Chapter 1: Before The Storm
The whole place was buzzing like a soaking wet wasps nest. It’s always like that when all the kin come around for the holidays. Aunt Mary practically filled up the whole rec room by herself, bigger than true life, with her big red bouffant hair-do, and bountiful bosom, draped with her treasures, all hot off the late night shopping show, accompanied by Uncle Paul (and all of his corny old jokes) with their tiny little black and white terrier “Snoopy” they dressed up and drug all around with them.
The Jackson cousins were here with their father Gary, the town undertaker, who possessed the expected amount of sparkle and charm. Or as we liked to call him behind his back The Grim Reaper. The five Jackson sisters, my mama’s brothers Uncle Jaspers’s kids had just arrived. And the Lanier’s from up the hill who were practically family and the Brewster’s, with their pack of brats from seven to seventeen and their tiny twins.
“Don’t worry; I will take that Aunt Mary, you go finish making the sweet tea.” I took the bushel basket of white corn out of Mary’s way too full hands.
” Why bless your heart sugar bear. I better check on the biscuits first. Grandma June will have my hide if I burn them all up. Cause we all know what a fine cook your Grandmother is!” Mary gave me one of her huge “Red Hot Revlon “grins and a big wink.
Everybody in earshot had a giggle. It even tickled Great Aunt Ethel and she weren’t exactly known for her sense of humor. My Grandmother, June may have been many things, but a good cook surely was not one of them!
The only thing she did really well was pitching a fit and complaining, especially about my Granddaddy. She was a genuine expert at that. “Tom? TOM! Where did you put the good pitcher? I know it was you just as sure as anything. That’s the last time I let you carry my good things home from the church picnic! I will swear to god, if I don’t do it myself…. “
Even the prospect of licking the bowl or beaters from the chocolate cream pie or stealing a pinch of sage and onion dressing straight off the bird or even grabbing a quick ham biscuit or devilled egg wasn’t enough get me anywhere near the kitchen, no matter how inviting the candied yams and big ham with pineapple brown sugar glaze smelled. I was steering clear as long as Grandmother was in there, bossing everybody around, burning something up or bawling somebody out, and bitchin about something, or nothing, or everything. But you could still hear her all over the house.
“Missy Barker down the street got a new Cadillac; and you know her husband don’t do anything down at the plant but drink all day! I don’t know why Tom won’t buy a new one…”
“Isn’t yours just three years old? Aunt Donna, Jaspers wife of 20 years asked, all big blue eyes and innocence.
Boy! That slowed her down for a hot second. She was always the one who had to give her some sass. Maybe because she married in, so she got just a bit more respect.
“More like about four.” Midge sulked “Everybody in towns going to think we are dirt poor trash! I can hardly stand to show up at choir practice in that old bucket! Well, it’s probably for the best. I got nothing decent to wear anyway…”
I went off by myself, to shuck the corn on the cool screened- in porch, at the back of the house. It suited me better than hanging around in the kitchen, trying to do that square dance that the all older ladies seemed to understand, by instinct, experience or just a great many years of practice. With same food or from with the same family. They weave in and out and around the old pine kitchen table and chairs, they promenade and do see do effortlessly around each other, from the icebox to the fridge to the sink. Plates and cups and dishes and silver and the good white linen napkins, appearing and disappearing out of their hands. Pots and kettles and pans going on and off the stove, with miraculous timing, and a hen or ham, or both, slide in and out of the oven that looks too small for either.
I have no rhythm and I lack any particular talent for cooking. It was clear I didn’t know “my way round a kitchen”, so I just got in everybody’s way and stepped on their Sunday shoes. I sure didn’t want to learn the stupid steps now; especially when I was “in one of my moods” Just wanted to enjoy being out from under the Carolina sun, and under everybody’s feet and looking up the red clay hill at the bank of azaleas and day lilies and gets some relief from the chaos. It’s nice out here, peaceful, watching the birdbath, waiting for a humming bird, or a little green lizard to make a visit, shucking corn and taking in the perfume of the honeysuckles and s checking the progress of Granddaddies grape and Muscatine vines. Something about snapping the ends off and pulling the husks down and combing off the fine yellow hair covering the kernels with an old toothbrush usually made me feel pretty good. But it sure seemed like a lot of work to uncover all that hidden sweetness you knew was underneath, which would vanish so fast, at the table it would make your head spin.
“Gracie Lynn, you out here? All by your lonesome?” Granddaddy came out on the porch with his pipe; she never let him smoke in her house. Never mind he picked out the land it was on and built it himself, and bought every stick of furniture in it. But no one knew better than him, there was no point in arguing. And no last word, ever.
“What’s the matter not loud enough for you inside? I could go get me a trumpet and play a few bars of “the stars and stripes forever” if you like? Even play the cymbals with my knees, if you like!”
I tried to force a smile. “I’m just… Well, t’s just not fair! Everybody else I know from school gets to go down to the lake today, and I had to stay here. And for no good reason, just because she said so! Just to be contrary. Makes me so mad, I could just spit! Nothing good ever happens to me! And it never will... I bet that awful Sara Ellen is up there right now, having a right time of her…”
It spilled out all at once, before I could help it. And for some reason, it seemed like I heard it before.
He sat down struck a match, and got real comfortable and let me go on for a while. I didn’t mind the smoke a bit; I could hardly smell it over his Old Spice after Shave. He must have had a hundred bottles of Old Spice put away somewhere, presents from the all the grandkid over the years, from every Christmas, and every birthday. Whenever he opened another one, he looked just as happy as if it was the first one he ever got, and acted just as pleased and surprised.
Grandmother, on the other hand, once reduced five year old Greta to tears on Christmas morning, for “giving her such a cheap tacky gift.” A red rubber ball she had picked out herself at the five and dime and that must have cost every penny of three weeks allowance she had wrapped all by herself in the funny pages with great care. Once we dried up her tears, and Jasper took her home, I’m sorry to say we never laughed so hard in our lives, even though it may not sound funny at all. But who does a thing like that? Only my Grandmother June.
“I wouldn’t be worrying about what everybody else do or don’t do, or has or don’t have, if I were you. Seems to me, every one of us has our own particular cross to bear, in this lifetime.” I knew what his was, and it was most likely ruining the pinto beans in the kitchen as we speak.
“In my experience, troubles are a lot like trousers hanging out on the clothesline. You got to keep your eye on them, and take good care of them, because those troubles are yours. They are the ones you’ve been given and the ones your just going to have to wear them until their worn out! Whether you like it or not. Until you get something better But no matter how much you think your troubles are the worst of them all and how you just don’t deserve them, and never asked for them, you best believe, when a tornado is on its way, you can bet every man, woman, and child among us, will go out and snatch down their own and rush them home, and put them on real quick! Rather than end up, once the wind settles, having to wear those of their neighbor’s!
He took a big draw. And let out a lazy curl of smoke, with great pleasure.
“Remember no matter how bad it looks, it could always get, and often does, much worse. So hitch them up high, roll up the hem and make them fit the best that you can, so at least if nothing else they keep some of the rain off your sorry butt.” I was grinning now, in spite of, or maybe because of something we both knew. What they used for a pattern when they made me and mine and exactly what cloth it was cut from. There was no denying it.
“Thomas! Gracelynn? Where are the two of you? And what in the world are you doing?” Grandmother hollered from the kitchen, “Can’t you see there’s a storm brewing? Get on out there, and bring in my washing! I declare, I don’t know what’s the matter with you two? Sitting out there laughing like a couple of witless fools! I don’t know what so gol is darn funny”
