Southern Showers

Showers are a rite of passage for every Southern girl. They speak of a different time -- a blend of comfortable, genteel rules where the women gather 'round and bless a sister going through the gauntlet of marriage or pregnancy. I remember going to many of these events with my mother and relatives as a child. Cousins and siblings playing in the yard and then sneaking into the kitchen for snacks and lemonade. When it came my turn to get married (and blessed), the showers I was given are still fresh in my heart. My Mom's best friend's house, where the ladies of the church poured out manna from heaven on me. Ken's dear aunt Francis, who invited the family to her antebellum mansion in Washington, Georgia to anoint me with the family love. I still recall their voices and accents, sounding like soft breezes blowing through the room. She served a special fruit salad called "Rosie." Such thoughtfulness and decorum, the flower of many generations of sowing the things that are good in this world. At my place of employment, the ladies brought lunch and gifts, unexpectedly adding to our larder. Then finally, aunt Debbie opened her home to the Norton and Slate sides, where I began to wonder how I would live long enough to repay all these favors. I had a friend who said, "You can't repay them! But you'll have your chances to bless those coming behind you." 

It wasn't long before I saw what she was talking about. I've helped and hosted many a shower in the thirty-five years hence. It's always a joy to see the gifts opened, to enjoy the fellowship of a gaggle of women in the same room. I did a mad dash of a shower this last weekend, with the help of several lovely people and a daughter-in-law or two... My daughter stepped up in new ways to make it happen. Our 117-year-old Victorian house is sheer confection for these types of events. I thought about her old bones as I was dashing about...wondering how many times she might have hosted a wedding or shower or party. We're trying to wear her out while we're able. There's simply nothing like an ancient house to host a soiree. I think the mature, beat-up floors make everyone relax and the soaring ceilings and beautiful glass are inspiring. 

At 9:50, only one guest had arrived for our 10:00 brunch. I was frantically throwing on my makeup in a locked room after yelling at my husband (that's the way it works). The cheese grits weren't made yet, the glasses and drinks weren't arranged, but I figured we had time. Before I could blink, the house was packed with three dozen chattering women and giddy little girls. The food was divine and the company even better. We were celebrating our daughter-in-law, pregnant with her rainbow twins (look it up). Everyone in the house was bursting with joy over the chance to rejoice with her. Each of the two great-Grandmas gave a devotion, laden with sage wisdom and hope. We could barely see her unwrap the gifts, with half a dozen jumping-bean girls crowded around her. Four-year-old sister Annabelle shrieked out thank-yous to each person when their gift was opened.  It was another of those rare Kodak moments in life, where everything comes together in a succinct snapshot, a blissful and sweet morsel where time stands still and we see the reasons we work so hard. A bit of heaven, it was.