One evening, before Granny moved out of the big house, a gust of strong wind knocked a branch across the power lines. I was watching dark clouds build up over the front pasture, when Mama warned me to get away from the window. “Lightening can strike you through the glass,” she said.

Somehow, that memory is mixed with Granny’s lesson on pretty fingernails. “Linda Faye,” she said, “big girls don’t bite their fingernails. One day, you’re going to grow up and meet a young man. You’ll fall in love. When that happens, you’ll want to have long pretty fingernails for him.”

She smiled approvingly, as I took my fingers out of my mouth to listen. “Granny keeps her fingernails long for other reasons,” she continued. “For example, when I wash Granddaddy’s supper dishes, I use them to clean the edges of pots and pans.”

I saw lightening strike a small tree in the pasture that day. Along with this startling display of the violent forces of nature, came a calm and clear understanding that long fingernails would never have priority in my life; but I also knew beyond the shadow of a doubt, that I couldn’t wait to meet that special boy who could scare away the devil.