Sally Mudd

Grandma Pohlmeyer’s death and funeral were quite the experiences for a just turned four year old. But I’m going to save that for another day.
Today I want to tell you about Sally Mudd. Being a sharecropper’s daughter had some disadvantages. One, being poor; I mean really poor. Three room shack, wind whistling through the cracks in the walls, no electricity, no indoor plumbing, looking at the stars through the cracks in the ceiling, scorpions making themselves at home in your bed, outhouse poor.

My grandfather Pohlmeyer wanted me to have a doll. He instructed my Aunt Maggie to buy a suitable doll for me. I remember her being in a box with netting over her. She was beautiful! Her face was painted with blue eyes, like mine, and a little pink rosebud mouth. She even had eyebrows! To everyone’s puzzlement, I named her Sally Mudd. Have no idea why; just seemed right. She and I spent many happy hours together. Loved Sally Mudd, my Aunt Maggie but most of all, my grandfather, papa Pohlmeyer.

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