Thank you, Bud and Irma

Here I am with Bud and Irma. It looks like I'm about 7 years old, so this would be about 1960. The photo with the pony looks to be a year or two later. Sadly, I don't remember exactly who Bud and Irma are. If my sisters were still here, they could probably tell you all about Bud and Irma. I only have a dim memory of these people who were once so important to me.
I can remember each of their voices; I think Bud had been in the military, and I know they lived in Pennsylvania. They were not relatives. The reason Bud and Irma are important to me is because they liked me. Everyone adored my brother, who was three years younger. He was always the crowd favorite, with his dark hair and fair skin, freckles across his nose and bright blue eyes. He was active and noisy, and everything he did was hilarious. Even I thought so. I was skinny and too tall for my age, with brown hair and eyes. I was shy and quiet, afraid of almost everything. Everyone loved Bobby. Bud and Irma loved me. I loved Bud and Irma. After we moved to Illinois, nearly every family or holiday vacation meant traveling 500 miles to Pennsylvania. We would stay with our Grandma Palmquist and Robert (her husband since the 1930s). My mother would drag us around to visit relatives, or the local historic sites, but for me, the highlight of the trip would be a visit with Bud and Irma. They always had a little gift for me, a cupcake or a tiny doll. One time, knowing my love of horses, Bud arranged to borrow a neighbor's pony for me to ride. How I loved Bud and Irma! I don't know when or why we stopped visiting Bud and Irma. I think they moved to another state, but that could have been just a story my mother invented to pacify me. I'm sure Bud and Irma have long since passed, but I have held their love in my heart for more than fifty years. Thank you, Bud and Irma, you meant the world to me.