To My Now-Silent Son of the Sixties

To My Now Silent Son of the Sixties…

I don’t usually think of myself as strong, but after my husband died (and I still can’t believe it’s been over 20 years) I had to be. Nathan wasn’t just my love; his love made me feel special and safe. For a time after he died, there seemed to be no reason to breathe, or do anything. He was gone, and I would never again hear him sing “When I’m Sixty-four.” That was his favorite Beatles song and he sang it to me each year on his birthday.

After a week of staying in bed all day, I knew I had to start getting up each morning, to eat, and to work. I needed to care for my family, and Nathan’s family, and that is what I did, every day, until I felt alive again. I still miss Nathan, and, although I’m not nearly ready to die myself, I have this image of how he will look when it’s my time to cross into Heaven. His thinning auburn hair that the chemo robbed him of will be back, even thicker and longer. He’ll be wearing an old Grateful Dead tee shirt, looking for me and maybe singing “When I’m Sixty-four.” And when I get there, he’ll tell me, as he did so many times in the past, “you’re the only girl I know who’s as pretty as she is smart.”

Nathan died a few weeks before Christmas, all those years ago, so I think about him during the holidays. Here are the words to a poem I wrote for him and had inscribed on his headstone:

To my now-silent son of the sixties

You were somehow too good for this world.

And we loved too much for so few years
You are always in my heart.

I release your troubled spirit

That needed to be free.

May you drum with the rock stars

Father many children

Play chess, ride horses, and fly.

In a peaceful place

Of many friendships

And no partings.

All my love…

Maw-Maw and the Highwayman

It was the summer I turned 15; the summer Reggie asked me to go steady (even though I wasn’t supposed to “go with” only one boy); the summer I made my oldest sister, Marian, burn the fudge at Maw-Maw Gert’s; and the summer I met Julian, the grandson of Maw-Maw’s neighbor, Old Man Turner. I always thought that was a strange name, but that was what he called himself. I answered Maw-Maw’s old black rotary phone that afternoon and heard his voice, “This is Old Man Turner. Would you tell your grandmother I’m on my way to pick her up for choir practice. Thank you kindly.” Maw-Maw Gert had been the organist at the Catholic Church (the one down the River Road) since before Mama was born. Maw-Maw also put flowers on the altar every Sunday before Mass, from the rose bushes and flower beds in her front yard.

Marian and I were supposed to be folding and ironing clothes for Maw-Maw Gert, because Mama called every night, and she always asked if we were helping out. Marian finished ironing Maw-Maw’s black-and-white striped Sunday church dress, with the red trim, and said, “I feel like making some fudge. I won’t be long, just stay here and keep folding the clothes.” That was fine with me. The kitchen was steamy, but the bedroom where we were working had a small, noisy window air conditioner to keep it cool. How could Marian stand that kitchen heat frizzing her long brown hair?

I finished folding all the towels and washrags, still stiff from drying in the sun outside, and looked out of the window-fan window. We only used the window fan at night, so it was off, and I could see between the blades, into Old Man Turner’s unpainted wooden garage. There was Julian, wearing a tee shirt with a leaf on it (Marian later told me it was a marijuana leaf) and tan shorts, polishing the chrome on his motorcycle. Even though his blonde hair was short, he was still very cute. (Until then I liked boys with long hair, like Reggie, who had shoulder-length brown hair, was intellectual and looked a lot like John Denver.) I slipped out the side door, through Maw-Maw’s vegetable garden, and over to the fence, hoping choir practice would last a long time. Maw-Maw had already warned me not to talk to Julian, at least not alone. “That boy is always up to something. He’s not from here, you know. I feel bad for Old Man Turner, the way his daughter sent that Julian here for the summer. Probably to keep him out of trouble. You stay away from him.”

Marian must have seen me from the kitchen window. She ran over to me, her loose paisley blouse puffing out behind her, before I even made it to the fence. She loudly reminded me I was supposed to be folding clothes and I should not roll my shorts up so high. I wanted to disappear when Julian looked up from his motorcycle. But he only smiled at me. I knew then I would have to meet him one day, no matter what Maw-Maw said.

This happened years ago, back in the late 1960’s, but I can still hear Marian’s, “Look what you made me do!” when we got back to the kitchen and found her fudge boiling out of the pot and all over Maw-Maw’s clean stove. We couldn’t get that awful smell of burning sugar and cocoa out of the kitchen before Maw-Maw got home from choir practice. We opened all the kitchen windows, having to pull hard on them, since they were stuck. Maw-Maw liked them closed and locked up tight. We managed to let in more than a few flies, but, even with the old box fan trying to blow the bitter smell out into the back vegetable garden, Maw-Maw found us out.

We heard Old Man Turner helping her inside the front door. “Girls,” she called to us, more concerned than upset, “Are you all right? What’s burning?” She limped more quickly than her leg brace should have allowed and arrived in the kitchen with a worried frown. I was sorry for worrying Maw-Maw Gert, and for wanting to meet Julian so badly, despite her wishes. I loved her, and she was always so happy when we visited her. She bragged about us to her friends, and made us delicious treats, like brownies, three-layer cakes, and crème puffs. Maw-Maw even taught us how to make colorful quilts and elegant doll pillows, using Barbie dolls. She was talented and hard-working and made the quilts all year to donate to the annual Church fair. Maw-Maw was also kind-hearted and made many meals for sick, or hungry, neighbors.

Even with all Maw-Maw did for us, sometimes it was just so boring for me at her house, there along the levee past the outskirts of White Castle, Louisiana. There were no movies, no dress shops or record stores, no snowball stands, and no Reggie. There was a dry-goods/grocery store close by, but it closed early. Besides, the meat-counter guy there, who was much to old for Marian, had a crush on her, and he ate pieces of the pale-pink, fat-speckled lunch meat as he sliced it for customers.

After the fudge mess and smell were gone, Maw-Maw Gert made us a potato and cheese omelet and biscuits with fig preserves for supper. She always called the evening meal supper. After we ate, she hurried us through washing the dishes, so we wouldn’t be late for The Virginian, Maw-Maw’s favorite television show. Westerns always seemed to have the same plot to me, and I wanted to slip outside, in case Julian was working on his motorcycle again. But Maw-Maw was so taken by Trampas and the Virginian that we had to sit there with her and watch it. At least this gave me a chance to polish my fingernails a bright, pretty pink. (Besides, Maw-Maw would have known what I was up to.) She narrated and talked to the characters on the screen all through the show, especially when Trampas was involved. She usually called him Travis.

This particular night, Maw-Maw Gert was greatly disturbed that the pretty, blonde-haired young lady visiting the ranch wasn’t interested in Trampas. He took her horse-back riding in the hills and brought her flowers, all to no avail. There was, however, some shady character in town (not dangerous, a former bank robber or something) who did attract the young, blonde visitor. The Highwayman (as Maw-Maw referred to him) didn’t come calling with flowers, but the young lady met with him late at night, causing much worry to Trampas, the Virginian, and Maw-Maw, who reminded Marian and I, several times, “That’s going to end wrong. Things like that always end badly.” And in the final scene, of course, the pretty girl, after a tearful explanation to Trampas, rode away on the back of the former bank robber’s horse, her long blonde curls bouncing at her tiny waist.

Maw-Maw was appalled and complained to Marian and me as she served our nightly bowls of Neapolitan ice cream, “After everything Travis and the Virginian did for that girl, she took up with that Highwayman.”

I didn’t tell Maw-Maw, but at 15 (and even sometimes after that) I would have taken up with him myself.

Lucky Maw-Maw Gert, to have loved wisely and been married for 54 years to Paw-Paw, who was her first and only love, even after he died.

Miss Aline’s Azaleas, and Reincarnation

Miss Aline had a sad life. Of course, I never knew about her disappearing boyfriend, and the baby she had to give up, until much later. When I was a child I visited her often, in her unpainted wooden frame house across the street from us. Mama always made us ask before we went anywhere. When I asked to go to Miss Aline’s, Mama would send a bag of apples or some Jack’s vanilla wafers or butter cookies, or a big piece of cornbread with me. She would tell me as I left, “And remember that’s for Miss Aline. You have plenty to eat over here.”  (Mama knew long before I did that Miss Aline sometimes did not have enough money for food. I found out later Mama often brought meals and groceries to Miss Aline.)

I was a plump child and loved to eat, but it was so exciting at Miss Aline’s that I didn’t think about food when I was there. She had a wonderful collection of toys she actually let me play with. They were all old, but in good shape, and, to me, were unique. (Miss Aline was not like prissy old Great Aunt Josie. All she could say when we visited her was “Don’t play with your cousin’s doll collection.” Or “Be careful of that lamp, I bought it in New York.” Then she would shoo us out to the yard to play. I heard her tell Mama once, when we were supposed to be outside playing, “That’s why you don’t have anything nice. You have too many children.” Mama responded politely, but I knew she was angry, “My children are my Jewels. I don’t need anything else.” We left shortly after that.)

Miss Aline’s toy box was an old wooden crate, painted like the night sky, with the moon and stars. Inside it, she had four gray sock monkeys with clothes to dress them, a wooden soldier on a stick, a china doll with brown hair and a lavender dress, a tiny tea set, a tarnished metal kaleidoscope, and a set of wooden blocks painted with numbers and letters. On top of the toys was an antique metal musical Ferris wheel.

We never stayed inside for too long. I was always anxious to get out and see if Miss Aline had any new flowers or plants. Her garden seemed exotic to me, like something from my favorite television show, Adventures in Paradise. As I pulled her through the kitchen to the back yard, she always stopped and looked up at the brightly painted circus plate she had hanging on the wall next to her refrigerator. (I remember it bothered me that her refrigerator door didn’t close all the way.) The plate had a lion tamer working in a lion’s cage, with a small child watching the show. Miss Aline would look up at the plate for a minute, then make herself smile and walk me outside.

Miss Aline told me once that the circus plate was given to her by someone she loved, and she would leave it to me when she died. “But you can’t die!” I told her. She had only smiled, “But everyone has to die, Little Sha, it’s the way of nature. And death isn’t the end. It leads us to something happier than life on earth, life in Heaven.”

Her back yard had a huge fig tree in the center, several delicious smelling sweet olive trees, two Japanese plum trees, a magnolia tree, two pear trees, many gardenia bushes, orange, yellow and red shrimp plants scattered around, and a rose garden off to the side. Miss Aline had the usual red, pink and white rose bushes, colorful climbing roses growing on two white wicker chairs, and green tea roses, my favorite. We would make a bouquet of whatever flowers were in bloom, for me to take home.

Miss Aline’s favorite was her huge spreading azalea bush in the side yard of her house, almost to the front sidewalk. It was beautiful in the spring, after all the pale purple flowers had bloomed, with the pink centers. If you stared at it long enough, it was like looking at the inside of Miss Aline’s kaleidoscope. While the flowers were pretty we would make azalea crowns for both of us to wear, and one for me to take home to put on Mama’s Mary statue.

The only bad thing was that their beauty didn’t last. As soon as the hard South Louisiana spring rains came, the whole azalea bush would fade to ugly clumps of withered brown, with a few green leaves. Miss Aline would always say, “They’re pretty for such a short time, Little Sha, then they are gone, like happiness in life.” Then she would smile and remind me, “But the flowers come back every year.”

As Miss Aline got older, she grew feeble and seemed to shrink. The faded housedresses she wore swallowed her up, and her long blonde/gray braided hair turned white. She would sometimes stare quietly at nothing. One year after the hard rains had once again wilted the azaleas, Miss Aline stood and looked sadly at the bush. I was afraid she was going to cry. This year, she only said, “They’re pretty for such a short time, Little Sha, then they are gone.” She kept looking at the dead flowers and didn’t add that they come back. So I reminded her, “But they come back every year.” Miss Aline only said, “Even trees have to die sometime.”

As I grew up, I stopped visiting Miss Aline so often. I didn’t forget about her, but the summer I turned 14, I also turned thin. (Thanks to dieting on green beans and canned tuna for months.) Boys started calling me and asking me to movies, much to Mama’s dismay. So there was simply not as much time for trips to Miss Aline’s garden. I did stop by every Friday afternoon, to sit on her front porch rocker and tell her about school. On the Friday before Spring Formal, I brought my dress to show her. It was pale blue, shiny brocade, and sleeveless. Miss Aline loved it, “It’s beautiful! That color will look pretty with your dark hair.” I described my white gloves and the silver ribbons I was going to wear in my hair. “Reggie said I would look like a princess,” I told her. (Reggie was one of the boys I had been dating. He was gentle and intellectual and looked like John Denver. Reggie was my favorite of all, but Mama didn’t want me seeing only one boy. Sometimes I still think I made a mistake not holding on to him.)

“Just don’t let that Reggie break your hear, Little Sha. You are too special to be hurt.” Miss Aline looked sad so I changed the subject. “I know. We’ll come over tomorrow before the dance so you can see me all dressed up. The azaleas are still so pretty. We can take pictures over here.” Miss Aline tried to smile but still looked sad. Probably thinking about broken hearts.

When Reggie picked me up for the dance on Saturday evening, we walked across the street to see Miss Aline. It was still light outside, and she struggled down her porch steps to meet us by the azalea bush. She hugged me. “You look so pretty,” she whispered. Reggie agreed with her, “Yes, she’s like a princess, isn’t she?” Miss Aline suddenly looked confused, but responded. “Yes and we need to make her a crown. Come, Little Sha, remember how we used to make flower crowns. Let’s make you one now, while the azaleas are still pretty.” She tied the stems of several of the pale purple flowers with a string she took from her pocket. Miss Aline seemed anxious and confused as she tucked the flowers under my silver hair ribbon. “I’m always afraid they won’t come back, the azaleas, you know.” She looked at Reggie, who, being a kind soul and much influenced by Walt Whitman's poem, Leaves of Grass, smiled and took her hand, “They’ll always come back, Miss Aline, if not as azaleas, then as something else.”

Just then Mama walked up with her Brownie Box camera in hand. “Let’s take a picture of the three of you while it’s still light. Here, stand in front of the azaleas for me, please. Miss Aline, your yard is as lovely as ever. And you look so happy. You must be having a good day. Now everyone smile.”

I still have Miss Aline’s circus plate.