I can remember few things from my childhood that excited me more than a trip to (my great-great-) Aunt Tennie's house.

She lived in a comfortable, small two-bedroom house in Hide-A-Way Lake, a small community outside Tyler.

The house served as a launching pad for innumerable outdoor activities, starting with its spacious front yard that played host to many a game of kickball, Wiffle Ball and football.

The concrete square in front of the door was home plate, one tree in the yard was first base, the plastic cover on the water main was second and a stump next to the driveway was third. If a ball hit the street in the air, it was a home run. The grass was always green and soft enough for bare feet.

I don't remember a single weekend at her house that did not involve hours upon hours of sports, swimming (the community had a lake and a pool), copious amounts of food at every meal and at least 12 members of the extended family sprawled out in Tennie's living room in makeshift sleeping quarters each night. Each weekend also featured a brutal first morning that can be summed up in two words: Sore muscles.

Once per weekend, everyone would load up into multiple vehicles and head out to a nearby park, where we would play kickball with teams of up to 12 or 14 each. Norman Rockwell would have been proud.

I once got lost in a rainstorm walking back from the lake with a pair of my cousins, managing to lose my flip-flops along the way.

As is usually the case with such things, my cousins and I enjoyed the two-hour diversion far more than our worried parents did.

I never spent a lackluster moment on those trips, eventually bringing along my college roommate and, later, the woman who became my wife.

As I got older, the weekends started to include cards and dominoes with Tennie and the rest of the "adults" -- I was technically an adult at that point, but that's not how it felt.

I also started to appreciate the stunning beauty of mild East Texas evenings and spent many an hour talking to Tennie on her patio and in her carport, shooting the breeze and thinking about how brilliant she and her late husband were for retiring in Hide-A-Way Lake.

I also realized that the house and the food and Hide-A-Way Lake would have meant little without her there to hold us all together, to keep us coming back time and again.

After a spectacular 35-year run, she sold the house a few years ago and moved to a facility closer to her son's family. Last week, she passed away during the night at age 93.

I never met a kinder, more vivacious person than Tennie. She was grandmotherly with a sharp wit, always at the heart of a conversation and always with an ear or an arm free for one of us kids.

I cannot imagine what growing up would have been like without her, but I'm positive it would have been less joyful.

So long, Aunt Tennie. Thanks for everything. We'll miss you.

"Life is the first gift, love is the second, and understanding the third."

Marge Piercy

Jeremy A. Corley is the managing editor of the Van Alstyne Leader and the Anna-Melissa Tribune.