G is for Grandparents #TuesdayTidbit #Life’sAlphabet #Poetry

Thanks to BeetleyPete for inspiring this feature with a similar one of his own, in which he wrote about his life, using words starting with consecutive letters of the alphabet. He posted this series on his blog last December. My letter this week is G.

I have many fond memories of my grandparents. But one stands out in my mind, and I wrote a poem about it.

In the summer of 1971, Dad and I drove from Tucson, Arizona, to Sheridan, Wyoming, to visit my paternal grandmother. My paternal grandfather had recently passed, and Grandma needed someone to help with the family’s coin-operated machine business for a while. My family moved to Sheridan in 1973, so Dad could run the business full-time, and I’ve lived here ever since, but I digress.

On our trip, we stopped in Denver, Colorado, where I spent time with my maternal grandparents while Dad went ahead to Sheridan. Grammy and Granddad Hinkley loved to play cribbage every morning after breakfast, as you’ll figure out when you read the following poem, published on a blog called Recovering the Self in June of 2021. You can click on the title to hear me read it.


Cribbage, 1971

by Abbie Johnson Taylor



“Nine in a crib, oh boy,”

Grammy says, gazing at her hand.

“You wouldn’t know a crib from a rattlesnake,” Granddad quips.

“Now sir, I’ve raised three children.

I should know what a crib is.”


In the summer morning heat,

they sit at their kitchen table,

deal, shuffle, count, peg.

My ten-year-old brain doesn’t understand the game,

but, mesmerized, I watch, fascinated,

as they play, banter, play some more.


Years have passed

since those Colorado summer mornings.

Grammy and Granddad are both gone.

They smile down on my family and me

from their cribbage table in the sky.


How about you? Do you have fond memories of your grandparents? Please feel free to share them in the comment field below.

Abbie wears a blue and white V-neck top with different shades of blue from sky to navy that swirl together with the white. She has short, brown hair and rosy cheeks and smiles at the camera against a black background.

Photo Courtesy of Tess Anderson Photography

Photo Resize and Description by

Two Pentacles Publishing.



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New! Why Grandma Doesn’t Know Me

Copyright 2021 by Abbie Johnson Taylor.

Independently published with the help of DLD Books.

The cover of the book features an older woman sitting in a wicker chair facing a window. The world beyond the window is bright, and several plants are visible on the terrace. Behind the woman’s chair is another plant, with a tall stalk and wide rounded leaves. The woman has short, white hair, glasses, a red sweater, and tan pants. The border of the picture is a taupe color and reads "Why Grandma Doesn't Know Me" above the photo and "Abbie Johnson Taylor" below it.Photo Resize and Description by

Two Pentacles Publishing.


Sixteen-year-old Natalie’s grandmother, suffering from dementia and confined to a wheelchair, lives in a nursing home and rarely recognizes Natalie. But one Halloween night, she tells her a shocking secret that only she and Natalie’s mother know. Natalie is the product of a one-night stand between her mother, who is a college English teacher, and another professor.

After some research, Natalie learns that people with dementia often have vivid memories of past events. Still not wanting to believe what her grandmother has told her, she finds her biological father online. The resemblance between them is undeniable. Not knowing what else to do, she shows his photo and website to her parents.

Natalie realizes she has some growing up to do. Scared and confused, she reaches out to her biological father, and they start corresponding.

Her younger sister, Sarah, senses their parents’ marital difficulties. At Thanksgiving, when she has an opportunity to see Santa Claus, she asks him to bring them together again. Can the jolly old elf grant her request?




Cribbage, 1971 #Poetry #Reblog

Image contains: Abbie, smiling.

Thanks to fellow blogger Ernest Dempsey for publishing my poem, inspired by a memorable summer with my grandparents.


“Nine in a crib, oh boy,”
Grammy says, gazing at her hand.
“You wouldn’t know a crib from a rattlesnake,” Granddad quips.
“Now sir, I’ve raised three children.
I should know what a crib is.”

Read the rest on Recovering the Self.


By the way, for those of you who use the National Library Service for the Blind and Print Disabled, The Red Dress is available for download from their site here. No matter how you read it, please be sure to review it wherever you can. That goes for all my books. Thank you for stopping by. Stay safe, happy, and healthy.


New! The Red Dress

Copyright July 2019 by DLD Books

Image contains: young, dark-haired woman in red dress holding flowers

When Eve went to her high school senior prom, she wore a red dress that her mother had made for her. That night, after dancing with the boy of her dreams, she caught him in the act with her best friend. Months later, Eve, a freshman in college, is bullied into giving the dress to her roommate. After her mother finds out, their relationship is never the same again.

Twenty-five years later, Eve, a bestselling author, is happily married with three children. Although her mother suffers from dementia, she still remembers, and Eve still harbors the guilt for giving the dress away. When she receives a Facebook friend request from her old college roommate and an invitation to her twenty-five-year high school class reunion, then meets her former best friend by chance, she must confront the past in order to face the future.



My Amazon Author Page





Grammy’s Kitchen

Image contains: Abbie, smiling.Grammy Hinkley makes the best oatmeal. It’s even better than Mother’s cream of wheat. In the summer of 1971, at the age of ten, I’m sitting at her round kitchen table with its matching oak chairs, savouring the oatmeal’s sweetness. In Denver, Colorado, the sun is shining, and it streams in through a nearby window, which is open, and I can hear birds singing. Besides the table and chairs, there are countertops, a sink, a stove, an oven, and a refrigerator. Appliances sit on the countertops, but with my limited vision, I can’t make them out. The floor is a brown-checkered linoleum.

Grammy and Granddad are sitting at the table with me. We eat and talk. When all of us have finished, Grammy clears away the dirty dishes and gets out the cribbage set. I watch, fascinated, as she and Granddad perform their morning ritual.

What do you remember about your grandmother’s kitchen? Was there a particular food your grandmother prepared that you liked the best? What other activities did you and your grandmother do in the kitchen?


My Books


My Ideal Partner: How I Met, Married, and Cared for the Man I Loved Despite Debilitating Odds

That’s Life: New and Selected Poems

How to Build a better Mousetrap: Recollections and Reflections of a Family Caregiver

We Shall Overcome

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