I thought so much of my great-grandmother, and miss her so much, that I sometimes pray and ask God to please let me dream about her just so I can see her.
In my first post, I explained a little about Kathern, and some of her quirks that endeared her to me so much.
Well, I’m about to unload a few more tidbits about my take-no-prisoners, good-as-gold, you-ain’t-a-tellin’-me-nothin’, great-grandmother.
Oh lordy, she was a hoot! I have always loved the way that the elder set says it just like they see it. You see, she was always elder to me. When I was born, she was 64, and I spent a TON of time with her from then until she died, when she was 91. With Kathern, it was what it was, and that was all there was to it. The truth wasn’t bad, it was simply the truth.
Truth, combined with being hard of hearing can be a bad thing though. Of course, Kathern in her older years, became unable to hear as well as she once could. And, typically, when she would whisper she would do so in a "whisper-ey" tone of voice, but in a hush so loud that it would wake the dead. Case in point.
We were sitting in Sunday service one morning at Bowman Pentecostal Church. Of course, if Kathern didn’t recognize someone, she would move heaven and earth asking questions until she found out the identity.
Well, this large--really large--overweight woman was sitting in the pew right in front of us. And, as fate, miserable fate, would have it, Kathern had "ta know who it was, and needed to know rat now!" Keep in mind, that about two feet separated our pew from the pew of the "unknown woman." In her low, hushed, raspy whisper, in the middle of the church service, at a moment when it was so quiet you could hear a pin drop, Kathern leaned over to me (not that she needed to) and said, "Who is that great ol’ big fat woman up there?"
At the time, I was probably about 19 or 20 years old. I was mortified. I wanted to crawl under the pew, and go apologize profusely the to the great ol’ big fat woman, but all I could manage to do was to mouth the words to my great-grandmother, "Sshhhh, I’ll tell you later," to which she replied, in the same loud whisper, "Whaddya say sister?" Oh my word.
Then there was the time I brought a college friend over to her house for a visit. She’d already met Luann once, but of course, I reminded Kathern who Luann was when we got to the door. Kathern, aka Neno, greeted Luann with a, "Well honey, you’re a little bit bigger than the last time I saw you." Thank heavens Luann was a good sport and fond of the elderly like I was.
Of course that reminds of the time I was expecting my first child. Neno’s first cousin, Earnestine Riley, attended church with us. Neno had been gone for about six months by the time I started to show. I was at the piano at church, back facing the congregation, my usual spot on Sunday mornings. Earnestine hugged me after church and exclaimed in a sincere voice as sweet at honey, "Oh Marci, your bottom-end is just blossoming all over that piano bench." She was about eighty-five years old at that time. She could totally say that and get away with it. :)
What was it with these sweet old women and their all-too-keen observance of other women's weight?
And if things weren’t just the brutal truth, they were extremely urgent and dramatic at times. Once, as I was taking Neno grocery shopping, a group of about twenty motorcyclists passed us on Highway 76 by the Hillbilly Inn. Neno exclaimed, right hand gripping the door handle, and left hand pressed firmly into the console as if she were about to be pinned to the wall, "Oh my God it’s the Hell’s Angels!"
She was truly alarmed. About twenty years earlier, it was told that several from the Hell’s Angels motorcycle gang came to nearby Rockaway Beach and wreaked havoc on the little lake town. Neno was certain this covey of cycles, which were probably Honda Goldwings, was in town to do the same.
I drove her many times, to get groceries, in her brown Chevrolet Impala. We didn’t just go to one grocery store. No; we had to go to the Piggly Wiggly, Hart’s Supermarket, then Consumers. If she could get a can of pork and beans at Hart’s for a penny less than at Piggly Wiggly, you can bet your bottom dollar we were there! Never mind we’d suck forty times the savings in gas, but looking back, I wouldn’t trade that running around for anything.
Yes, she was a hoot. I think it’s time to say goodnight now; maybe I’ll have sweet dreams of my great-grandmother, if the Lord allows. Nighty night all. :)
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