When I was a young married stupid person,
I tried to make homemade biscuits. Ok,
they weren’t TOTALLY made from scratch, they were made from a mix, but I had to
add something, I remember, and then roll ‘em up and put them on a cookie sheet,
etc. etc. I had seen my mom and grandmothers all make biscuits from scratch
while I was growing up, so how hard could this be, right? Hockey Puck!
Seriously, Hockey puck! Well, four hockey pucks to be exact. That’s what I
ended up with. I was supposed to get about 12 biscuits out of the batch. I got
four. What happed to the rest of the dough? It ended up all over my shoes, the
floor, the cabinets… you get the picture. Even the salt from my tears didn’t
add any flavor to the four pathetic crunchy rocks I got out of the batch.
My Mamaw tried to teach me how to knit
once, or do something with some kind of needle. It was a large needle, not a
knitting needle (so I guess it wasn’t knit), but I held the needle between my
teeth while trying to do whatever profound maneuver she was showing me and I
bit down. Yep. The needle broke off in my tongue. For those of you who just
held your mouth in a funny way, it wasn’t too bad, I pulled it out as I swear I
heard “Love her skin” and we put everything away. I’m pretty sure that was the
last thing Mamaw tried to teach me.
Are you sitting down? I can’t fry
chicken. Seriously. I can’t fry anything! Bless my heart! I tried once to fry, well, I
don’t remember what it was, but that grease will SPATTER! I gave up and never
did it again. Are you still sitting down? I can’t make sweet tea. I know, I
know!! I’m so sorry! Yes, I really am from here! But I can’t make sweet tea. I
have never in my life made sweet tea. When I want sweet tea I go to Whitt’s (if
you’re from here, you know what I mean) or Lawler’s.
What is it with these sad confessions of
traditions gone horribly wrong? Today I had many flashbacks as my mom came over
to teach my daughter how to thread her sewing machine. Mom gave it to Mary for
Christmas and I may or may not have been able to follow the directions to
thread it, but I thought that would be a great Mamaw/Mary thing for them to do.
Mary seems a little excited, but a little reluctant about sewing. I told her
about the times Mom tried to teach me to sew. I used to cut out patterns and I
would make these little square purses that Mom told me would be perfect to carry
around the house. I wasn’t talented in the way of homemaking if you haven’t
picked up on that yet. It’s ok. I’m aware. Love my skin and Bless my heart
both.
As I watched my mom and daughter fiddle
with the sewing machine I had all these memories flooding me of when I was
learning to sew (and no, I can’t, but I did learn a tiny bit). Memories flooded
of all the time I spent with my grandparents that went faster than anyone could
have ever impressed upon my young mind that it would. I had no idea that I
would want them back so badly; to ask them again to show me how to cook, how to
thread a needle without giving myself a temporary speech impediment, or what it
was like living through the depression.
I used to sleep in the floor of my Mamaw’s
bedroom. She would always, always tell me the story of Flopsy, Mopsy, and Peter
Cottontail as I would doze off. I would always wake in the middle of the night
and no matter what time it would be, I would call out to her, “Mamaw?” “Yes” “Are
you asleep?” “No, I’m just resting my eyes.” I was convinced she never slept;
she always just rested her eyes. Never would she allow me to think I had bothered her. It was ok to call out to her anytime.
It has recently really hit me, and I am
impressing on my kids, that passing down tradition is so much more than passing
down a trade or skill; it is about spending time with someone now because one
day you will physically ache to have them back. It is about something that truly cannot
be put into words, but into actions, memories, and flashbacks. Yes, it is about
learning to can food, sew, cook, and so many other things, but mostly it is
about time that you don’t get back.
I haven’t had grandparents for years and
I miss them so much. If I could thank them for anything they ever gave me, it
would be the time they took. It would be the way I never felt like an inconvenience
to them. And I tell my kids often they have the best grandparents ever, on both
sides, who offer so much time and talent to them… and yes, my kids occasionally
hear “Bless their heart” themselves. After all, look at their mom, love her
skin.
To Mamaw, Papaw, Granny, Granddaddy, and
Mom,
Thank you, infinitely,
Becky
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