Few things are as sacred as bath time for me now. I love a good hot soak, a nice tub of warm softly scented swirling water, soaking up to my aching neck, reading in the tub, sometimes texting (oops don't read this son!) hair piled up, or even washing my hair in the tub since showers now send me into some weird world.
As a small southern child of an aged parent...bath time was.....different......
I was always clean, but as a regular matter of course those were sink, or spit baths, as my Mama called them. That meant washing the "stinky spots" and the dirty spots.
We didn't have nightly baths we had Sairdee night baths! That was the time to pull out all the stops!! Soap, bubbles, shampoo, combs, brushes, washcloths, towels, perfume, powder, pig tails!!! Sometimes we even washed with cousins of the opposite sex. We got our ears scrubbed and cleaned with sweet oil, we got our nails trimmed, errant filth balls in our navels cleaned out, toe jam washed away....we were pink by the end of the scouring! Then we got to play in the tub for about 30 minutes! :)
We had toy boats, submarines, old bottles, barbie and ken dolls, sharks, alligators, wash cloths to make jellyfish with, aluminum foil, meat trays, etc, etc
There was this one time...I was next door having Sairdee night bath with my 2 cousins (oh what names did I give them??? Well for this one they can be leroy and jethro) I was washing up with Leroy and Jethro...a totally UNsatisfactory in Mama's eyes bath because we had to **gasp** wash ourselves!! the baby sitter my Aunt had hired was not doing it for us. A 6 year old (me) a 5 year old (Leroy) and a 3 year old (Jethro) were all in the tub together....for the first time. We learned a lot in that bath. We learned that boys had dinkers, girls had trolley's...it hurt when you put soap up a trolley, it hurt when you rubbed soap on a dinker. I also learned that in order to end an awkward bath all one has to do is tell Leroy to wash his hair with Nair because Nair is for hair and that means shampoo, then casually taking the bottle to the baby sitter and saying "I tried to get Leroy not to use this but he didn't listen" then running quickly and towel clutchingly wet, soapy and mostly naked back home to my happy, sweet bath. My own green bathtub with the snoopy in the bathtub bubble bath, my Mama's wash cloth, powder while standing on the toilet after the bath, perfume and story time. Some things are just sacred....or scary, or complicated
Showing posts with label southern lives. Show all posts
Showing posts with label southern lives. Show all posts
Thursday, May 3, 2012
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
The Eyes
The last time I saw my Aunt Sallie I was 28. My son was 5 months old. I sat beside my wonderful Aunt on her sofa in the same living room I had visted when she was in the autumn of her years. My Aunt, then well into the winter of her years welcomed my son onto her lap. That same lap I had been welcomed to many years before.
I walked to the spot in front of the fireplace where about a quarter century before, I had taken the cherished eyes off the headlights on my orange toy VW bug with the flower stickers on it. I stuck them carefully on her floor. I forget what made me do this. I must have loved that spot very much to have shared such an important thing. I felt the loss, especially during the spanking my grandmother gave me.
I smiled as I touched the floor. They were no longer there, I'm sure the linoleum was different too. I asked her how long it had taken her to scrape the eyes off. She said " I just kept mopping, I never tried to scrape them off because I loved you so much and they reminded me of you".
I smiled back the years and the tears which now flow freely.
She had me pile the table high in the usual manner. My heavens it had been so long, but being at her table erased the years and the badness, the madness...all I felt was welcome and love. She kept having me sit as she gave me directions, she stood over my shoulder as I peeled the tomatoes. She fed my son his first pickle, of course she'd canned it. She fed him some strawberries from her homemade strawberry pie. He fell asleep on the floor on a pallet of a blanket she'd made. He threw up a bit of strawberry on his outfit. I put it straight in the dryer to set the stain and never washed it. Memories.
We spent the night in the room which shared a wall with her bedroom. Three of us in a double bed. I showed my husband on instinct a thing I'd long forgotten...potatoes under the bed. That night there was a storm. A wonderful loud booming thunder, whip crack lighting storm. I felt new. I stayed awake most of the night listening for her sounds, feeling the years unfold around me.
I snuck up and got dressed about 30 minutes before my son usually cried.I wanted to catch my sneaky Aunt in the process of trying to make us breakfast. I lied (sort of) to my aunt. She asked what I was doing up and I told her I was fixing a bottle that he had cried...(ok it was only a whimper). She said, as she bored into my soul with her eyes, " he's a good baby and I didn't hear that baby cry". I confessed it was only a whimper but I wanted to head him off before he really got hungry. I further confessed (ok a small fib) that I always wanted to cook breakfast with her, to learn how she made her biscuits so good. I caved in under those probing eyes and further confessed that I was worried she would try to do too much for us and I really did want to know how she did it. It was the truth so she let it fly.
I knew the recipe but not her "Aunt Sallie-ness" I now know. I wore her apron. I made biscuits with her, she patted my hip and told me I'd always been a big girl. She taught me to fry her potatoes. She fed my son his first scrambled eggs. My Uncle Bobby and Aunt Pat came down to visit. We hadn't seen each other in 23 years. It was the last time I ever saw him.
It was the last time I ever saw Aunt Sallie, but not the last time I spoke with her.
I now taste her biscuits in my mouth on really bad days. Not the way I make them, but hers from when I was small and life was perfect. I feel loved and comforted then.
Some people and places make you feel like you can always go home.
I walked to the spot in front of the fireplace where about a quarter century before, I had taken the cherished eyes off the headlights on my orange toy VW bug with the flower stickers on it. I stuck them carefully on her floor. I forget what made me do this. I must have loved that spot very much to have shared such an important thing. I felt the loss, especially during the spanking my grandmother gave me.
I smiled as I touched the floor. They were no longer there, I'm sure the linoleum was different too. I asked her how long it had taken her to scrape the eyes off. She said " I just kept mopping, I never tried to scrape them off because I loved you so much and they reminded me of you".
I smiled back the years and the tears which now flow freely.
She had me pile the table high in the usual manner. My heavens it had been so long, but being at her table erased the years and the badness, the madness...all I felt was welcome and love. She kept having me sit as she gave me directions, she stood over my shoulder as I peeled the tomatoes. She fed my son his first pickle, of course she'd canned it. She fed him some strawberries from her homemade strawberry pie. He fell asleep on the floor on a pallet of a blanket she'd made. He threw up a bit of strawberry on his outfit. I put it straight in the dryer to set the stain and never washed it. Memories.
We spent the night in the room which shared a wall with her bedroom. Three of us in a double bed. I showed my husband on instinct a thing I'd long forgotten...potatoes under the bed. That night there was a storm. A wonderful loud booming thunder, whip crack lighting storm. I felt new. I stayed awake most of the night listening for her sounds, feeling the years unfold around me.
I snuck up and got dressed about 30 minutes before my son usually cried.I wanted to catch my sneaky Aunt in the process of trying to make us breakfast. I lied (sort of) to my aunt. She asked what I was doing up and I told her I was fixing a bottle that he had cried...(ok it was only a whimper). She said, as she bored into my soul with her eyes, " he's a good baby and I didn't hear that baby cry". I confessed it was only a whimper but I wanted to head him off before he really got hungry. I further confessed (ok a small fib) that I always wanted to cook breakfast with her, to learn how she made her biscuits so good. I caved in under those probing eyes and further confessed that I was worried she would try to do too much for us and I really did want to know how she did it. It was the truth so she let it fly.
I knew the recipe but not her "Aunt Sallie-ness" I now know. I wore her apron. I made biscuits with her, she patted my hip and told me I'd always been a big girl. She taught me to fry her potatoes. She fed my son his first scrambled eggs. My Uncle Bobby and Aunt Pat came down to visit. We hadn't seen each other in 23 years. It was the last time I ever saw him.
It was the last time I ever saw Aunt Sallie, but not the last time I spoke with her.
I now taste her biscuits in my mouth on really bad days. Not the way I make them, but hers from when I was small and life was perfect. I feel loved and comforted then.
Some people and places make you feel like you can always go home.
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Complicated Lives.....part 31
Should old acquaintance be fergot and days of Auld Lang Syne...or something like that
In later years I learned that people shot guns up in to the air to celebrate the New Year.
As a small child...birth to 15 I only knew of one tradition...Dick Clark's New Year's Rockin Eve!!
Each year we gathered around the 25" black and white console with the rabbit ears to watch one of 3 tv stations...whichever one had the Dick Clark's New Year's Rockin Eve!! special on. It never occurred to me that NY was EST and FL was CST. Each year I watched that apple go down on the count of 10 during the Dick Clark's New Year's Rockin Eve!! special, I never realized I wasn't actually staying awake for the 'real' new year.
After Dick Clark's New Year's Rockin Eve!! I would go hatefully off to bed pondering my world and wondering if this was the year I would at long last attain trashiness. I would hear lovely "fire crackers" in the distance and fall sound asleep. Sometimes I would hear a loud truck or 10 go down the dirt road to the park. I would hear hollering and screaming...lots more "fire crackers" sometimes an ambulance siren or police siren...never could tell them apart since we rarely heard them in our town...at least I didn't. I just assumed someone had blown up a can with "fire crackers" after watching Dick Clark's New Year's Rockin Eve!! and gotten hurt or something.
I didn't realize until...ummm recently (now) that those were NOT fire crackers!! I am sure Mama never intended to mislead me. Did she?? Was she holding out on more fun in addition to trashiness??? Did he know they were using cherry bombs?? Just kidding! I know now, that those were happy/drunk rednecks shooting guns, drunk driving at the park and getting up to all sorts of lovely mischief. While I was tucked safely in bed listening to "fire crackers" and the strains of a Shaun Cassidy song in my head from Dick Clark's New Year's Rockin Eve!! My neighbors were having a thrill a minute shooting guns off around bonfires, with beer, song, dancing, driving...etc
Oh to be young and trashy for just one night!!
I guess it's all in perception, one little girl's fire crackers and Dick Clark's New Year's Rockin Eve!! is another little girl's uncle/daddy shooting a gun and drinking beer while driving and listening to the radio...
sweet sweet perception
And yes I do know the words to the song ;-)
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