*sigh*

Okay. So.

I had to work both Sat and Sun last weekend b/c my 1/2 tech is having unspecified health issues. So I had no time to prepare, really, for our trip to Memphis last week. We went on Tuesday and came back on Thursday. My family and R's family took care of our daughter's transportation to Memphis. (Her professors have been very kind about her missing school, and due to her grief, not expecting her to do her presentations and tests even when she was there. This is what you get when you always attend class, are always prepared, participate in discussions, have your assignments ready on time or early, and are generally pleasant and respectful.)

Our experience in Memphis was about what you'd expect when the matriarch has gone.

While in Memphis, we learned that F's roommate was able, last-minute, to get tickets to come here to Florida for spring break ... to arrive Friday. We knew this was a possibility, and we're pleased to have her b/c we like her, but there was NO preparation b/c we got in Thursday evening and I had to work on Friday. So she had to go into the closet to find sheets to even put on her bed. But she's cool. F flew in Friday as well. Had I had a moment to think I could have arranged all this better, but I didn't and that's that. F missed her flight connection in Atlanta and that was kind of traumatic on top of everything else that's happened but she managed to get on another flight and we all ended up where we were supposed to be.

So we've got the two girls here. Yesterday we grilled hamburgers on the patio, went downtown to Lake Morton to look at the birds and all, and spent a little time at an outdoor mall before coming home so R could do his evening shift. This afternoon we're going to try to get to Jetty Park on Cape Canaveral in time to see the shuttle go up. We can see it from here but we'll get a much better view.

We received some sad news today. R called me at work this afternoon to tell me that his mother was gone.

We knew this was coming. She had been in poor health for a few months and it seemed that things were winding down.

My MIL was born in Shreveport, LA, IIRC, in 1923. (I'll go back and clean up any details that I get wrong.) Her family moved to Memphis when she was a little girl. She had two sisters, one who died several years ago and one who lives in Louisiana now; and a brother, a Merchant Mariner who died when his ship was torpedoed in WWII. My MIL went to work during that war, repairing shot-up airplanes with sheet metal and such, so she was a real-life Rosie the Riveter. She worked in telegraphy too, and did some other stuff, and then after the war she married my FIL and they set up housekeeping and had some kids: 6, over a 21-year range. There were four boys, of whom my R was the last, and then two girls. And there are numerous grandchildren, and a couple of greats.

She read a lot - there was always a book by her chair with a bookmark in it - and she especially loved mysteries. She loved the old romantic movies, the ones with Cary Grant and people like that, and swing music. And she loved her kids, and also everybody else who loved her kids.

Her Brunswick stew was a thing of surpassing wonderfulness. We had it every Christmas. That was pretty well an established recipe, but she loved to experiment in the kitchen. I remember once she made some kind of lemon dessert, and got it so tart that when I had the first experimental bite it grabbed my jaw like a case of the mumps. Fortunately I had a glass of milk near at hand. We all laughed about that.

Years ago, saddened when one or another of her kids got divorced, my MIL asked me to promise never to leave R - she wanted it in writing. I told her that I seemed to remember signing something when I got married, and she said that that didn't seem to stop some people, so I picked up an envelope from the table and wrote on the back of it, "I will never leave R", signed and dated it, and gave it to her. She put it away somewhere. Long after, my in-laws' house burned down, it took about a year to rebuild while they lived with my SIL, and afterwards when we had settled in the new comfortable living room, she said to me, "That piece of paper burned." So I wrote her another one. I suppose it's there somewhere still.

From my mother (quoted with her permission):

Be not the first by whom the new are tried, Nor yet the last to lay the old aside.

The other day I was trying to figure out how to find the origin of this quote but was not sure enough of the wording to google it. This morning I was purging my favorites list and ran across this link: Alexander Pope Quotes. There it was!

For some reason, my brain is suddenly picking up moments from my life, mostly pleasant, such as the moment Mammaw and I were working in the garden, discussing fads, etc., the pros and cons of fads, and that some people seemed to be the first in the community to have the newest fad in shoes, clothes, etc. Mama quoted the above to me. I think she was trying to get across that if one lets someone else try out something first, it will be more tried and true than to just jump in and get "taken." But, she said, don't be a die-hard and be the last to do something. I guess there was really something deep in that that I am not fully describing, but I have never forgotten all these years.

Now, the question is: When did this farm woman find time to learn quotes from literature, whether poetry or not? I think her (and her peers) only intellectual outlet was reading. What are we missing today, those who are not reading? Then, what are we reading?

My Mama was a wise woman. She left me with some good stuff, and I think I fall far short in measuring up to her!

My mother's mother grew up in a tiny farming community in Mississippi. She had a sad childhood - her mother died in childbirth when she was only six, and the kids were farmed out to relatives - but eventually her father remarried and he and her kind stepmother brought the kids back home. When she wanted to go to school past 8th grade she had to leave her community and board somewhere - ? because the school there didn't go any further. Ma, you need to write all this down. I thought I knew it.

Then she got married, settled down on a farm with no indoor plumbing or electricity (those came much later) and had 8 kids, including a pair of twins. One died of diphtheria as a toddler but the others grew up, some left the farm life and others really didn't. Making a living on a farm, especially before all the modern farm equipment, was gruelling labor and everyone had to work hard just to put food on the table. Leisure time was very scarce. They were poor as far as material possessions went but poor obviously doesn't mean uncultured or stupid. My mother remembers reading - was it The Fall of the House of Usher? one rainy day when she was a kid and having to put it down and go find her mother b/c it was so creepy.

I remember my gentle grandmother and I regret that she did not live to see F, having died shortly before F came along. She would have loved her and been proud of her.

I spent the afternoon at my sister-in-law's house in a small community outside Memphis. She needed babysitting for her four children. My SIL helped me so much with F that I can never pay her back. But even though her kids are very nice and well-behaved, they just about wore me out. I don't know how she does it. Little Sarah, who's four, used to not extend to me fellow membership in the human race. I was not supposed to be in the same room with her, or if that was unavoidable, to look at her or address her. I am very used to fractious little girls and so thought it was funny. This situation started to turn around this year. Today Sarah had to sit right next to me wherever I was, lean on me if possible, and copy the exact way I crossed my legs at the ankle, etc. And ask a million questions. "Aunt Wauwa, Aunt Wauwa - what do you call those pants you are wearing?" "Blue jeans." "Ohhhh!" and "Aunt Wauwa - what numbers do you use to make your name?" "L-A-U-R-A". "Ohhhh! That's like my name!" "Yes, it is very like your name." I let the kids eat pizza in the living room, which they thought was hysterical. We drew pictures of bugs. And so forth and so on. I ended up with a tremendous migraine by the time my SIL relieved me but it wasn't the kids' fault at all. I reckon I am just getting old.

Birthday party today, for my husband's sister's youngest, who is four. She has three older brothers, so it's her turn to say, "Thank you, Aunt Wauwa." That just slays me, every time. Pronouncing "Laura" is just very problematic for the three- and four-year-old set. It was a nice day. After the cake and ice cream we went outside. Sarah and her daddy kicked/pushed/threw a ball back and forth for a long time. The ball was almost as big as Sarah. Her dad would kick it very high in the air, and she would run around and try to figure out where it would land, and when she caught it, she sent it back to him with her whole body. Beautiful, exuberant child.

Funeral yesterday. Short and sweet. This was my husband's brother's ex-wife, who had a diagnosis of pancreatic cancer recently and that was that.

I have to say that I have never heard Elvis played at a funeral before. It was "Precious Lord, Take My Hand" (not the MLK funeral version) but although the tape was cued up the preacher hit the wrong button and we heard the opening strains of "Man of Constant Sorrow" for a moment. Everyone laughed. Lynn would have loved that. She probably would have said he should go on and play that instead.

We just got back from my sister's house in Tupelo. I guess that was the last hurrah of Christmas 2005 for my family. We did have church services on Christmas Day, in addition to the 11:00 PM C. Eve service. Also went to R's family in town here. Ate a bunch of stuff, including too many sweets. And there were gift exchanges of course. Among other things, I received a collection of short stories by Edith Wharton that I did not previously have, as well a book by Ann Rule, and from F, a gorgeous book about Queen Victoria's granddaughters. Q. Victoria and the next two or three generations after her are a hobby of F's and mine, although F is a little more interested in the Russian royals; of course, that's all connected. The picture on the dust jacket is so beautiful that she had to struggle to give the book to me rather than keep it for herself. I appreciate the sacrifice. From me and R and the cats, F received DVDs: "Gigi", "My Fair Lady", and "V: The Final Battle"; a collection of Katherine Anne Porter short novels; a nice leather jacket; gift certificates for iTunes and McDonalds; some appropriately nerdy t-shirts from thinkgeek.com; and some stuff for her computer. R's main gift was an overcoat that he needed, and he picked out one he really liked. F had some thoughtful gifts for him too. So we're set, and I'll go to bed soon, because somehow I have to go to work tomorrow.

The concert went well. My parents came up for it like they always do. The music included a very nice arrangement of "O Holy Night", some contemporary stuff and some carols and so forth, but as always my very favorite was the "Hallelujah Chorus" which we did last. I liked all of the other music, but the Handel just seemed transcendent, like if you were going to call the other stuff "music" you should invent a different word for it. It seemed that way to me anyway. I could do nothing but baroque the rest of my life and never miss the rest. It's the real deal.

Well, I enjoyed the orchestra's encore, too: Leroy Anderson's "Sleigh Ride".

We had Thanksgiving dinner today at R's parents' house, with two of his brothers, his two sisters, and the youngest sister's children, who are 9, 7, 5, and 3 years old, respectively.

The 5-year-old, Ryan, is a fiend for trains. Two years ago at Thanksgiving my sister-in-law asked each child what he was thankful for. The oldest said "God." The second said, "My sister, Sarah, because she is so sweet." Ryan, who was 3 then, said, "Trains."

So today he and I sat together and looked through a picture book telling the story of the Nutcracker. We looked at all the pictures and talked about them. Each page had a pull-out and we had to work those. He was very interested and enthusiastic. Then we got to the last page. He looked at it in bemusement and said, "Where are the trains?" I said, "I don't think there are any." "Oh, man!" What a waste, you know, he had sat through the entire book for nothing. Then he remembered his manners - all these kids are excruciatingly polite - and told me it was a very nice book. And then he left it without a backward glance.

I wonder what Ryan would have fixed on if he had been born before there were trains.