Quick Peek at Chapter 54

Passage from Chapter 54 "A Lost Mother"

. . . She had a home in the mountains of North Carolina and it was not unusual for her to get up any given morning, pack a small bag, and take off just to "check on things up there." . . .

One evening I received a frantic phone call from one her cousins. "I cannot get in touch with your mother. Do you know where she is?"
    I thought for a moment. "No, I don't. She may be in the mountains. I haven't spoken with her in a day or two."
    She quickly responded, "So you don't know where she is?"
    "Not exactly”, I said, as the thought of my mother laying in her home by herself calling “Help, I've fallen and I can't get up”, and there I was, the irresponsible daughter, totally unaware there was a problem.
    "Well, I can't find her," she said in exasperation.
    "I didn't know she was lost," I replied.
     This conversation continued for another minute or so until she realized that I was not going to be of any help. Before I went back to bed, I checked my answering machine - no message. Then I called Mama's house and sure enough I also got her answering machine. When I hung up the telephone, my husband asked,      “Who was that?"
     "Mama's cousin - seems she cannot find Mama."
     "I didn't know she was lost."
     "Neither did I."
      I must confess I did not sleep much that night. I was overcome with guilt. For years, I had assumed my mother did not want a "hovering" daughter. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I was being inattentive. If something happened, and Mama's cousin was right, I would have to live with it for the rest of my life. First thing the next morning, I drove over to Mama's house full well expecting to find her body lain out on the floor, most likely trying to reach the phone attempting to call her negligent daughter.

(And, the story continues . . .)

And Down She Goes . . .

Well, I hope the party is not over. As I knew it would, the book's ranking has slipped past #8 and I will not check today.  To continue my "Bits and Pieces" Tour, here are a few paragraphs of Chapter 25 "The Arts and Furnishings of High Acres". (This comes from the middle of the Chapter.)

      Daddy paid Stanbury for the trunks and gave him a little more guidance for the next sale. Sure enough, the next time up we found two antique trunks with beautiful leather and wood, and lovely
paper linings. Mama was thrilled. She thanked Stanbury profusely. He beamed in pride. They rarely spoke the same language and he was thrilled he had finally made her happy. She then asked, "Do you ever see any of those old iron beds at those sales? Anything like that you see, just buy it for me."

Stanbury looked at Daddy who just gave him that “Go ahead, I'll pay for it” look. From then on we never knew what treasures would await us upon our arrival at the farm. Stanbury did come through with two iron beds. One had brass balls on the corner knobs, although only on three of the four corners. There were old milk cans, a yoke for a plow mule, a dozen or so old green jars, glass transformers, a dress maker's form, a Mexican blanket, and wooden milk crates. He bought her incomplete sets of mismatched china, an old table, a chest with all the knobs missing, various odd looking chandeliers,  two cane bottom chairs, and several old quilts, just to name a few. Sometimes trash, sometimes treasure, you just never knew. One day, Daddy asked Stanbury how he knew what to buy. "Well, if it looks like junk, then I know it’s what Miss Zenith wants. Darn if I know why. But I buy it any way."

A "Bit" of Chapter 60 "Mama's Family Beach Trip"

Chapter 60 "Mama's Family Beach Trip"

One May, several years ago, Mama showed up in my office all excited. “Well, I found us a place at the beach.”

       Clueless as to what she was talking about, I asked, “Us?”

       “Yes, I rented us a place at the beach for a week.” She could tell by the puzzled look on my face that I didn’t get it. So she continued, “For our family beach trip.”

       “What family beach trip?”

       “I thought it would be nice for all of us to get together for a week this summer at the beach. So I rented a house big enough for all of us to stay together.”

       “Um and when is this ‘family beach trip’?”

       “The second week in June, the weather is so nice then.”

       “Mama, I can’t just take off from work then with no notice. Does my brother know about this?”

       “No, but his children love the beach.”

       “We all love the beach. That’s not the question.” It was at that point that I realized it didn’t matter if it suited or not, we were going on a family vacation the second week in June, come Hell or high water. “Well, I suggest you go home and call him right now so he can make plans.”

        “I’ll just do that. He’ll be so excited.”

         “And so surprised,” I added. That night I got the expected phone call from my brother. 

         “Did you know anything about this?”

         “No, and I’m sure it suits your schedule about as much as it does mine.”

         “You couldn’t stop her or change her mind?”

         “It was a done deal before I knew about it.”

         “Did she tell you she has invited her college roommate to join us?”

         “No, I wasn’t privy to that bit of knowledge.”

A "Tid Bit" of Chapter 68

The first part of Chapter 68 "Just Shoot Me Now"

We were not sure we would make it through the week. The jury was out. My brother, his family, and I were all trying our best to keep my mother happy and so far we were not doing very well. It seemed everything needed to revolve around Mama. I could not speak for anyone else, but I was getting dizzy with the revolving activity.

If Mama was not talking nonstop about subjects she knew nothing about, she was muttering under her breath. My fifteen-year-old niece bravely agreed to accompany her to the post office, knowing full well that was guaranteeing her a forty-five minute jaunt around the island visiting several rubber snake emporiums, all the while being a captive audience to Mama’s non-stop monologues. My niece returned with a sarcastic smile and announced, “OK, someone else has to go next time; I just took one for the team.” (At least she had maintained a sense of humor.)

The cooler under the back porch that housed the wine and vodka fueled our sanity. My poor nephew was chastised every time he went in or out of a door – “too much coming and going.” The ceiling fans needed to be kept off. (Our theory there was too much movement.)

Small paper plates needed to be used during the day. The large ones needed to be saved for supper. The fact we had 200 large plates was irrelevant, much less the possible use of “real” plates given we had a dishwasher. (God forbid.) The lasagna had to be reheated for lunch. My theory here was cold lasagna falls in the same category as bad beach water – it was sure to bring on serious illness or certain death.

(to be continued when the book is published.)

A Few Paragraphs From Chapter 21

Chapter 21, Our House on High Acres

From Chapter 21, "Our House at High Acres"

When my parents bought High Acres, the farm in the mountains of North Carolina, they immediately wanted to build a house on it. The location was not an issue. The house site offered a 360-degree view of hills and valleys that included three states. Although the sunsets were spectacular, the winds could also be quite stiff at times. But my parents had their heart set on putting their house on top of that hill. Stanbury, the farm overseer, just stood there, scratched his head, put his cap back on, and said, "Warll, we'll have to nail the shingles on real tight."

Now my mother, being very practical, found a grand old 

Victorian house in our home town they were razing to make room for a bank. She took it upon herself to purchase the home and have the company that was tearing it down number the pieces (that is the windows, the staircase, the doors, doorways, arches, mantles, and any other architectural pieces worth saving). Then she informed my father that it was up to him to get it transported to the farm. My father's response was, "Then what?" 

"We'll use the pieces to build the house," was my mother's 

reply.

So the numbered pieces were loaded and transported up to the There was the ornate archway leading into the great room which had all the windows stacked on the floor. Perhaps, I thought, it was going to take some time to come together. I could tell by the look on my mother's face this was not what she had in mind.

"Where are my white columns?" my mother asked quietly. My father pulled her aside for a conference, where he explained that due to the exact location she had chosen to build, unless they had done some very expensive excavation, which was not in the 

budget, the footprint of the house was relegated to its square shape. "But, it's so plain", she said. 

"It just looks that way now", my father assured her. "We just got started. Give it some time."

A month or so later  . . . .

(and the story continues, soon to be published, "Sterling Silver and Dollar Stores")

A Conversation from Chapter 37

A few paragraphs from Chapter 37 "A New Doctor"

        I remember that argument well.  She had been seeing Dr. Smith for years and saw no reason to see anyone else. I failed to agree.
          "Mama, you really need to start seeing Dr. Brunson." 
          "But, I'm fine. Dr. Smith takes good care of me. He has for years." 
          "I know, for something like 50 years. He must be in his 80's." "He is 81." 
          "How are you seeing him any way, he closed his office years ago?" 
          "Oh, I see him in Sunday School. If I ever need him, he is always there." 
          "What happens if you need him any other day of the week?" 

(Of course the rest of the Chapter can be found in the book, due to be published soon.)

And, Then in Chapter 47 . . .

THE UNIMAGINABLE ACCOMPLISHING THE UNHEARD

Mama was telling this grand story about my Aunt J'Nelle being the Dean of Women at the most prestigious boarding school on the East Coast and how she was "removed" because she was caught buying beer one night while wearing a rain coat. Well, that was not quite the story. Yes, in the 1960s, my dear Aunt was the Dean of Women at a girl's boarding school in Virginia. And while, it was (and still is) very well thought of, I do not think the royal family sends their daughters there.

She was "seen" one evening by one of the professors purchasing beer off campus while dressed in a rain coat. The issue was more that of her attire than her purchase. And, her employment at the school was never threatened by that incident. Later, she left the school simply to get another degree (and most likely because being Dean of Women was a type of "employment" - something she shied away from most of her life, much to my grandparent's dismay.)

To say my mother had the flare for the dramatic was an understatement. Just as my father faithfully waited for the South to rise again, my mother pined for the old days of chivalry and calling cards, which is fairly ironic given how she prided her independence - quite the conundrum. It is amazing that I managed to make it into this century without all that baggage (my love for Victorian silver aside).

Whenever there was a lull in the conversation, my mother felt the need to fill it in with a story, that generally had just enough truths in it for my brother and I to vaguely identify the cast. However, once the tale started to unfold, we were as rapt as everyone else, because rarely did we recognize the plot line, even when we were the main characters. And, if we called her out on it, she got irritated, so we stopped commenting until the slight exaggeration became the ridiculous.

Over time, we had just rolled with the stories and only offered corrections when it was obvious that she had moved into another realm - that of the unimaginable about the unlikely accomplishing the unheard of. Then the madness needed to stop. For example, she started a story (about my wedding) directed at my daughters, "You know that your mother had more bridesmaids in her wedding than . . ."

(Once again, the rest of this chapter and many more can be found in the book when it is published.)

A Taste of Chapter 36

Chapter 36

Mother Nature’s sense of Humor

My mother and I showed up at a friend's wedding in the same dress. Now, I'm not talking about same color or similar design - I'm talking same dress. And, my mother was not one to try to hide her age by dressing a generation or two younger than she was. Let's just say her style was not "hip" as my youngest daughter would say. This meant that if she was not trying to achieve a "younger" look, then I had achieved a matronly look - by default.

Would anyone notice? Would anyone notice? Are you kidding?  We were at a hometown wedding in a small town and it had often been said that my mother and I resembled each other. Well, on that day, that was an understatement. To make matters worse, she looked better in the dress than I did. The good news was the reception had an open bar. The bad news was that I had to attend the wedding ceremony first. Certainly, the church was big enough for me to slink into the back row, unnoticed. Or, better yet, go home and change clothes.

There are two things a southern woman can always change - her mind and her clothes (and of course her hair color - but that is for another day). Unfortunately, in this case, when I made the former, I had no back-up plan for the later.  It wasn't like I had a nice selection of dressy wedding frocks hanging in my closet. Then, it just got worse. A friend of mine approached me.

"I just saw your mother and she looks so good." Then she stopped. "Y'all are wearing the same dress."

"No kidding."

"You didn't do that on purpose, did you?"

"Sure, I enjoyed the mother-daughter outfits so much when I was six I just couldn't resist doing it again." I said sarcastically. If I killed her now, where would I put the body? I asked myself, not referring to my mother but my busybody friend who was about to turn my evening into reality show Hell. 

Then my youngest daughter came over to me. "Do you realize that you and ZeeZee have on the same dress?"

"Yes, it's hard not to."

"You are worse off than I thought."

(And, as they say, the rest of the chapter is in the book . . .)

A Bit of Chapter 32

This is the first part of Chapter 32

THREE DEGREES APART AND SOCIALISM

I have always said that where most of the universe enjoys six degrees of separation, in the South we only have three – at most. If I wasn’t aware of it before, it became painfully evident my sophomore year in college. I started dating a young man who just happened to be from the small the town nearest the farm my Mama grew up on. The first time I brought him home, naturally she was curious to find out who his family was. 

Of all the nice young men at college, not only did I manage to pick one from my Mama’s home town, I found one whose mother was in school with my mother. To make things even more interesting, they were mortal enemies. When Mama realized whose son I was dating, even her good upbringing did not keep her from making snippy remarks.

And the feeling was mutual because when my beau revealed the identity of my mother to his own mother, apparently the reception was not much kinder. In the two and a half years we dated, I never got invited home with him. We would visit his parents at their place at the beach, but never at their home. 

Needless to say he dreaded coming home with me. If dealing with my mother wasn’t enough,  . . .

(You'll have to wait for the book to see how it unfolds.)