I dig Sunday evenings. The slow prelude to another week of life. That cozy nostalgic feeling of being safe with the ones I love. Conscious of here and now as pork chops sizzle in the frying pan and the aroma of fresh baked bread fill the walls around me drifting into the family room drawing the attention of my son to holler "what you cookin?" My kids are putting together the puzzle from hell and faint sounds of Conway Twitty and Loretta Lynn singing "after the fire is gone" waft from the distant stereo in my bedroom. Home is where the heart is. As the rain continues down in a light drizzle I feel content. Even though I am not.
Then, I get the bright idea to visit my mother. It would be nice for her to have some bread and she is probably lonely. She is always lonely. Swiping my lips golden pink I grab the warm cornbread and some strawberry preserves, glance in the mirror and am out the door. My sundress swooshing behind me and the soft rubber under my feet feel good landing at the bottom of the porch.
Going against my better judgement I walk in her direction.
The sun just dipped below the horizon. Night has descended but it is not deep dark yet. A slight breeze tries to cut the humidity and fails but I don't mind. Focusing on nothing but the quiet evening around me I walk the straight distance between my mother's home and mine.
Our road is lined with bright dandelions and daisies and abundant Tennessee rain has nurtured green foliage all about the expansive estate. It is such a lovely walk even in the rain. Perhaps especially in the rain.
Mother's front lights twinkle in the distance. Getting closer, whatever she has on the stove rushes out to greet me. My mom loves to be in the kitchen and is the epitome of a southern cook. Sticks of butter in everything, too much salt and she always has an apron on. An apron and a moo moo. I adore aprons but prefer to wear them alone. Shoot me if I ever want a moo moo.
The gate squeaks as I open it and slowly slams to the sound of Little Bit her half poodle-pig running to see who it is. Well not exactly running because of physics. The dog is as wide as long so it looks like she is jogging in place as her feet click click click click click and getting no where fast. Add in the thrilled whirley bird tail going a mile a minute and I am surprised she doesn't lift off. Woofing at the top of her lungs here she comes!
Yea I'm scared.
Soon enough Mother appears at the screen door not scowling but not smiling. Now I can guaran-damn-tee ya she can ward off an intruder. Uh oh, so much for a pleasant evening. Hey, if I couldn't turn the car around before you know I ain't got many options here.
Leaning forward as she comes out I gently kiss her cheek. "Hello Ivey where's your umbrella?" "It's only sprinkling it feels good " I tell her in return. "Lets sit" she responds and I follow her lead to the rocking chairs. Oh brother I have already let her down. No Umbrella?
This is from the woman who wears a shower cap out in public on a regular basis to protect her perm. I mean, she has this thing on her head running errands to the store and dry cleaners. The grand kids are delighted when she picks them up from school in a shower cap; particularly the teenagers. My mother always swims in a shower cap. I realize there is nothing that prohibits her from using the shower cap as a rain bonnet and swim cap but it IS a SHOWER cap. I have never in my life seen her use an umbrella. Ever! She should be asking me where my shower cap is.
"Did you take the kids to church this morning?" she inquires.
My pulse quickens. "Yes." Then, like slicin butter with a hot knife she continues "Did the roof cave in?" Boom. A glancing blow. It didn't even leave a mark.
Outwardly ignoring the comment I keep talking, but never sit in the rocking chair as she lowers herself, and looks up at me. " You know we don't go every week. I don't want to go every Sunday but dang it. Seems like they are literally chasing us down in the parking lot to find out why we don't stay for the meetings afterward. They hound me as to why I don't come every week. It's just too much. The Bishop asked me about a month ago to make plans to visit our home. I think they are just being nosey. The church council wants to find out if I have a husband and where he is. They don't know what to think about us as a family and on top of all that, sometimes I wear a sleeveless dress. A big no no."
Without the slightest hesitation she replies "Tell them you are a whore, you don't have a husband and you are not coming to church every week." Her face isn't reflecting humor. I stop still and look at her dead on. Mitigating my words carefully buying time as my brain scrambles for cover. Then, "Mother do you think I'm a whore?" Smiling to herself she states ever so sweetly with her rocking chair smoothly creaking along.
"Well if you are a whore honey you are not a very good one. Or you would have more money." As an apparent after thought she adds "but if you tell the church people that...... I bet they'll quit askin." Oh, I think but do not take the bait. "Good night mother". Not sure whether to laugh or cry walking through the gate I don't look back, but instead down the dark street towards home.
A LTTLE BIT OF IVEY
