Sunday, August 29, 2010

Young Again

I love talking to my grandmothers' at night, hearing there bedtime, scratchy voices. When I hear them talk, I remember being young and spending so many nights with them. Especially my Mammaw B. When I hear her "bedtime" voice, I am suddenly 7. Freshly clean, the scent of Zest soap on my skin. Long, wavy, half dried hair wetting the back of one of my pappaws huge white tshirts that I wore as pajamas. Full from a helping of cornbread and milk. Sitting in the floor watching Mammaw make me a pallet out of old, home made quilts in the floor next to her bed. Laying down, Pappaw would say "Night, Irene." I never understood, but I always loved it. I would get settled in my pallet and listen to the crickets and howling beagles out the open window. I knew that as soon as my grandmother woke up at the EARLY hour of 530 or 6, I would smell the scent of bacon and eggs; butter and 'lasses would be waiting for me. I would plan the next day in my head: Make mud pies for Pappaw outside, feed the dogs, throw rocks in the creek, watch a few cartoons, and eat lunch of either peas and other vegis or peanut butter and banana sandwich on home made bread. My biggest worry: Mom might come pick me up before my adventures were complete. Things were so much easier then. I think back to those beautiful times, and it actually makes me cry. The innocence is gone now. Nothing is quite so simple. I now have worries and fears outside of my realm of cartoons and mud pies. Sometimes I think that is just what I need. Forget therapy and antidepressants. I think I might just want my Pappaw to tell me "Night, Irene" and know that everything is ok in the world, cause I can still hear the crickets out the open window.


Amanda said...

Thank you.

Mariann said...

This was a beautiful memory! I hope your mawmaw reads this and hugs you for me...if she can't Danny you better! LOVE THIS!!!!

Marlee said...

You make me cry so often, Marca Jo. But this is beautiful. I love you.