The Junk Yard Fishermen

BIG BLACK

This morning as I watched them pull off, I was reminded of a similar day not so very long ago. Same truck, same boat, same team of fishermen. Daybreak caught Big Black, loaded to the gills, (pun intended) riding out, for a day of fishing.

Except this time, there was one minor difference. This time, the teacher, the Daddy, the mentor, was the guest. The passenger. The "buddy" who was asked to go fishing. Mims  has never been very good about being the follower. The one who walks a step behind. The one not in charge. But that day, as today, he was all of those things.

That day after their return, well into the latter part of the day, a conversation about his day transpired. As we moved back and forth on the glider, the words of emotion came tumbling out of Mims and I just sat, rocked, and listened.

Mims began to recite memories from long ago. Standing on bank side with fishing poles at old Mr. Marcus's pond on Hwy 65. Zach was maybe six years old or so. Mims didn't have anything but a little old tug boat with a trolling motor back then. We had all been out in it a few times, but Zach had gotten bigger and was no longer small enough to sit on a cooler between the two of us, so that little boat had been retired. So, as I said, they had taken to bank side fishing at ponds. Never catching very much, but always spending good quality time with one another.

As time moved on, we did buy another boat. A bass boat we could all go out in, but still really just comfortable for two. Zach lost interest in fishing for a few years, so it was mostly Mims and I who took that boat out on any regular basis.

But then, Zach attains his driver's license. And suddenly there is not a pond, a lake, a mine hole, or swimming hole that he doesn't hit a lick at. The little tug boat comes back out of retirement, and man alive, the places that little boat has been in the past year. Zach and his buds's go everywhere and anywhere with that boat. Load it up in the back of somebody's truck and they are off, for their next adventure.

Never thinking his Daddy would be very interested in going out in that little tug boat, not when he had a nice fancy bass boat here at the house, Zach never asked his Daddy to go with him. And then he did. As they pulled out that Easter Sunday morning, it was the first time with son driving and Daddy as passenger.

Now obviously, there were some Easter Sunrise services going on, and as part of the story, this of course was relayed back to me. As they road down Attapulgus HWY, in Big Black, with that tug boat hanging out the back, they happened upon one of those services. Big Black itself is not all that loud, but the huge tires are, and it sure was quiet until they rode by all those people on that church lawn in their Sunday best, looking like the second coming of Fred Sanford in that pick up truck with the boat cocked sideways in the back.

But the sentiment is what got me during that conversation. Mims relayed all the memories of taking Zach here and there, but said he never thought about how strange it was going to be to sit on the other side of a vehicle and have his son, take him fishing. That as they drove, he would glance over at Zach every now and again and wonder where had all the time gone and how in the world did we get to this place so fast. Where was that three year old little boy, who jumped off porches in cowboy boots, that he met when we first moved here, or the five year old who pumped his skinny little legs as hard as they would go when he played tee-ball, and the seven year old who jumped to the sky on his bike ramps.

Mims is not much for mush and gush. But I could tell those feelings had been weighing on him for the better part of that day. So this morning when I saw them pulling out, I wondered, would today feel the same for Mims, or would this, too, be old school by now, and just the way it is supposed to be.

As I walked back inside, and went about my chores for the morning, my mind drifted back to his Sanford and Son reference from a couple of months ago. And it wasn't long before I caught myself humming the theme song, and smiling to myself thinking about those big old tires bouncing up and down, all the way down Attapulgus Hwy, one more time.

And In One Fell Swoop

As he talked and talked and talked...I felt further and further away. Sometimes that happens. Often, the differences and distances are alarming. There have been times that I have drifted off into my own thoughts, even as I could still hear his voice crackling over the airwaves in my ear, wondering, when did it happen? When did we become so unalike. When did I become so simple. So ordinary. And he, so not.

Even when he is here, sometimes it is days before I see what I believe, what I remember to be, the boy I used to know. If I look quickly, I see flashes of him. Maybe those are not really flashes. Maybe they are just remnants of what used to be. Someone I used to know.

The speech is different. The words are levels above my head. The sound is grown and sure. There is no longer a little boy standing in front of me, fists clenching in and out, speaking with motion instead of words. Gone is the child climbing onto my bed with as many books as his little hands could carry, some of them coming loose from his grip in the journey, crashing to the ground, as he asks to be read to, in that little voice that could never be denied.

No longer resembling the teenager, unsure of himself or others, he stands before me a man. Somewhere he left me behind. I'm really not sure when it happened. I try and think back to a specific time or event, something that would jar my memory, and make me recall the day, I lost a part of my soul.

For nine months I carried him within the walls of my own confinement. A netting of safety. Protecting him from all that was bad and evil. Blood of my blood, two hearts beating as if one. For eighteen years or better, I was his Super Hero complete with cape and all. I wiped his tears and covered the scrapes and scratches with band aids. And the bruises only a Mama could see, I covered with my gentle words and my strong heart.

He lost his innocence many times between the ages of eighteen and twenty six. Love innocence, family innocence and the most difficult of all, life innocence.  But this past week, he lost his heart and his mind to something bigger than I think even he could have ever imagined. And now, he wants to become a permanent part of that new life. That new land. And all of those new stories and experiences all of the above will surely bring.

Maybe he was really made for fairy tale lands and a Harry Potter life. Maybe he never really was  of this world at all. Maybe I brought a true character into this world, instead of a child, or an adult. Maybe his glasses are not rose colored, but multi-spectrum like a kaleidoscope. Maybe he can only see in fragments and segue ways. Maybe the only life his mind wants to experience is far away lands and beautiful history. Maybe that is what he was made to do, how he was meant to live.

I can't compete with buildings that are as beautiful as they are thousands of years old. Or history that comes to life before your very eyes. Or beautiful lilting voices that release vowels as if they are musical notes from the tongue. Or mummies and palaces, monstrous museums, and birth places of artists past, too talented to simply be called, artists. Parks that are used for scenery in too many movies to count, and bakery's so delicious, it would seem they invented the wheel. The pastry wheel.

But I can cook like my Southern Alabama Mama taught me. Whether it's smothered in fancy sauces or the healthiest food you could eat, it sure is some good home cooking. I still know when your skin breaks out, one of the first things one does in an allergy ridden family is to change washing detergents and personal body soaps. I can barter with sales people better than any man I know, including the worst of all, car salesmen. I will go to battle for you and fight harder for you than anyone else you will ever know. And I will always be the best person to talk to when your heart is hurting or life deals you a crappy hand.

All good mothers know our roles will wither away. The need for us and our over-bearing, over-caring ways will slowly fade. But it's still hard. It still hurts. And London England is a long, long way from home. I brought you into this world to do great things. To be the greatest person on earth. To see everything you could see and do everything you every dreamed of doing. So if I get left behind, that's what's supposed to happen. It's the evolution of  a prosperous life. And it's what every Mother dreams of for her child, no matter that it sure is hard to see you across the ocean, standing from the front porch steps of our lives.

Tallyho...and all of that you know. Onward my son. To wherever you think the path of life is leading you. Romp those brick laden paths with those Georgia Boots we on this side of the world, affectionately call, shit-kickers. And cry with joy and excitement every time you think of how close you were to Harry Potter and his wonderful fantasy world.  Maybe one day soon, the two worlds will collide again, and you will be Harry Potter, if only when you close your eyes.

And Suddenly, Here We Are

Everyday for the past few weeks, I have come home and there is another one in the mailbox. All of these envelopes with names of children on them. Little boys who played Tiny Mites football and little girls who took ballet lessons at Miss Lucretia's in Bainbridge Georgia. Children who were dressing like tough Ninja's and sweet Fairies this past Halloween. Children who made casts and cut outs of their hand prints for Christmas decorations and Turkey's for the Thanksgiving table centerpiece. All of these things just happened. Right?

Then today, I open up my laptop and sign on to the internet. I type in my password for Face Book. I haven't been on all day. Time to see what's going on with everybody. Well, I'll tell you what's going on. My own child, my own little boy, became a Senior in high school today when I wasn't looking. I turn my back for one minute, and BOOM..it's just about over.

Zach is my last child in the high school grade system. Next year I will have one child in his last year of High School and another son in his last year of Graduate School. One will have a high school diploma and the other will have a Master's degree. One will be eighteen years old, the other will be twenty-seven.

I want to go back. I want them to go back to ages sixteen and seven. When they were already becoming best friends. And sixteen loaned seven his clothes for a rockin' out performance in a school lip sync contest with his best friend Dustin Watson. Back to eleven and two, when one could make the other giggle endlessly without saying a word. Back to eighteen and nine, as one watched the other give the speech of his life as Valedictorian of his high school, and he beamed with pride as his brother stood tall and grown at the podium and received a standing ovation. And back to fourteen and five as one watched the other play tee-ball and run with the mightiest might and determination he had ever seen, all in the name of winning and being the best for his big brother.

All of those envelopes represent everything we have all been working toward. Raising these Ninja's and Fairies to be good, smart, and responsible adults. For them to be able to stand on their own two feet and make good, solid, considered decisions. For them to stand together, all as one, in their cap and gowns and be able to say, this is me, and I did it.

So, guess what? We will cry. We will beam with pride. We will hold on tight to each others hands. And we will stand and applaud as they walk into the future we have tried to introduce them to. And then, as the days pass, and the excitement is over, we will have the pictures developed.  We will look through them, and we will cry some more. Because that's just what parents do.

Happy Graduation to all the Senior's. Congratulations on all your accomplishments.  We know you're excited. You've worked for this all of your life. But if you could just cut us old folks a little slack, we sure would appreciate it. And in return, we'll try and not clutch you too tight. Or cut off your circulation when hugging you in front of all your fellow graduates. We'll try to remember to wear water proof mascara so our faces are not streaming black liquid. And if we feel ourselves hyperventilating, we'll try and have the presence of mind to take our overwhelmed selves outside before we place the paper bag over our face.  I said, we'll try, but I'm not making any promises.

Mama Gets A Helping Hand

From the minute I became pregnant at twenty-two years old, I knew, I was meant to be somebody's Mama. Every day, every minute, and all the seconds that I carried each child in my womb, I knew that we would be forever joined in mind, body and soul. 

What I did not know, is that at the age of thirty-three years old, for all intent and purposes, I would become Mama and Daddy to both of my children. I would make all the major decisions, sit all alone in many emergency rooms on weekends when doctors are not in their offices, tend to all the homework assignments, and hug away most of the tears. I had no idea just how much my life was about to change. 

It would be me who packed every book bag and every lunch box.  Worried about the jacket I let them leave at home that morning, because it was warm at 7am but by 2pm when school was letting out, a cold front had come through and the temperature had dropped fifteen degrees, causing me to fret about how cold would they be walking from the bus stop to the house. Or the toy I forgot was supposed to be taken for show and tell. And how I would worry they would be the only one without something to show. And worst of all, all the school programs where my boys would be the only one with one parent in attendance. 

Somewhere along the way, I was no longer alone. I met a man, who even though he was not the father of my children, nor my husband for many years to come, never missed a tee-ball game, a band performance, school function, tiny mites football, birthday party, or graduation.

Finally I had someone who would truly share his love and attention with my boys.  He gave advice, built fences, taught them to cut grass, create man sheds, listened to their stories, how their days went, and love them unconditionally no matter what. My boys were calling him their Daddy long before I ever even knew it. 

The point of this story today is to say this....I think I'm a better Mama today because of the man who would become their Bonus Daddy. I was taught patience I did not have, reasoning I never considered, and that it was alright to share. It was alright to let someone else take the lead, to walk ahead of me and me behind for a change, and that the world would not stop if I didn't have the last say, or the loudest opinion. 

I appreciate that my job was made easier. I am grateful that someone loved my two boys with so much love, that no one knows the difference between what's blood or water. And I am forever proud that I now have an extra ear to listen, shoulder to cry on, and humor when I tend to take myself or situations too seriously. 

Thank you Mims...for asking me to marry you. And for helping me to be a better Mama for my boys.  I take my job as a Mother very seriously and because of you, I have learned to take it lightly and more loosely when I need to as well.

Happy Mother's Day to all the mother's I know. It's a hard job, it's a full time job, and the pay is for crap....don't ever let anybody tell you any different. But the benefits we all reap far outweigh the problems or the heartaches. And everybody knows, there ain't no one in this world who will ever love you like your Mama loves you. And that's a fact.

Sycamore Trees And Cinnamon Toast

For most of my childhood, my MaMa Eloise was my best friend. I told her everything. She would laugh as hard as me at jokes, funny people and just general silliness. She was a very little woman in stature, about 5 foot tall, maybe. Wore a size 5 shoe. The only thing big was her tummy area. I had two MaMa's, both in Phenix City. I decided at an early age, that so I could distinguish between the two, I 'named' them...Big MaMa (Eloise) and Sara MaMa (my mother's mother). I am told at first, she was not very pleased. As a small child, I guess you don't know any better. You do what works for you. All I know, is I called her that into adulthood, until she passed. I didn't know until much later into adulthood that she didn't like it at first, because she never said a word. I'm guessing she knew I meant no harm.

When she would laugh, her whole body would shake. The good kind of laugh, the most real of all. And Lord, did we laugh. My love for books came from my MaMa. She would read to me, buy me books. One of my favorite books to date, is the Uncle Remus Story Book she gave me. And every book was inscribed and dated. My Joshua has that book now. I read those stories to him when he was little. I don't like to brag, but I could do those voices like nobody's business! Brer' Rabbit and De' Tar Baby..classic story book telling material. She had books all over her house. And most summers, at least one day was dedicated to romping thru Used Book Stores. The kind you could bring books in and swap as well.

She taught me how to cross-stitch very early. I loved it. We made pot holders with that ropey looking stuff you tied on a frame. And she taught me how to iron. I don't know how many other people are aware, but back in the day, every man's undershirt, handkerchiefs and undershorts were ironed. Yes sir. I have a small scar on my wrist from learning how to iron. That was one of my favorite things to do..sounds unreal since that is the thing I hate most to do now.

She was thrifty if she wasn't anything else. She would buy bread and freeze it. I don't think I have ever known anyone else who froze loaf bread. I never went to her house that she didn't have fig newtons, ice cream and the best oatmeal ever made. We would make milkshakes, real milkshakes, with ice cream, milk, vanilla flavoring, sugar and a blender. She made real cinnamon toast too. Not that fake cinnamon sugar you buy now. She made her own with real sugar and cinnamon mixed. And soup, some kind of real homemade soup was always in that house. My Granddaddy was Assistant Superintendent of the Russell County School system. He came home for lunch every day. And had a bowl of soup and a sandwich. Every single day.

There was no dishwasher and I loved washing her dishes. Her kitchen windows went all the way across the back. They were huge, wide open windows. I would stand there and wash dishes and look out over her yard. Right smack in the middle was a big, beautiful Sycamore Tree. She had Dogwoods and Pines all thru her yard as well. She had clotheslines way in the back that we would hang out clothes on during the summer. She had a dryer, but the line was used in warm weather. The redwood deck that was on the back of their house went all the way across the back of the house. We would sit out there a lot, early mornings and later in the evenings after supper. That woman loved a stray cat. She fed them all.

When I got older, I loved to cut their grass during the summer. And one year, I begged for them to let me on top of their house to sweep off the pine straw. That seems a bit surreal to me now as climbing on the 2nd rung of a ladder makes me break into a cold sweat!

I have a lot of wonderful memories from that house. When my grandmother passed and my granddaddy remarried, he sold that house and moved about 5 miles up the road. That was very upsetting for me. Not only was my best friend gone, but now every childhood memory I had was gone. And strangers would be walking all thru the house amongst my memories. After he moved, the first few visits to see him in his new house, I would drive by and look at their old house. But I only did it twice, it was just too painful.

The 2nd summer my Granddaddy lived in his new house, we had gone to visit. He told me to come outside, in the back yard, he had something to show me. We walked out thru the sliding glass doors, and right smack in the middle of his new back yard, he had planted a Sycamore Tree. At some point, he sure must have been paying attention to me. I know I talked about that other tree at his old house a lot when they lived there. It was just an amazing tree. Huge and perfectly spread out over their yard. The shade it provided was unreal. Maybe he needed to plant the new Sycamore tree to make it a home as much as I needed it to make it feel like his home for me.

It wasn't very big when he planted it. But when he passed some 13 odd years later, that tree had gotten pretty big. And now it too, sat very pretty, right smack in the middle of that back yard. Last summer, I planted a Sycamore Tree in my backyard. I cannot wait until it spreads it's limbs and re-shapes the way my backyard looks.

Life is all about memories, big and small, significant and insignificant. The memories are what get us through. To be able to close your eyes, and be right back where you were years and years ago. The smells, the sights, and the people. And the trees, even the trees. Sycamore trees. Their leaves are huge and when they drop they are some kind of messy, but man alive, I sure do love those trees.

copyright © 2010 Michelle Mount Mims

Bring On The Heat

I know I'm going to be old one day. Heck, I've got a good foothold headed in that direction already! And I know right now, my life is all about hot flashes, flushed faces, and lots of cold air conditioning. But I'll just be suwannee, if I can imagine myself lying around with blankets piled on my legs and thick socks that climb to my knees. 

I love my Mama and Daddy like you cannot believe, but to spend the night at their home anymore is just excruciating! From the minute you walk in their door, you instinctively want to start removing your clothes. My Daddy used to be just as hot-natured as myself, but once he had his heart bypass surgery about four years ago, something changed. He was my only ally for the air conditioner to run at sub-zero and now he is no longer on my side either. He walks around in sweat pants in the middle of July and my Mother wears a sweater year round'.

As you all know, I recently visited them this past weekend. I came into town for the Relay For Life Walk and stayed with my folks over night.  I don't know what was wrong with me, but I completely forgot the things I usually bring along for surviving these over night stays. Yes, that's what I said, FOR SURVIVAL. One of them is a fan. They have ceiling fans in all the bedrooms, but that is not enough. BELIEVE ME.

So as I lay there this past Friday night, cursing myself for forgetting part of my survival paraphernalia, my mind began whirling around. I couldn't sleep, might as well entertain myself. Thinking in third voice as I often do, because I often write in third voice as well, my brain seems to circulate my thoughts in the same manner, these are the thoughts that were going through my mind.

1.  So as she flips and turns, she wonders, how many house fires are created from hot as fire legs trying to find the cool spot on some hot as fire sheets in a hot as fire house.

2.  She also wonders why the heck these old people paid good flippin' money to have their A/C repaired five times last summer? All they seem to use is the heater. They should have just installed a sauna and been done with it.

3. And though she knows she is on diet, she is also cannot fathom how in the world she came to the house of bran flakes and rye bread, and didn't pack hidden crackers in her suitcase for food supplement.

4.  She is wishing she had scarfed down two pieces of ILLEGAL chocolate cake at the walk instead of only one.

5.  She is also alternately praying between hunger pains and hot flashes that the ceiling fan above her head does not twist itself off the frame as she has it on high and it sounds like a helicopter with a propeller gone bad.

6. She daydreams, because sleep is OUT of the question, that they will find her sunburnt and shriveled come morn'.  Which at this point, is only three hours away now.

7.  She thinks, I am in hell, with the scent of BURNING potpourri all around me, and the flames are licking at my legs from all the friction of sliding them around, still bent on finding a cool spot. 

8.  That black bran bread is sounding better and better, she wonders what that really turns into once it's inside of your body. They cooked her noodles and string beans mixed together for supper. Never had that before in her life. They are on a diet. They are 70+ years old. They are already healthier than half the people I know. They will probably out live me she thinks.

9.  She is trying to imagine just how hot it really is, then she remembers, her folks "cutting the air down" for bedtime. To SEVENTY FIVE FLIPPIN' DEGREES. They should have saved that time for something more productive, like packing my body down with ice cubes. She is sure they will fret for days how much 'extra' electricity they will have burned. She thinks, I can cover that. I'll just leave a case quarter on the nightstand.

10. Then she begins to try and find the positives in all of this. Ah, here is one. She won't have to shave her legs in the morning, because she will have rubbed all the hair slap off her legs from scrubbing them looking for cool spots all night long! And here's another, she will surely lose at least 10 pounds from sweating to death!

11. I'm sure you are all screaming about now.."OPEN THE WINDOW". Because surely, it is cooler OUTSIDE, than it is in that house. Well, here within lies the best part. They live in a very nice home. In a very nice neighborhood. However, the prior owner was an elderly woman who was a very scared woman when her husband passed. The lengths she went to feel secure would astound you. One of those precautions, was NAILING ALL THE WINDOWS SHUT. So, short of me possessing a hammer and pulling those nails out one by one, that's out.

I finally fell asleep around 3am. It was an abrupt and restless sleep all three hours long. I awoke again at 6:51 am just as hot as I had fell asleep. I got up, took a cold shower, got dressed, went outside to their covered carport, sat in the swing and proceeded to put on my make up. It was 14 degrees cooler OUTSIDE than it was in their house. I was ten minutes into my cool down when my Mother stepped outside to ask me would I like a (HOT) cup of coffee. I said, "Yes please, that would be lovely", because that is what good daughters do. 


One day my children, especially that one that's a writer (wink wink) will probably be writing old lady stories about me. But that's alright, my hot flashes will be gone by then, and most likely, the better part of my memory and the rest of my 'give a dang' filter. And if that book makes enough money to pay for my corned toed pedicures, then have at it my son! Make up stuff if you have to, cause I plan on being pretty ornery when I get that old, and my nursing staff will have to be well paid to put up with me I am sure. My sweet, sweet parents are going to be a breeze compared to what I have in store for my children ;)

And Then There Was HOPE

This time a year ago, there were so many of us who were worried about what the rest of her treatment would bring. She was already so very sick. So hard to imagine survival, when you are spending more days than not in and out of the hospital, and most always in severe pain. So hard to understand that to feel better, to live, you have to endure more pain and suffering than you could have ever imagined possible.

Last year the Relay Walk barely saw Patti. She had literally gotten out of the hospital that day, and it took everything she had, but she meant she was going to make an appearance. So many people were there in her honor, and she would not let them down or disappoint them.

And survived it she did. In grand fashion to boot. This past Friday night at the Relay for Life Walk, she was able to strut her stuff with the best of them. So many of her friends, family and fellow church members once again reigned the tent which bared her name. They were all so proud to be a part of Team Patti!

Friday night meant so many things for me as well. I was able to meet new friends, only prior known through Patti and Face Book. To Mrs. Colleen Davis, her husband Rex, and her sons Larry and Barry, it was indeed my pleasure to put faces with the names. And I got to see girls I went to school with and was babysat by, that I have not seen in thirty years or better.  My grand at the laughter. The catching up. And honestly for the most part, because of Face Book, it seemed like we could all just pick up where we left off. We all sat there and talked about things in present time, because we are able to follow each others lives in just that manner.

I was able to watch Jenny and Patti in action again. This time, it felt more familiar but just as warm and wonderful. I don't know what either one of them would do without the other, but I doubt they will ever have to worry about that. 

We stood outside of porta-potties, in the pitch black dark, about to die to use the restroom, but scared to go in. Illuminating each others way with cell phone lighting, loud raucous laughter, and hilarious comments.  And amazingly enough, it was a unanimous decision, that the mens' porta-potties would most likely be cleaner, as they all stand upright to do most of their 'business'. So as we all stood guard as one at the time went in, the looks on the mens' faces as they came around to 'their' side was priceless.

And when it was time to go, we rode circles amongst circles in the parking lot looking for long ago parked vehicles. Because by now it was late, very dark, and nothing looked familiar anymore. Sweet Debbie White and her just as sweet daughter Haley, deposited both Tina Back and myself right to the driver's door of both our vehicles, with her extra sweet husband Jerry White in tow. Because he was of course, making sure nothing happened to ANY of us.  And let me just say this, sweet Jerry also hung tight all night long, right by his beautiful wife's side, while a bunch of silly hens cackled and talked and never once did he look impatient, bored or ready to escape. What a lucky girl that Debbie is...and as she said herself, her Jerry, is her everything. I saw it, and I believe it.

It's amazing to me what life can bring, the turns it will make, and the loose ties it will wrap and bind together.  As I sat in the back of Debbie White's vehicle last night, it felt just as normal as it felt surreal. Before Face Book and before God's hand in Patti's life and ours, who knows if anything we all experienced would have ever happened in that sequence. It certainly gives a new and greater meaning to "everything happens for a reason".

I have no idea why Patti was chosen. Was she the strongest? Was she the one mostly likely to struggle through it? Or was she simply the most central focal point that would bring so many people from so many tangled and distant directions back together?  I am so sorry for her struggles but so grateful for her survival and it's results.

God bless all the Survivors and God bless the Ones who were called Home, forced to surrender. Amen.