Who Did What To Whom

When I was a much younger girl, I loved to sit in the kitchen with my mama, my aunt, and my grandma and just listen. They'd be canning beans, making bread, or just relaxing with coffee and store-bought cookies. They didn't need an excuse to gather in our kitchen for endless hours of gossip about every man, woman, and child they had known in their lifetimes. The lastest news about my Uncle Jerry and his womanizing, or who did what to whom, was enough. Mama and her only sister would howl about the latest dumb thing their new sister-in-law said or did. And Grandma was an expert at collecting scandal and colorful pieces of gutsy gossip she and her daughters could chew on all afternoon. She made Hedda Hopper look like an innocent school-girl. Grandma was merciless, but she made us laugh until our sides ached.

Of course, as much as possible, I tried to blend into the wall so not to be put out of the room. But I think they enjoyed shocking me from time to time. It's how I learned about life. How I knew what was expected of me as I grew up. I acquired an education in labor and delivery, how to only share part of a secret recipe, how to tell a good story from a woman's point of view, and I learned all about men. I took bits and pieces of each conversation and patched together my own quilt of womanhood.

Those lazy afternoons of trashy talk was better than any soap opera or rag magazine on the market. Mama and her sister had an opinion about everybody and weren't afraid to spill it. Even about America's sweethearts, Doris Day and Annette Funicello, the women on Queen For A Day, or the Lennon Sisters. And I believed, hung on, and swallowed every word they said.

Finally, they'd pay me some attention ... "she's got your hair, Joyce," Grandma would say.

"Yeah, but she won't keep it out of her eyes, go get me a brush and some VO5. This child's hair is so fly-away."

My red-headed aunt would chime in ... "Need to use Dippity-Do and roll her hair in it every night. Use them pink sponge curlers."

By this time, Mama was yanking my head and brushing relentlessly at my tangled "rat's nest" she called it. But I loved my mama's hands on my head, feeling her arms around me as she brushed and smoothed my hair. Eventually, my scalp burned and I pulled out of her grip as she finished twisting my mousy brown hair into a pony tail.

Slowly, I was able to turn their attention from me back to gossiping about how horrible a cook our neighbor lady was ... and they were off again! Even saying goodbye took an hour as Mama walked them out to the driveway and leaned into the car window talking for another twenty minutes. Finally, Grandma started the car and rolled slowly out the drive with Mama getting a few last words in.

I think about those days, those memories --then I regret all my daughter and my six neices are missing. There's so many of us. My mama, my sisters and I are all spread out ... all over the country. I think it's been well over 10 years since we've all been together in one room. Before Mama's too much older, my wish would be that all of us spend a week in a house at the beach. Or somewhere ... just talking.

I'd love for all my neices and my daughter to experience just a tiny bit of the bliss I did as a girl. For the younger girls in the family to listen to my sisters and I ... put away any bad times ... and just laugh and remember the good times ... the tales of us growing up that some of them have never heard.

But times are different now I guess. With all our technology, we're all as far apart as ever. I've got great nephews, almost two, I've not even seen ... so ... maybe my wish will never come to pass and all I'll ever have are those distant memories in the 60s, when Grace, Judy, and Joyce filled our kitchen on Waterloo Road with love and laughter.

But here's the kicker ... Grace (my grandma) is dead now--she died several years ago, and Aunt Judy? We've no idea where or how she is. She and Mama fell out more than thirty years ago, and we've not heard from her since. For all their kitchen table talk, it didn't keep them close.

But maybe, just maybe ... there's still hope ... a remote possibility we'll turn that all around someday ... forget who did what to whom and just be a family again.

I can smell the bread baking already ...

Blessings to you and yours.