Sara O’Daffer Marberry

The journal’s inscription reads, “For my Grandma: this book is yours to write whatever you choose…a poem, a story, or a nice thought – all of which you have many…Love, Sara”

I gave this journal to my grandmother Ruby Atteberry in December 1982 when I was 23-years-old. My dad gave it back to me in January 2000 after she died at age 97.

It’s filled with handwritten copies of the poems she started writing and sharing with family members when she was in her 50s.

A farmer’s wife with only a high school education, Grandma Ruby worked hard her whole life. She was smart, kind, and thoughtful – observing those around her and the modern world with wit and wisdom.

Her poems had a unique rhyming style that we dubbed “iambic Atteberry.” She wrote about people, her childhood, family events, society, and other musings.

As the self-appointed guardian of Grandma Ruby’s poems, I cherish and love them as much as I did her. She was truly rare.

I always wanted a red balloon.

It only cost a dime.

But Ma said she didn’t have the time.

And also she didn’t think it was worth the dime.

She could of said “maybe.”

She could of said “yes.

But she didn’t.

Now I have the money.

No one can tell me how to spend my dime.

And I have lots of time.

The balloon is in the store.

But something in me has died.

I don’t want it anymore. – R.A.