I couldn’t begin to tell you how many times I’ve said “you just never know when the last time you see somebody’ll be.”
And, for me, it’s always been true. I didn’t realize that Parker wouldn’t be there on the first day of third grade. I thought that “Big Mama” would still be arguing with my Daddy when I got home from Summer Camp at Rockbrook. I just knew for sure that Ric was “ten feet tall and bullet-proof.” And when I left for College, I unknowingly hugged my “Boppa” for the last time.
And so these things have shaped me. I love without hesitation. I tend to put up with a little bit more BS than the average person before I declare a “write off.” And when the sun does set on my anger, it’s always with the heaviest of hearts . . . Because you just never know.
So I said a special prayer on Good Friday - a great big special prayer thanking God for sending me all those little reminders. Because every time I got the wind knocked out of me, it reinforced that lesson and reminded me that you just never know.
Because . . .
Because “she” knew that I thought she made the best oatmeal cookies in the whole wide world. Because - Because she was my hero when she and my Momma picked up all those records that an 18 wheeler dropped on I-75 and loaded them into the back of the Woody. Because I’ll never forget the way she looked at me when I walked in the back door with a red clay four-wheeler tire print that ran up and down the length of my body. Because she knew how happy it made me to hear her laugh into the wee hours as my very first friend and I swapped slightly exaggerated tales in the study. And because, even though I didn’t realize that the last time Gail Davis asked me to go fishing with her that it would be the last time I would ever get a chance to . . . because even though we never got to go, she knew how much I loved her. I thanked God because I couldn’t think of one single thing that I didn’t get to say.
And then I cleared my schedule.
I didn’t cut the grass, paint my toes, I didn’t even wash the pollen off my car. I haven’t written a Toast in months. The loss made me hyper-aware of every minute, as if each was a tiny grain of sand, just looking for a way to slip between my fingers. So I grabbed on for dear life, I held on tight to each and every one of them, and I tried to make “Granny Oakley” proud!
I made a Toast to my very first 100 point wine with Kate Lewis, had several special cocktails at the Saint Regis, and - stunned by the beauty of the Beluga at The Aquarium - spilled my fancy onion parfait absolutely everywhere.
I had after school special time in the land of Mothers Tucker, running carpool with Amanda and drying Maggie’s tears with Beth.
The Toast of my time in Saint Simons was waking up early with my nephew Tucker, jumping waves with Katie Grace, and drooling over the coleslaw at Gnat’s Landing . . . and the chorizo quesadillas at Bubba Garcia’s . . . and the popsicles at “Aunt” Jan’s!
I Toasted Nan Solomon in “Hello Dolly!” at Theatre Macon. And as long as I live I will pray every night that I wake up just a little bit more like her – a woman whose Moxie inspires me every time I see her on stage.
The second weekend in May led me out to Walnut Creek . . . and the only men in Macon that I cook for – the Rotary Cooking Committee: Eddie, Brother, Henry, Chip, Charlie, Trip, Buck & the rest of the gang. A group that I am humbled and honored to be a member of, I’d have to say that Eddie is my favorite. I just melt over the way that he punctuates his more cheeky comments with the swift end of a cane in the ribcage.
Then . . . Brother’s Birthday Party! Brother’s party, Brother’s party, Brother’s party. To say that this was the most elegant, magical, and exquisite evening I have ever spent amongst so many of my friends would be . . . well it just wouldn’t even begin to describe what I experienced. Deidra and Darling Mr. Foshee outdid themselves in spades. In my dreams, I’ll blow out my own candles on an evening like that one day. Hey! Never hurts to shoot for the stars.
And little bit closer to home I attended another Birthday party. Tinsley Martha Loyd turned one. I call her my T-Heart. So the other day – when I spent a good 20 minutes with a boogie on my finger because I didn’t want to risk moving and waking her and her Mother looked at me and said “That’s love. That. Is. LOVE” – that precious time that I had been so keenly aware of lately just stood completely still for a minute or two.
I spent more nights at Honey’s house, cooking . . . Spiced Pear Pork Chops, Andouille & Quinoa with Fig Sauce, Redfish Tacos, Butternut Squash, Aubergines (sub: fresh herbs, Italian panko, & fresh mozz) New Orleans Style Barbecue Shrimp, Cheese Biscuits, and LOTS of fresh veggies.
And I met Momma out at Charlane for the best Turkey Burgers I’ve ever had, reminiscing about Dream Girls & Cornucopia, a dip in the pond, a wonderful little ring on the tellie as the rain fell on the barn roof, Champagne on the porch at Bullard House, a dinner party where Rose Lane Leavell, Wild Turkey & Georgia Quail stole the show, and an after dinner drink as Chuck stole it right back. They’ve been given awards for growing trees out there on that gorgeous plantation. But I think that it’s Authentic Southern Hospitality they’ve got a prize-winning green thumb for.
After that, I went fishing. A very special fishing trip with a fellow that all of Momma’s (above mentioned) girlfriends . . . Jan, and Rose Lane, and (yes) Gail . . . would approve of.
(To Be Continued)
aS
Doctor Turvy Suggests . . .
July 23 - 26: Veuve . . . on the porch at Bullard House!
(Ooh Girl It Is SOOO!) Hot this week . . .
Billy Reid - I'm OBSESSED!
Potential '-) Summer Trips to Blackberry Farm & Cumberland
Impending :-) trips to Eastern Market & The VisionFest STUCK! Premiere
Baby Jorts!
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