Chapter 6 #2
Mama carefully removed the bowl from the microwave and slathered hot, melted butter on her homemade rolls.
The scent was yeasty. Heavenly. Made me want to reach over and snag a roll or three.
Doing so was risky. Not due to shameful, luscious calories.
But because family would come through the door swinging.
We maintained a southern tradition of Sunday-after-church family dinners.
As Granny progressed in age, despite her protests that she was still capable, my mother and her siblings started rotating hosting duties to keep Granny from being overworked, fatigued.
Aunt Bert, Uncle Ross, and others would stroll in any minute, arms loaded with meal contributions.
Not one of them played about Mama’s pillow-soft rolls.
They’d eat their fill and still take some home.
“Didn’t I tell you girls these stories when you were little?”
I shrugged, struggling with a hazy recollection.
Mama pursed her lips as if chiding herself for neglect.
“Shame on me if I didn’t. You’re sure Mama or your aunts made no mention?
” She moved on without waiting for a response.
“What I recall is—and mind you these are vague memories—something about Nana Nettie, or maybe her mother, being saved… rescued by Grandma Zinnie.”
“Saved how?”
Mama tightened the strings of the apron about her waist and tilted her head.
“I don’t recall. Let’s ask—” She stopped, leaving me to intuit she was about to suggest asking Granny only to remember her mother’s memory challenges.
“Want to look through The Treasury to see if you find anything? She may be the mid-1800s gap Pauletta and I still haven’t figured out. ”
“Sure, I’ll look.” Mama and her youngest sister, Pauletta, were our family historians and archivists.
The Treasury was their neatly compiled and lovingly maintained photo albums, notebooks, and ledgers containing invaluable photographs, newspaper clippings, documents, notes on scraps of paper—even original or replicated marriage licenses, death and birth certificates.
The family tree they’d created on an online ancestry site was both breathtaking and amazing.
Mama and Aunt Pauletta were our Alex Haley and Henry Louis Gates, mining the treasures of our family’s story.
“Why the sudden interest, baby girl?”
I reduced the oven’s temperature and slipped Mama’s pretty blue pot-roast-holding Le Creuset inside to stay warm. “Just curious.”
My mother eyed me as if her maternal radar registered me omitting truth in its entirety. She made a grunting sound I interpreted as “Child of mine, quit lying.”
Thankfully she resumed her business without additional comment, making it unnecessary for me to divulge seeing a phantom at church today dressed like Granny’s attic mannequin. “Grab the salmon from the fridge for me, please.”
I complied, thankful she didn’t push the subject. And grateful she was yet here to enjoy life like it was golden.
In the aftermath of a mild stroke a few years back, Mama revamped her lifestyle.
A demanding nursing position, high blood pressure, and a penchant for calorie-dense soul food had contributed to her health scare that terrified me and my siblings.
Her recovery hadn’t been without challenges, but LaVeda Stanford was a champion.
Things that were within her control to adapt or change, she did.
She took up meditation. Water aerobics. And pescatarian nutrition.
She’d scored a twenty-pound weight release and looked beautifully vibrant and healthy.
I felt a hint of pride while handing her those marinated salmon filets for searing for herself and anyone else opting out of pot roast with the rest of us carnivores.
I kissed her cheek.
She smiled brightly. “What’s that for?”
“Taking good care of you so you could still be here.”
“It was that or the six-feet-under alternative.”
“Mama, don’t say that!”
She laughed. “Nette, relax.” She pinched sprigs of dill from the potted herbs on the kitchen windowsill.
Mama had inherited Granny’s green thumb and could, unlike me, grow virtually anything.
Despite the scientific nature of her former profession, she believed in natural remedies and incorporated herbs into most meals.
“I’m not going anywhere any time soon. At least I pray not. I have work to do.”
“Says the busy woman who’s supposed to be retired but still has her hands in everything.” She was active at church, in her Black Nurses sorority, a book club, and an African-American genealogy group that met monthly at the library.
She mixed dill into her salmon seasoning. “What I don’t have my hands in is a good-looking man’s pants—”
“You’re out of order, LaVeda! And on that note, I’m leaving.” I grabbed the charcuterie board Justus and I contributed and exited the kitchen on a gale of Mama’s naughty laughter.
I shook my head, scandalized yet humored by her antics.
I sobered slightly thinking how she’d rarely dated since Daddy’s passing.
She accepted dinner or event invitations, but little progressed beyond that.
Mama was independent. Protective. Extremely family oriented.
Bria, Shay, and I constantly reminded her we were good and grown.
And gone. She was an empty nester, a vibrant and beautiful woman.
I possessed zero need to know about her hands in anyone’s pants, but she certainly deserved to love again.
As do you, Lynette.
I ignored that and stepped into the family room, where Granny and Justus snuggled beneath a blanket in an oversized armchair that was once my father’s favorite. Mama refused to discard Daddy’s “throne.” Refurbished, it occupied space as if proud of its endurance.
I smiled at Granny frowning at whatever Justus was showing her on my iPad. “Why’re you two huddled underneath a blanket acting cold like old folks?”
“Because I am old and this Texas weather is loonier than bedbugs in a blender.”
I laughed at Granny’s commentary. She was more like herself today, as she typically was after attending church service.
She was in high spirits and a completely different person from the anxious and confused individual I’d encountered Friday.
If nothing else grounded her and made sense in her world, being in the house of the Lord did.
“Miss Ma’am, it wouldn’t be Texas weather if it wasn’t neurotic.” I peered out the window at a gray day that started out cool but sunny. Now, rain-heavy clouds hugged the sky.
I snagged a couple of napkins from the coffee table and extended the charcuterie board, allowing them to select what they wished.
“Mom, I’m gonna teach Granny the dance Kendall sent me yesterday.” Justus stuffed a cube of Colby–Jack in his mouth and turned the iPad so I could see a group of millennials bucking and gyrating. “Granny, wanna try it with me?”
“Boy!” I placed the fancy snack tray on the coffee table and locked my son in a bear hug. “I don’t care if Kendall’s your best friend. Y’all won’t have Granny breaking hips and ish.”
She swatted my arm. “Stop bothering my favorite descendant!”
“Favorite?” Justus and I were both laughing as I released him. “Well let me take my displaced self to Mama’s office and handle my business.”