Let's retitle this blog entry

This has been much my most visited blog entry, almost certainly because "Mema" is a bad word in some other language. I certainly don't mean to mislead anyone, so all these years later, I'm retitling it. The old title comes right after this colon:
 "Let's get Mema a puppy"
    It makes me crazy when writers use unfamiliar names or nicknames without explaining the pronunciation first, so let me start by saying that "Mema" is a nickname some Southerners use for their grandmothers or great-grandmothers, and it's pronounced as if it were spelled Mee-maw.
    When my mother was still able to talk and think, she always wanted to go out to the two big flea markets out Augusta Highway (US 1). I always felt bad that I never took her, especially of course when she could no longer think or talk. Later when Alice and I lived out there (a large, unincorporated community called Oak Grove), we decided to go. Of the two flea markets, the Barnyard Flea Market was more convenient to us so we gave it a try. It's the smaller of the two, less popular and so less busy, farther from Columbia but closer to Lexington. I remember there was a wide variety of items on sale. I don't remember being too captivated by anything. I don't recall either of us feeling too tempted to buy.
    What I do remember was the pet store. Maybe it wasn't an outlet for a puppy mill. Maybe they had a good reason for locating in a flea market other than being an outlet for a puppy mill. But what I remember most was walking back to our car, passing a family going slowly. They had bought a puppy for Mema. Mema was in a wheelchair. OK, it's the thought that counts. OK, maybe Mema lived with them and somebody else would take care of the actual bringing-up-the-puppy part of bringing up the puppy. Still, it seemed like a fairly odd gift for somebody in a wheelchair. I felt saddened and a little distressed for the puppy. And I never went back.