"I can't remember if it was a 'T' or an 'A'"

With Granna, about to eat cake at a wedding 

On the last Saturday in December, I visited my grandmother, Jimmie Lou McDaniel, at the nursing home where she lives now.  My husband, Keith, accompanied me for the four-hour round-trip.  During some of my visits, Granna is quiet and withdrawn.  Other times, she is overflowing with emotion and any mention of life before the nursing home makes her cry.  This visit was one of a third-type; she was lively, asked us questions, laughed at our jokes, and shared memories of her life.  

She asked about the baking I did for the holidays.  Then she told us about how her mother, Lexie Daniel, baked a cake (usually a caramel cake) every Saturday.  Her mama did this, Granna explained, because on Sunday everyone would "go visiting."  

Some Sundays,  Granna's family would pile into her daddy's Ford (he was one of the few people in Chalybeate Springs, Georgia who owned a car) to visit relatives in neighboring towns.  "I can't remember if it was a 'T' or an 'A' but he was awfully proud of that car," Granna said.  

All other Sundays, relatives and neighbors would come to visit them, probably because everyone knew that Lexie made a cake on Saturday.  

At this point my husband shot me a wide-eyed look, his eyebrows raised into question marks.  "I wish you would make a cake every Saturday!"  Granna laughed.  

"Now look what you got started, Granna."  And she laughed again.