My most cherished memory of my Granny was her calling me to her so she might rub my warts. You might find it strange that a grandmother would want to rub her grandson’s warts, but it was nothing unusual, or even noteworthy, to anyone in our household.

For as long as I can remember, up to when I was in my early teens, I had warts on my hands, you see. When I say I had warts, I mean, I had LOTS of warts. On my left hand only, I’d venture to say I had over one hundred warts. The back side of my left thumb was near a solid mass of warts. I had warts on the palms of my hands. I’m telling you true! I had warts!

Shortly after their, Granny and Two-Daddy, arrival from the valley, and once she got settled on the couch, she would call me to her.

It was not uncommon for her to call anyone of her grandkids to her during her visit. So, I wouldn’t necessarily have thought she was eager to rub my warts when she called. It is only in retrospect that it comes to mind that she singled me out for this administration of healing love fairly promptly on her arrival.

You see, Granny was a witch. No, not the ugly kind, but rather the good, and pretty kind. The kind that can make camp fire smoke turn, and the kind that can make warts go away by rubbing them.

You might say, “pashaw!” and, I wouldn’t blame you one little bit, if you did. For it takes a believer to accept what cannot be put into evidence in a “right here and now” kind of way. And too, my warts did not diminish for many years. Having said that, from my vantage point of being wart free since my teen years, Granny rubbed my warts away.

While this was a great thing done for me by my Granny, and it is something personally unique between us, her gift of candy is her most notable contribution to our family. Rubbing warts was just witchy kind of day to day stuff. Oh, and the waving smoke away too.

Wint