My Mama

Gloria, Amanda, Granny, Mama, has been on my mind for several weeks and the tears flow. I can't say why I get so emotional.   I know that I miss her. Is it that I've lived past her time on earth and in a reflective mood?  So please allow me to tell you about the woman who answered to those names.

She was the baby in her family and would have celebrated her 98th birthday this month. Imagine that. I didn't realize how short that she was until I had to bend down to hug her. Soft-spoken. easy to cry but you knew when she got her back up. Some would call her meek. I think that would be a mistake. We had a neighbor, Amanda Penn, who was evil before she had cancer.  Ms. Penn's apartment was in the middle of the hallway; ours was at the far end.  We had to pass by that apartment daily.  For some reason, known to her and my mother, she started egging our apartment door. Finally, my mother had had enough. The first chemistry lesson that I remember was taught by her. Bleach and ammonia don't mix. The egging stopped. No more problems with Mrs. Penn.

Mama suffered a slight stroke, the first of several, when she was 40. I was extremely apprehensive when I neared my 40th and again as I neared my 72nd birthday. The strokes spared her speech. Nor did they greatly limit her mobility, but they slowed her down. In her later years, the fast-walking woman of my childhood was forced to use a cane and then a rollator.

Was she a happy person? She had a hard life. My father was hell on wheels and extremely difficult to live with. I'd say that she found joy in different things: her beloved Redskins. I made the mistake of calling her during the Superbowl game, Redskins vs the Dolphins, January 1973. I was separated, pregnant, and bored. "Don't you know the Redskins are playing in the Superbowl?  Call me back." She loved good food although she hated to cook and it showed. The one dish that I remember fondly are her potato rolls. Huge and fluffy. Do I ever wish that I had asked for that recipe. She loved to window shop (A Dream Deferred.)  She would load me and my brother on the streetcar. We'd get off in downtown D.C., and we'd spend the day looking into store windows...something that I hate to this day. The best part was when the store windows were decorated for Christmas with their wonderful displays. And of course, lunch at Murphy's or Woolworth's.  Finally, she loved the casinos. She was disciplined, however. Dimes and pennies only. When it was gone, it was gone. If she won, it was over. She would find a corner and wait until it was time to go.  Her daughter on the other hand would turn out the lining in her pocketbook looking for another coin to play.

I regret that I couldn't take her on more trips or make her life easier. I especially regret the words exchanged between us shortly before she passed. Isn't that always the way?  I hope that she knew how much her family loved her.

I miss the daily phone calls. I miss her saying: "this is just you and me talking" or "I know that you're grown."

I miss my Mama.

https://youtu.be/24rCQnK2oBE?si=_dE_pO-8bQmfsri-

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"Some people come into our lives and leave footprints on our hearts and we are never ever the same." ~ Flavia Weedn

I thought that I was all out of tears but learning of Ernie's passing brought them forth again. His death is the third in six months among friends whom I've known for forever. The circle is getting too damn small.

Ernie and Inez, what a great couple to know. They bought a unit on the ground floor of the condominium and I purchased a unit on the top floor, in the early 80s. "Miz Gwennie" to Inez; "Buttah" to Ernie. Inez dubbed me "Miss Take Charge" because I was also the president of the association. We tried to organize the condo community, well, Ernie and I did. Inez was our support. The condo had a community room so he and I planned movie nights, game nights, football game get-togethers, parties and barbecues on the patio; Christmas Carols in the lobby. It was a failed endeavor; however. We eventually left that condo, taking different paths, but remaining friends.

Everett, Ernie's brother, also had a condo there. The two brothers were die-hard Redskins fans and Everett had a joke for everything. On the night of the Buster Douglas fight (which he lost), Everett proclaimed "Buster got busted." Jimmy and I would laugh about that many times over.

Inez was the first to go. Pancreatic cancer took her away. Such a sweet soul. Everett passed a few years ago. Then Jimmy and, now, Ernie. That entire branch of friendship is gone.

In February of this year, Shirley and Albert, died within a week of each other. I met Shirley Fletcher, Albert Eggleston, his wife, Joyce, and the entire Thornton/Fletcher/ Eggleston family in 1973. I don't know how Joyce is holding up having lost her only sister and her husband. I guess that her faith is sustaining her. Me? I just can't stop crying.

So many memories. So many footprints. 

All the best.

One Decade Plus Four

 Who would have thought? 14 years. May 1, 2007, I crossed into Tennessee,  on my way to Memphis , where I intended to put down my roots. Didn't happen. My roots are, to the chagrin of the populace, sunk into Ripley soil.

Flashback memories: Being enthralled with Serendipity when I first saw her.  Awnings and fretwork, magnolias, high ceilings, hardwood floors. Later I would learn that I also had a tulip tree and a pecan tree.  There is a hackberry tree  (so I am told) and one which I tend to forget.  Two columns at the head of the steps which, I am told, were hitching posts from the Town Square, bought and installed by the previous owner. They had glass globes attached which you could turn on at night from the house. Wonderful. Of course they didn't work and no electrician wanted to tackle the job. Humongous coach lanterns which, I am told, came off of a funeral wagon. "I am told" because there doesn't appear to be a written history of the property. I discovered and uncovered, through hard work, a brick patio at the rear of the house and a brick pathway which winds from the front to the back. 

There is an article about the earliest owner on record,  Presley T. Glass, a major in the Civil War and who also served in the U. S. Congress.  Thank goodness that he was a Democrat.  Some people refer to it as the Glass House, or by the name of the previous owner, the Savage House. I, however, refer to it as Serendipity or the Blackman House.  Jimmy used to say that no matter how long I lived here that it would always be known as Mrs. Savage's house.

My, my, it is a shame that everyone who knows the history of the house is deceased. However, Kate Johnston Peters, chair of the Lauderdale Library Broad of Trustees, compiled and edited Lauderdale County from Earliest Times, in 1957.  In her mention of Serendipity, she writes:

Col. P. T. Glass, Mr. and Mrs. Ed Palmer and Mr. and Mrs. Abernathy and others lived at times in the home now owned by Mr. and Mrs. W. T, Savage This home is over 100 years old. 

If you've been with me on this journey, you know that the majority of these years have been spent in rehabbing the property, trying to learn the ways of my neighbors (not too successful in that arena), and making a new life. I was not prepared for small-town life. That everybody is related or knows someone who is related or knows your business before you do.  My goodness, I'm not from around here. How was I supposed to know that the person who ticked me off royally was the aunt, cousin, sister, mother, niece of the person to whom I was talking? And just why would I bring my big-city ideas to Ripley and think anyone would be interested?

But while my social life is virtually non-existent (Covid-19 certainly didn't help there), I became active in the community. Some will say that I became a pain in the patookus but sometimes things just need to be said. Gained my certification as a Master Gardener (no, I have not mastered the art of gardening), obtained my notary license (haven't notarized a thing), opened and closed a business, and entered into the retired life. 

What happens next? Perhaps I will get the drive to finish the many projects waiting for completion. There's a hallway that needs to be painted, bushes to be trimmed, bookcases to be organized, pictures to be sorted, and...and, you get the drift. My heart will never heal but I've got miles and miles to go before I sleep.

All the best.