My how time flies

Childhood memories, forgotten lullabies

Of a distant past, but somehow I never take hold unable to grasp goodbye to them.

My grandmother's home, my home, our home “The House.”

“She” holds all these memories

They are written on her walls with ink and pencil scuffs and scrapes,

time seemed so simple back then.

Memories of good, bad, fantastic, sad, tragic, hilarious

Please let me close my eyes as I walk through the hills and halls of my mind.

Only for a brief moment, let's go back in time, my time.

I see myself as a little girl sitting at the kitchen table fascinated with watching my grandmother,

Aunt Barb or mother preparing and cooking food.

Never saying much if anything at all

Just listening, and watching their gestures

Very similar, but at the same time very different

A sense of enchantment, captivated me by the many alluring aromas they were able to create.

Fixing high plates for children and adults.

But I must say my favorite scent of all was the smell of coffee in the morning.

Seeing my grandmother sitting at the kitchen table talking with her daughters.

She and I would often go into the living room pulling the curtains apart from the big windows as I called them, beholding the sunrise , just the beauty of the morning.

Memories of picking wild onions and sweet pecans in the back yard.

Playing in the park with friends.

Watching the many basketball games

Even skating in the basketball court.


My granddaddy Albert Edward Prince yelling at my many cousins and I

from the bathroom window “you heifers better get back to this house!”

excluding the explicits of course

Sometimes I miss his embarrassing shouts.

Memories of cousins, aunts, and uncles visiting from Wewa and Mississippi.

Making pallets on the floor, piling up on the couch or bed.

Staying up all night laughing, talking, joking, dancing, playing and singing

But I digress…

Let me close my eyes just one more time

To bring myself back to the present

See “she” holds all these memories and so much more.

It would be impossible for me to recollect it all, unable to keep score.

But one thing I know

Two things for sure

Love and laughter remain there

A remnant of times past

Through the generations that were raised there.

The brown house by the basketball court

Many families and friends were brought together there

Neighbors became family too

Wow, it's amazing isn't it

Things you never seem to realize

I appreciate my past

I take pleasure in sharing this experience with you.

My how time flies.


A spoken word artist, Tasia Jones was born and raised in Apalachicola, and is the granddaughter of Betty Jo Prince and the late Albert E. Prince.