love.”
Lately I’d been wanting to ask Mother about her courting days with Daddy. (Those Rialto movie tickets were burning a hole in my pocket.) But like a lot of things, I sensed she wouldn’t like talking about romance and such things now.
“Is that how Daddy and Mother fell in love?” I asked Aunt Josie. “Did their emotions sneak up on them?”
“You better believe it,” she said. “I remember when your father met Hattie. He called me the morning after their first date.”
“What’d he say?”
“He said he’d met the girl he intended to marry. He said Hattie was the smartest, prettiest, sweetest girl in town.”
“Mother— sweet ?”
“She was sweet,” Aunt Josie said. “Even to me.”
“You’d never know that now,” I grumped.
“Daralynn, think about it. Can you imagine losing your husband and two children? ’Course you can’t because you don’t have a husband or children. Me neither. But it’s been hard on your mama. It’s hardened her heart, like it would anyone’s. That’s why I don’t take the things she says to me personally.”
“You don’t?” I asked.
“Heavens, no,” Aunt Josie said, swatting away the notion like it was a mosquito. “It’s not about me. It’s about her . You think I can’t hear her tirading against me when I play my music in the evenings? But I play it loud so she can hear it, too. The woman needs some music in her life. She needs love.”
“She can be hateful at times,” I said, yanking a thistle from the tomato bed.
“I know she can,” Aunt Josie agreed. “But that’s what keeps her going. Being mad is what keeps herfrom being sad. If she weren’t mad, your mama might just lie down and die of sadness. I don’t think she’s even had a good cry yet, has she? Lord, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Hattie cry.”
“She doesn’t cry,” I reported. “Or laugh.”
Of course, I hadn’t been doing much of those things, either. But I didn’t mention that part.
“The person in this town who needs a living funeral is your mother,” Aunt Josie stated. “But she’s the last person on earth who’d ever have one. Emotions embarrass her. And she hates people paying her any kind of attention. Look at poor Waldo. He would marry Hattie in a heartbeat.”
“She doesn’t like bald men,” I said apologetically.
“That’s an excuse,” Aunt Josie said. “Your mother’s afraid to love. And after what she’s been through, I don’t blame her.”
“You think she’s going to be like this forever?” I asked.
“’Fraid so,” Aunt Josie said, shaking her head. “Unless she finds someone she feels like taking care of.”
“That person better have good hair,” I said.
Aunt Josie cackled. Then she wrapped her arms around me and squeezed me tight. “This is whatkeeps me grounded,” she said, rocking me from side to side.
“Grounded?” I said. My voice was muffled because I was smushed up against Aunt Josie’s ample bosom. “Grounding’s what Mother used to do to punish me.”
“Not that kind of grounded,” Aunt Josie said. She unwrapped her arms and pointed to the big apple tree in the corner of her backyard. “Grounded like a tree. What keeps that tree standing up straight?”
“The roots?” I said. “The sun? Dirt? I don’t know.”
“All of it,” she said, taking my hand and holding it. “And most of it we can’t even see. But look at the way the earth just hugs that tree. That’s what your mama needs.”
“A tree—or a hug by the earth?”
“No, child. Somebody to take care of. That’s what makes us sweet and keeps us grounded.”
In the distance, I heard the church bell ring twelve times.
“I gotta get a move on,” Aunt Josie said. “Clem gets hungry as a lion at noon.”
She strutted toward the back door in her highheels and turned around to holler: “Being in love can be a pain in the rump at times, Daralynn. But it’s awful fun. You gotta try it sometime!”
I waved. Then I picked up my
Lately I’d been wanting to ask Mother about her courting days with Daddy. (Those Rialto movie tickets were burning a hole in my pocket.) But like a lot of things, I sensed she wouldn’t like talking about romance and such things now.
“Is that how Daddy and Mother fell in love?” I asked Aunt Josie. “Did their emotions sneak up on them?”
“You better believe it,” she said. “I remember when your father met Hattie. He called me the morning after their first date.”
“What’d he say?”
“He said he’d met the girl he intended to marry. He said Hattie was the smartest, prettiest, sweetest girl in town.”
“Mother— sweet ?”
“She was sweet,” Aunt Josie said. “Even to me.”
“You’d never know that now,” I grumped.
“Daralynn, think about it. Can you imagine losing your husband and two children? ’Course you can’t because you don’t have a husband or children. Me neither. But it’s been hard on your mama. It’s hardened her heart, like it would anyone’s. That’s why I don’t take the things she says to me personally.”
“You don’t?” I asked.
“Heavens, no,” Aunt Josie said, swatting away the notion like it was a mosquito. “It’s not about me. It’s about her . You think I can’t hear her tirading against me when I play my music in the evenings? But I play it loud so she can hear it, too. The woman needs some music in her life. She needs love.”
“She can be hateful at times,” I said, yanking a thistle from the tomato bed.
“I know she can,” Aunt Josie agreed. “But that’s what keeps her going. Being mad is what keeps herfrom being sad. If she weren’t mad, your mama might just lie down and die of sadness. I don’t think she’s even had a good cry yet, has she? Lord, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Hattie cry.”
“She doesn’t cry,” I reported. “Or laugh.”
Of course, I hadn’t been doing much of those things, either. But I didn’t mention that part.
“The person in this town who needs a living funeral is your mother,” Aunt Josie stated. “But she’s the last person on earth who’d ever have one. Emotions embarrass her. And she hates people paying her any kind of attention. Look at poor Waldo. He would marry Hattie in a heartbeat.”
“She doesn’t like bald men,” I said apologetically.
“That’s an excuse,” Aunt Josie said. “Your mother’s afraid to love. And after what she’s been through, I don’t blame her.”
“You think she’s going to be like this forever?” I asked.
“’Fraid so,” Aunt Josie said, shaking her head. “Unless she finds someone she feels like taking care of.”
“That person better have good hair,” I said.
Aunt Josie cackled. Then she wrapped her arms around me and squeezed me tight. “This is whatkeeps me grounded,” she said, rocking me from side to side.
“Grounded?” I said. My voice was muffled because I was smushed up against Aunt Josie’s ample bosom. “Grounding’s what Mother used to do to punish me.”
“Not that kind of grounded,” Aunt Josie said. She unwrapped her arms and pointed to the big apple tree in the corner of her backyard. “Grounded like a tree. What keeps that tree standing up straight?”
“The roots?” I said. “The sun? Dirt? I don’t know.”
“All of it,” she said, taking my hand and holding it. “And most of it we can’t even see. But look at the way the earth just hugs that tree. That’s what your mama needs.”
“A tree—or a hug by the earth?”
“No, child. Somebody to take care of. That’s what makes us sweet and keeps us grounded.”
In the distance, I heard the church bell ring twelve times.
“I gotta get a move on,” Aunt Josie said. “Clem gets hungry as a lion at noon.”
She strutted toward the back door in her highheels and turned around to holler: “Being in love can be a pain in the rump at times, Daralynn. But it’s awful fun. You gotta try it sometime!”
I waved. Then I picked up my
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