mama

“I’ll Go To My Grave Loving You”…

The year was 1975. My sweet, gentle Dad had heard this song on the radio and asked me if I could find the record for him. He loved my Mama dearly and he loved this song. At the time, I was not a fan of country music – and

definitely not a fan of the Statler Brothers – but I bought a tape player and the song for him (and a few others). I watched as he listened to the sweet harmony and the words of the song…and his eyes teared up. The next

thing I know there’s a tear trailing down my cheek. He did go to his grave loving Mama and his four daughters and all his grandchildren and great-grandchildren…four years before Mama.

I think about this song from time to time…and about Daddy’s love for and commitment to his family. I’m thankful for that legacy.

The photo below was taken about 1952 at the Memorial Gardens Cemetery. I wrote a post entitled “All Too Soon” and the years on Mamie Road about it here.

Happy Birthday, Mama…

Family, My Southern Heart, Reflections

Mama was born on the 4th of July. Every year, the family gathered for a picnic and cookout with all the trimmings in her honor. In later years, it was held at my oldest sister Dot’s house because she had a swimming pool. Memphis is hot in the summertime and the kids loved the pool. Dot would bake a large chocolate sheet cake with a hint of cinnamon and a delicious chocolate icing. Sometimes, she’d decorate the top. It was so very good. My mouth waters just remembering. With the cake, there would be homemade vanilla ice cream, usually my sister Gerry’s specialty. Before dessert, of course, there would be delicious grilled hamburgers, baked beans, potato salad and other wonderful dishes. In later years, we’d sometimes order Memphis barbeque at its best – from Corky’s.

Yes, I know that July 4th represents Independence Day…but not to me. To me, it is Mama’s birthday. The day is filled with memories that make me wish I could turn the clock back and we’d all be together celebrating. Little did I know then, how quickly time would pass…

Dianne and Gerry at Mama’s 4th of July birthday party at Dot’s house. About 1990.

Mama and the pizza…

My Southern Heart, Reflections, The little house on Victor Drive

It was the late 1950’s. We were living in the house on Victor Drive with the sunny windows and the knotty pine dining room with the corner china cabinets. It was a time of early rock and roll, dancing and pizza. Our first introduction to pizza was from George, a big, strong, dark-haired cajun planter from Louisiana. All these years later, and I remember George Broussard like it was yesterday. He was Glenda’s boyfriend and Glenda was Dot’s best friend. So we all spent a lot of time together in that little house on Victor Drive.

George had a booming voice and a great laugh. His conversation was sprinkled with a few cajun words here and there, and he loved to kid Mama. One weekend, he brought a large, filled-to-the-brim pizza over for lunch. We’d never even seen a pizza. I have to admit, at first glance, I had my doubts. All these years later, I’ve had the best Chicago pizza in downtown Chicago…so I’d have to say I know good pizza. I don’t know where George got it, but that was some pizza! Mama took one look at it and had her doubts too. It, obviously, wasn’t Southern vegetables and cornbread. She almost didn’t try it, but she did…and she fell in love with George’s pizza. The best I recall all these years later, I’d say it was a thin-crust, SUPREME pizza and it was, indeed, delicious.

Quite frequently after that, George would arrive with Glenda on his arm and toting another gift for Mama…a pizza supreme. I’m not sure that George ever knew that Mama became a serious pizza fan after that. She tried making it from scratch from time to time, but when she was in a hurry, she’d resort to Chef Boyardee. Not too sure that George would have approved of that…

Pizza closeup with salami and vegetables on an old wooden background.

Mama and the violets…

Family, My Southern Heart, Reflections

African violets will always remind me of Mama. She loved them. She loved growing them…along with her peonies, daylilies, daisies, roses, their large vegetable garden and several varieties of fruit trees. She loved taking a “cutting” (a leaf at the steam) and creating a whole new plant – or propagating them. Mama never took a botany class or a horticulture class, but she grew up on a farm in Mississippi. Maybe that explains her amazing touch and love of all growing things.

The first time Mama started growing african violets, that I recall, was after Daddy retired and she and Daddy moved to Mississippi. There, they built a new house in the country, next door to my sister’s house on the hill. There was a large laundry room with a nice sunny window and that’s where the african violets lived. All colors and varieties lived happily side by side and thrived. Mama would mix up the special blue food for the violets, which she kept in a gallon milk container beneath the cabinet, and would feed the beautiful african violets regularly with it. I don’t know how she knew what to do, but she did.

Years ago, I grew these two small african violets. They were potted in the tiniest little green plastic pots and were beautiful. Totally different but each one exquisite. One had dark purple blooms and the other one white lacy blooms edged in purple. I sighed and shuddered at my next thought – I was afraid I’d kill them.

I tried to remember just what Mama had done and then I googled african violets. Come to find out, even without Google, Mama had been right all along. African violets need to repotted right away in a special soil mixture just for african violets. I purchased the special soil and two larger pots made of a lovely green glazed pottery.

African violets don’t like to be too hot or too cold. Basically, they like the same temperatures that people do. They don’t like to be too dry to too wet. They don’t like water on their leaves! They need enough indirect light but not too much. Come to think of it, they’re just downright finicky, but they reward you for your effort with the most beautiful blossoms.

I’m beginning to wonder if maybe, just maybe, I have inherited a tiny speck of Mama’s african violet gene…

Mama learns to drive…

Family, Reflections

Mama was a wonderful homemaker, Southern cook and an artist with a brush, needle and thread. Although, she could read music by “shaped notes”, she sang and played the piano and organ “by ear”. She had a wonderful sense of humor and a quick and ready smile. For the most part, I think she was content to stay at home for she considered taking care of her family the most important role in her life.

Daddy was mellow and easy going. As the father of four daughters, I suppose he had to be. He was quiet but also had a good sense of humor. Sharon and I could easily get him to laugh. He had always been protective of Mama as well as his daughters; and perhaps that was the reason she had never learned to drive. She had never considered the fact she couldn’t drive a problem, until Daddy began riding to work with a fellow employee…leaving the car at home.

Having a perfectly good automobile left sitting in the driveway and plenty of places she wanted to go was a different story…a motivating factor I would say. There were the fabric stores she loved, grocery shopping and a local shopping center with nice department stores. I was in college and not there during the day to drive for her, so Mama decided she would learn to drive. When Mama made up her mind to do something, there was no stopping her. The police academy offered driving lessons for adults and she enrolled. Mama didn’t do anything halfway and became their star pupil.

She loved her newfound freedom in our 1957 Chevrolet, and now insisted on doing the driving herself…even when I was with her! I understood the feeling of those new wings and it would have been fine with me…if only she had driven faster than 25 miles per hour. With her genteel Southern upbringing, she could not understand why people were passing her or giving her unkind looks when she pulled out in front of them at a snail’s pace. I believe, eventually, she did pick up her speed and gained her confidence behind the wheel.

I am my Mother’s daughter in a lot of ways (no, not the driving – I drive much too fast). When it comes to a paintbrush, needle or thread, I find joy. It’s almost as if I don’t have a choice…I simply must be in the midst of creating something. As of yet, my quilting projects have been small ones, but I enjoy the process. I love to sew and made many of my daughter’s clothes…and even a few for my sons…when they were growing up. I love to cook, especially Southern style. Most importantly, I have found my greatest joy in my role as a mother…and now as a grandmother.

Looking back after all these years, I think that it took great courage for Mama to conquer her fear and learn to drive at the age of sixty. I hope if I were faced with a similar challenge, that I might just have a little of her courage…

(Just for fun, check out the You-Tube black & white TV commercial on the 1957 Chevrolet link above!)