I cannot think of Spring and Easter without remembering my MawMaw. She was no Southern Belle, but she was a true blue country girl. And like all good Southern women, she was a full-blown Rose but you better watch those thorns. She loved nothing better than to be outside with her green thumb. My Mama said she could put a stick in the ground and it would grow. There were always new things sprouting up in her yard. She lived right by the railroad tracks in downtown Smyrna, the Jonquil City, appropriately. Her spring patch had daffodils, roses, purple thrift all down the bank, a massive garden squeezed in between everything else, and the biggest snowball bush I've ever seen. I loved to hear her hum. It was more like a wheezing whistle, but I can hear it even now. I bet Jesus loves it too.
She was a mess. Her house was never clean or tidy. She had a gozillion grandkids and there was always someone popping in. But it wasn't for the food. She made a black, mean cup of coffee and had cold biscuits on the table at all times. You had to find something to wash them down with or you might choke. She wasn't a big gift giver, card-sender or proper hostess, in any fancy sort of way. But my childhood was filled with her love, her unconditional way of just being there for me. Quality time was important to her. She couldn't drive, but if somebody cranked the car, she was in it. She loved people and going places, usually driving around the country. She'd come and stay a few days, but was quickly ready to get back to her little house. When you would get ready to leave, she'd say, "Now what's ya'll's hurry?" Even if we'd been there all day. She had grown up hardscrabble poor, so she knew how to stretch a dime. She also knew how to cook things like turtle, possum, even a fattened coon. I always hoped there was still peanut butter in the jar when it was lunchtime.
When Ken and I suddenly got engaged, there was shock. We had been close friends, and some people didn't understand what happened to change everything, but when lightning struck it was time to get on with it. MawMaw wasn't surprised at all. She had been at our house one Sunday night when the singles group came over for a fellowship, so she had already met Ken. When I told her I was getting married to him, she laughed. She said, "I saw that electricity happening across the room in your Mama's den." She knew it before we did. There's still a warm place in my heart when I think of her words. She was intrigued with our lives, with our babies, with what we were up to. My heart is still connected to her, though she's away up there.
When we had two young children, ages 3 and 1, Ken and I bought a half-built home in Smyrna and were about to start working on it. She wanted to see it and also make a trek out to Dallas, where my parents were building a house. We spent all day, ending up eating a late lunch and being hot and cranky by the time we got to our respective homes. The next time I spoke to her, I told her that I was pregnant again. She about had a hissy fit. She said, "You're gonna end up being an old cow like me, having a baby every other year." I told her to hush up, that my Daddy was her eighth child. She was so proud of him and he did so much to help take care of her. I said, "MawMaw, what if you'd only had seven and not eight? You wouldn't have gotten my Daddy and I wouldn't even be here." Another week went by and she called me one morning. She did something she wasn't known for: she apologized. She told me she'd never thought about what blessings she had from having that many kids, only the difficult parts. She then said I was free to have all the kids I wanted. We laughed and talked awhile, then hung up.
The next day, my phone rang again. It was my Mama telling me that MawMaw had died. They found her in her recliner, holding her coffee cup with coffee still in it, smiling. When I said goodbye to her in her casket, she looked like a pink angel. I thought of all the happy times I had spent at her house, carefree and wild. I remember her telling me that she always hated her name, Rose, until everybody started calling me Rose too. I imagine her up there with the Lord that she loves, laughing, no worries, no hunger, no pain. And I realize that I was wrong. She is indeed a Southern Belle...her name even bears it out: Rosa Bella. I sure do miss her.
Sunday, March 25, 2018
Tuesday, March 20, 2018
Til the Storm Passes By
I woke out of a dead sleep to a crash and a crackling sound. The sky was ablaze with strange lights and I thought I was dreaming. I realized we were in the middle of a storm, complete with hail and lots of howling. It sounded like the porch was going to rip right off the house. I tried to rouse my slumbering husband, but he simply would not wake up. I knew he was still alive, judging from the sounds emanating from his nostrils, but the gun definitely is staying on my side of the bed now. Apparently he's not going to be any help if we get invaded in the middle of the night.
I have never seen lightning like that, in my entire life. It sincerely looked like something was burning up over the horizon, eerie flashing that had no pause. I walked through the house, staying as far away from the windows as possible, but peering out to see what was happening. It looked like a fierce storm out at sea, with no details except gray whipping water at all the portals. I could hear hail hitting the porch and sizzling sounds. It was the worst storm I can ever remember, very exciting and scary. But it did remind me of my childhood and my Daddy...
When I was a kid, if a storm came up, it was going to be dramatic at our house. My Daddy was scared to death of them. He even dug out our crawlspace to make a fallout shelter. When spring thunderclouds would crop up, he would absolutely panic. I recall him virtually throwing me down the stairs once, when he thought we were in danger. He would grab up crackers and blankets and shoo us down the cellar. I always wondered how long we could hold out with a box of saltines.
One summer day, my Dad's family was over for a cookout, no small feat. There were eight of them, plus spouses, plus a prolific amount of offspring. I think there were over thirty cousins on that side. Everyone was milling around, talking, playing, cooking, when a terrific storm whipped up. The umbrella flew off the picnic table, the grill turned over, and all hell broke loose. My aunts began screaming and directing children to the inside of the house. I had never seen such mayhem. People were jamming into the hall and bathroom, scared to pieces. It seemed as soon as it started, it was over. Everyone laughed in relief but the party was definitely through. Later I asked my Daddy why they were all so scared. He told me of how his Mama used to make all of her children get under the bed when a storm came up. She would cry and wail and pray, scaring them that much worse.
This was always the way it went at our house when storms came. Until something radical happened to our family. I was in my middle-school years when the Lord reached down and rescued us. My mother found new life when God gave her the grace to forgive her own mother. The same year, my Daddy became a believer, ushering their marriage into a sort of honeymoon, where before there was anger and fighting and disconnectedness. In later years, us kids were told that they had been on the verge of divorce before the Lord intervened. Everything about our lives changed. Where there had been white walls and scrubbed-hospital-clean-ire, our home literally bloomed with color, creativity and love. My Mama started sewing, painting, wallpapering. There was no more crying or screaming over spilt milk. And then there was a special bonus, that took me a good while to notice...
One sultry, dark summer afternoon the black sky split open with thunder and lightning. My heart jerked as I quickly looked to my Daddy for his next move. He looked up and smiled, then went back to reading his book. That old nature was gone and a new one had taken over. Many years have rolled by since, but I've never seen him panic with fear in a tempest again. The Allower of Storms replaced that old stony heart with a heart of flesh. I guess he knows he's safe in the arms of the Lord, no matter how the storm might turn out.
I have never seen lightning like that, in my entire life. It sincerely looked like something was burning up over the horizon, eerie flashing that had no pause. I walked through the house, staying as far away from the windows as possible, but peering out to see what was happening. It looked like a fierce storm out at sea, with no details except gray whipping water at all the portals. I could hear hail hitting the porch and sizzling sounds. It was the worst storm I can ever remember, very exciting and scary. But it did remind me of my childhood and my Daddy...
When I was a kid, if a storm came up, it was going to be dramatic at our house. My Daddy was scared to death of them. He even dug out our crawlspace to make a fallout shelter. When spring thunderclouds would crop up, he would absolutely panic. I recall him virtually throwing me down the stairs once, when he thought we were in danger. He would grab up crackers and blankets and shoo us down the cellar. I always wondered how long we could hold out with a box of saltines.
One summer day, my Dad's family was over for a cookout, no small feat. There were eight of them, plus spouses, plus a prolific amount of offspring. I think there were over thirty cousins on that side. Everyone was milling around, talking, playing, cooking, when a terrific storm whipped up. The umbrella flew off the picnic table, the grill turned over, and all hell broke loose. My aunts began screaming and directing children to the inside of the house. I had never seen such mayhem. People were jamming into the hall and bathroom, scared to pieces. It seemed as soon as it started, it was over. Everyone laughed in relief but the party was definitely through. Later I asked my Daddy why they were all so scared. He told me of how his Mama used to make all of her children get under the bed when a storm came up. She would cry and wail and pray, scaring them that much worse.
This was always the way it went at our house when storms came. Until something radical happened to our family. I was in my middle-school years when the Lord reached down and rescued us. My mother found new life when God gave her the grace to forgive her own mother. The same year, my Daddy became a believer, ushering their marriage into a sort of honeymoon, where before there was anger and fighting and disconnectedness. In later years, us kids were told that they had been on the verge of divorce before the Lord intervened. Everything about our lives changed. Where there had been white walls and scrubbed-hospital-clean-ire, our home literally bloomed with color, creativity and love. My Mama started sewing, painting, wallpapering. There was no more crying or screaming over spilt milk. And then there was a special bonus, that took me a good while to notice...
One sultry, dark summer afternoon the black sky split open with thunder and lightning. My heart jerked as I quickly looked to my Daddy for his next move. He looked up and smiled, then went back to reading his book. That old nature was gone and a new one had taken over. Many years have rolled by since, but I've never seen him panic with fear in a tempest again. The Allower of Storms replaced that old stony heart with a heart of flesh. I guess he knows he's safe in the arms of the Lord, no matter how the storm might turn out.
Sunday, March 11, 2018
Possum Drop
The heat and air guy said that there's some kind of critter littering up our crawl space. I'm not real excited about that, but don't expect me to go poking around down there to check. I'm afraid I met the creature last night. He was calmly eating out of the cat's bowl on the front porch. I looked at him. He looked at me and kept chewing. I shooed him off and he relocated about ten feet away and waited for me to go back inside. I watched for signs of rabies (frothing at the mouth, hissing, aggressive behavior) but no. I think he wanted me to pet him. It was a possum, slick and ugly as snot.
I remember one time, as a kid, finding a baby one in the yard. It was cute and docile and I picked it up and carried it around all day. My Mama had a fit. Later in the afternoon, it curled up and appeared to die. I cried and wrapped it in an old baby blanket. I went to get a shovel to bury it with, but when I came back it was gone. My Daddy smiled and told me about what it means to play Possum.
When I was tempted to pet the one on my porch last night (there is apparently still a child inside this body), I remembered about them being nasty creatures, carrying diseases, and the like. I also started thinking about playing Possum. There are so many scenarios in this life that could use a little of that. There's wisdom in being quiet and still, waiting until the storm passes or the bully loses interest. They say if somebody tries to abduct you, just act like you passed out and don't "help" them walk you into their vehicle. I remember one of our dearly departed 80-pound dogs, and how it took two people to carry her to the car after she died. Heaven help somebody who attempted to haul me into some conversion van with me playing Possum. It would be like a real exaggerated example of turning the other cheek. I'm not sure if they'd get mad and run over me or get tired and leave. Either way, I think I might try this tactic in other ways in the next few weeks. If anyone gets mad at me, I'll just pass out. I'm getting excited about all the prospects.
I remember one time, as a kid, finding a baby one in the yard. It was cute and docile and I picked it up and carried it around all day. My Mama had a fit. Later in the afternoon, it curled up and appeared to die. I cried and wrapped it in an old baby blanket. I went to get a shovel to bury it with, but when I came back it was gone. My Daddy smiled and told me about what it means to play Possum.
When I was tempted to pet the one on my porch last night (there is apparently still a child inside this body), I remembered about them being nasty creatures, carrying diseases, and the like. I also started thinking about playing Possum. There are so many scenarios in this life that could use a little of that. There's wisdom in being quiet and still, waiting until the storm passes or the bully loses interest. They say if somebody tries to abduct you, just act like you passed out and don't "help" them walk you into their vehicle. I remember one of our dearly departed 80-pound dogs, and how it took two people to carry her to the car after she died. Heaven help somebody who attempted to haul me into some conversion van with me playing Possum. It would be like a real exaggerated example of turning the other cheek. I'm not sure if they'd get mad and run over me or get tired and leave. Either way, I think I might try this tactic in other ways in the next few weeks. If anyone gets mad at me, I'll just pass out. I'm getting excited about all the prospects.
Monday, March 5, 2018
Time To Turn Over an Old Leaf
Spring is coming, I just know it. My husband had to break down and cut the grass last weekend. I came home from an appointment to see the jeweled-green lawn shining, with that cucumber-melon smell that you can't bottle or even describe properly. Last year, some other fella was cutting it for us, something we have never paid anyone to do. By season's end it looked shabby and unkempt. Ken has always trimmed things so beautifully, I used to call it "KenLawn" when he got through. Well, we bought a nice, used lawnmower to replace last year's dead one and Ken's back in business. Hallelujah.
Our Victorian home needs a yard revival. Frank, next door, said I needed hydrangeas, so that's what's gonna happen. We'll get these fountains rejuvenated and the pond hoppin' with some new plants before Easter. My birthday is in April, so happy birthday to me. Sometimes when I stop and think about how God does everything in cycles, I also believe that we should do the same. Not everything has to happen all the time. There's a time for work, for rest, for renewal, for building up, for tearing down. I guess this is my annual spring Ecclesiastes 3 reminder ("To everything, turn, turn...there is a season, turn, turn, turn...") Speaking of that, I need to go shovel all that dead stuff in the pots over so we can get started on the new ones. But not until after the freeze we are certain to have next week. I knew an old farmer who wouldn't plant a thing until May, given Georgia's penchant for crazy weather. I'm just hoping my banana tree and that other strange tree I planted last year made it through the winter. I can already see my Confederate Jasmine waking up...I'm hoping we'll get some climbing up the columns this year. And all that gorgeous Creeping Fig I planted by the wall had better get crackin' or I'm going to weep, for sure. I've got to get me a Charleston-lookin' wall somewhere on this property.
I don't have a clue about how they decide on what day is Easter...and who decides that, but I always love musing on that time of year. It's my favorite holiday, because it's all about the redemption of my depraved soul. The most hopeful day of all. It's appropriately on April 1 this time. I love it, April Fool's Day! I told my pastor that I think Jesus really did come to save the scumbags, the fools of this world and he laughed and agreed. God's Word is precious: "For you see your calling, brethren, how that not many wise men after the flesh, not many mighty, not many noble, are called: but God has chosen the foolish things of the world to confound the wise; and God has chosen the weak things of the world to confound the things which are mighty; and base things of the world, and things which are despised, has God chosen, yes, and things which are not, to bring to nothing things that are." I Corinthians 1:26-28. And the earth just keeps on turning....
Our Victorian home needs a yard revival. Frank, next door, said I needed hydrangeas, so that's what's gonna happen. We'll get these fountains rejuvenated and the pond hoppin' with some new plants before Easter. My birthday is in April, so happy birthday to me. Sometimes when I stop and think about how God does everything in cycles, I also believe that we should do the same. Not everything has to happen all the time. There's a time for work, for rest, for renewal, for building up, for tearing down. I guess this is my annual spring Ecclesiastes 3 reminder ("To everything, turn, turn...there is a season, turn, turn, turn...") Speaking of that, I need to go shovel all that dead stuff in the pots over so we can get started on the new ones. But not until after the freeze we are certain to have next week. I knew an old farmer who wouldn't plant a thing until May, given Georgia's penchant for crazy weather. I'm just hoping my banana tree and that other strange tree I planted last year made it through the winter. I can already see my Confederate Jasmine waking up...I'm hoping we'll get some climbing up the columns this year. And all that gorgeous Creeping Fig I planted by the wall had better get crackin' or I'm going to weep, for sure. I've got to get me a Charleston-lookin' wall somewhere on this property.
I don't have a clue about how they decide on what day is Easter...and who decides that, but I always love musing on that time of year. It's my favorite holiday, because it's all about the redemption of my depraved soul. The most hopeful day of all. It's appropriately on April 1 this time. I love it, April Fool's Day! I told my pastor that I think Jesus really did come to save the scumbags, the fools of this world and he laughed and agreed. God's Word is precious: "For you see your calling, brethren, how that not many wise men after the flesh, not many mighty, not many noble, are called: but God has chosen the foolish things of the world to confound the wise; and God has chosen the weak things of the world to confound the things which are mighty; and base things of the world, and things which are despised, has God chosen, yes, and things which are not, to bring to nothing things that are." I Corinthians 1:26-28. And the earth just keeps on turning....
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