bakes!

Besides the treats she had to offer there was the piano! We loved the piano! Then there was the stereo viewer, remember those? But the most important thing on her agenda was to bring out the postcards from David, her son. Every postcard had lengthy stories told from her even though there was always just a few words scribbled on them. We enjoyed the pictures on these penny postcards, her son traveled a lot and we got to see the world through his selection and her vision. We all enjoyed our time in Mrs. Kerner's home. The time was special, some how we knew that even back then with our mushy little brains. She made it special, what was important to her was important to us.

Both of my grandmothers died before I was born and now I realize that Mrs. Kerner was my grandmother. She was everything a grandmother should be.

Fast forward to adulthood. While I was away during the war my best friend who lived between me and Mr's Kerner drowned while trying to save two girls from drowning in the Mississippi. I often wonder how Mrs. Kerner handle that, he was the oldest of our gang of cowboys and was the one who first set us straight about accepting Mrs. Kerner's rules. I will never know how she felt because she died before I returned home.

A few years later while walking with my girlfriend (now my wife for 37 years) we stopped at a antique store in her neighborhood. What I saw there deeply sadden me. On the counter was a big basket filled with old penny post cards. On top staring at me was a postcard from David. There was more underneath. How sad. These precious moments in her life thrown in a basket in a dingy antique store. I read a few of them to my gal, embellished them with stories I recalled from Mrs. Kerner. Then we left. We left! Why did I not buy everyone of her postcards there? I don't know, I was young and in love, you know, not thinking clearly. Hopefully if someone bought them then they still exist today. The owners most likely have no idea they have such a treasure, a window to the world, a postcard from David.