Snippets of a Life

Snippets of a Life

  Marsha Phillips

  Copyright 2012 by Marsha Phillips

  The more I think about it,

  The more I like the idea of writing a book. I like the notion that stories and facts so special to me, not end with me. Many of the memories are just those, not whole long stories just snippets that stand out in my mind, like bright bits of sea glass on the shore.

  Like the time...

  My sister Leah and I were taking my grand-daughters Kayle and Taylor on a birthday weekend shopping trip down to Destin. Any of you that have ever traveled across the toll bridge from Blue Water Bay to Destin will be familiar with the Marina that has the huge murals of sea creatures painted on the outside walls. There is even a place to stop so you can take pictures. I have always got a laugh out of it being called "The Whaling Wall", and I was sharing the joke with my girls as we drove over the bridge.

  "Kayle and Taylor that is a play on words, I know you have heard of the Wailing Wall in Jerusalem...and this is called the Whaling Wall, isn't that neat?"

  My sister looked over at me and said, in all seriousness, “I didn't know they had whales in the city of Jerusalem."

  A lot of my memories deal with my parents. Goodness gracious, some of their conversations were hilarious!!

  Mama would talk about any subject, Dad much less so. Once, many years ago, Mama and I were talking on the subject of funerals, specifically hers, like what music she wanted and flowers and such. Dad came through the living room and heard what we were talking about. To my surprise, he sat down and joined in the conversation.

  He said that for his funeral, he was being brought home and laid out in front of the fireplace, old style.

  Mama raised one eyebrow and said," You can lay up at that funeral home where you belong!"

  Then Dad said he had already recorded his own eulogy, to be played during his funeral.

  Mama replied with finality..." You can lay there and be quiet too!!"

  My mother died in November of 2009 and I wrote the following one year later…

  Ain't no grave...

  Strange, I was going to do a complete pass on Thanksgiving this year because it is the 25th, the first anniversary of my Mama's death. But here it is the Sunday before, up to my eyebrows preparing to serve a big holiday meal. I knew when I found a smoked turkey, it was inevitable. Mama absolutely spoiled us forever with smoked turkey. To me it is soooooo much better than a roasted one.

  The thing about expecting company is it doesn’t give you a lot of time to brood and be sad. There is the cleaning, the prep work and then the cooking. By Weds, I will be going full bore and memories of the pain of a year ago will be pushed to the back of my mind. On Thurs, so much to do, so many things to talk about, good food and laughter to share. But in late afternoon, things will slow back down and I will find myself alone and standing, once again, looking down at a plot of ground, memories now free to overwhelm me, reliving the heartbreak but with it will be the inevitable realization, I made it...I made it through the saddest year, the year of firsts...first Christmas, Easter, Mother’s Day, our shared birthday without her...I made it.

  Mama and I talked about anything and everything. Death was not a taboo subject. She once told me she want the song "Ain't no grave gonna hold my body down" played at her funeral, Daddy was scandalized. She told me how hard it would be, how it is for everyone when they lose a loved one. But, she said, you tough it out and move on. Giving up and wallowing in grief forever is not an option; it would be showing disrespect to those who have gone. I rarely go to the cemetery, because my Mama isn’t in that cold, lonely ground. No grave can hold her down. My Mama is in her garden, or watching her hummingbirds, reading her favorite books, or just sitting on the front porch, watching the day turn to dusk. My Mama is no longer in pain, my Mama can walk again, walk for hours just like she used to. My Mama lives on, in her children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren, I see her every day when I look in the mirror. I don’t look a thing like her, but I act like her, even more so than my siblings. My Daddy used to say, when he would get exasperated with me for being stubborn and not backing down, “You are getting to be just like your Mama!" And now, more than ever, I know what a wonderful compliment he was paying me.....Just like my Mama? Dam right I am, and proud of it!

  Daddy died in 2011 suddenly of a massive heart attack. Mama was ill for so long, we knew that is was only a matter of time, but losing Daddy like we did nearly destroyed me. I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t cry, and couldn’t mourn. But then, mercifully, I was given relief.

  The rest of the story...

  Have you ever had a dream so real that you knew without a doubt it was true? I had such a dream last night and it keeps playing through my mind over and over. I am writing it down because I want my sisters and brother, as well as any of my friends and family who have lost someone to feel the absolute relief and calmness I feel at this moment.

  He loved flying, always had...especially in a helicopter but this time the only feelings he had were crushing pain in his chest and panic. He felt the vibrations of the chopper revving up for lift-off and then he realized the paramedic was trying to tell him something as they were lifting off the ground, but the sound was so loud, he couldn't make out what the man was saying. And the pain, the pain was so bad. The paramedic touched his shoulder and pointed out the window. Turning his head, he could make out a group of people, standing just under the canopy of the ambulance entrance of the hospital. He felt a tug on his heart that had nothing to do with the heart attack. He could see his daughters there along with other kin, two of his girls huddled together crying, his oldest standing apart waving at him, tears streaming down her face. He raised his arm to wave back, as if to say, "It is alright, Daddy will make it be alright," then they were gone from his sight, the pain overwhelmed him and the night sky was all around him. Suddenly, he heard the tone of the paramedic's voice change, become more urgent and he felt the man holding his wrist, but somehow it all was becoming so....unimportant...the pain was fading, the stars were getting closer as the chopper rose higher and then.........quiet....sweet blessed quiet...no roar of the helicopter, no voices, frantic with worry asking him if he was alright...just quiet.

  Slowly, gradually, he caught the scent of something that filled him with pleasure. Absolutely nothing could beat the smell of pine on the wind. He opened his eyes and found himself standing in the middle of a dirt road, the sunlight filtering down through the trees, dappling the ground at his feet. He drew in a deep breath and realized with relief that all the pain was gone. He felt good; better than he had in years! The air had that first hint of fall in it, such a change from the oppressive summer heat that had seemed to go on forever this year. He started walking down the road and now he noticed his knees weren't giving him a fit like they had for so long. He stopped for a moment, listening. He could almost swear he could hear singing. Strolling down a bit further, he came to a clearing and recognition brought a smile to his face. There before him, he saw the church he had attended as a boy and under the shade of the trees, he saw some ladies placing dishes on the outdoor tables. Hot dog!!! It was an all-day singing and dinner on the grounds!! Those were some of the greatest highlights when he was growing up. The singing in the church ended and he heard a voice so familiar that it brought tears to his eyes ask the congregation to join in prayer. His daddy's voice, strong and sure, praising the Lord and asking for blessings on those left behind to mourn.

  He took a step towards the partially opened door of the old church but a voice stopped him.

  "You are late." He turned and looked down into those big eyes that had caught his heart nearly sixty years ago.

  He smiled when he realized what she was talking about; their anniversary
was the next day.

  "Well, shug, I am over an hour early,"

  Oh, she looked so young, so lovely, not bent with pain and unable to walk or swallow. Not silent and remote as when he last saw her, as he slipped the note in just before they closed the lid on her casket.

  "Oh, hush, Vernon," but the smile on her face took away any sting from the words.

  She took his hand and said. “Come on, they are waiting for us, your Mama wants to see you so much."

  The door of the church opened and there HE stood, hand held out...."Welcome home, son...."

  Cousins

  Mama had 11 brothers and sisters and so I had, I do believe...34 or 35 first cousins, just on that side of the family. There was a 20 year difference between Mama and her oldest sibling. Aunt Gertis. Mama became an aunt at the grand old age of five when my cousin Becky Ann was born.

  The cousins seemed to be in age groups, mine consisted of Joe, Rhonda, Debra Lee and me. We were affectionately known by Grandma Parrish as "The Gang". Affectionately may be a misstatement. She knew us all very well and what we were capable of. I admit, I was probably known as ringleader. I tended to have a very good imagination and yes, I started a lot of mischief. But by golly, it wasn't hard to get them to go along with me!!

  Joe was our go-to guy. Tall, muscular and good looking...perfect hero or villain in whatever game we were playing. Rhonda...long black hair, gorgeous from the day she was born (she always has reminded me of Elizabeth Taylor), graceful and Ladylike...our heroine. Debra Lee, our girl next door, absolutely the sweetest thing in shoe leather. She might have been hesitant but always the trooper, she was game for anything. We played Robin Hood, Superman, and Zorro, whatever had caught our imagination at the time.

  We didn’t get to see each other a lot. Rhonda and Debra Lee lived in Milton, Joe in Florala and I lived out in the middle of the bald piney woods. But every three months or so, if we were lucky, the Parrish clan gathered at Grandma's. Oh, my word, how I looked forward to those times. I would stand on that porch and strain my ears listening for a car to head down Grandma's road. By the time we were all finally there, we were so excited we could have popped! And the food...oh my mercy, those Parrish Girls could cook!!! Grandma could outdo them all though. When the meal was finished, we were out the door and free for the rest of the afternoon. Nearly always, when we got old enough to go alone, the gang walked to the creek and back, it was like a ritual for us. I remember. I could scare Rhonda down to her toenails walking down that road. You all remember the way that old country roads were, the ground baked so hard, it was cracking. trees growing close overhead..out of the hot sunshine and shadows making it look like you were walking in a dim greenish tunnel. I would say, “You see them cracks under your feet?" Her eyes would get big and she would nod, "you know what that means don’t you?"...little shake of her head, long black hair like a raven's wing flowing down her back and she would walk closer to Joe..."That is the devil trying to come up out of the ground!" Suddenly, all you hear is the sound of running feet as Rhonda whirls and heads back up that road. Debra Lee, always kind, hollers at her, "That is not true!!! Marsha is just scaring you again!" Joe, ever the protector, goes back and meets her where she has paused, brings her back to us, and then the true nature of all our relationship shows....Rhonda looks at me and down at the ground, eyeing those cracks, "Is it really the devil?" "Yep, but I'll get Joe to stomp him back down if he breaks through." Joe rolls his eyes and grins, Debra Lee steps up on the other side of Rhonda, I take one of her hands, Debra takes the other, Joe is behind us and for a moment, he touches her shoulder. And the gang, ranging in age from eight to ten...bravely walk down that sun-cracked dirt road.

  Marsha's Rain dance Saga

  (2011 Drought in Alabama)

  Well, desperate times call for desperate measures, so I hauled the boom box out into the front yard, crank up "I love a rainy night" and do my version of a rain dance. Cop pulls up as I am boogying down, and starts writing me a ticket for animal cruelty. I was outraged and demanded an explanation. He pointed to a dog nearby, rolling and howling. The cop said," Few more minutes and the poor thing would have died laughing."

  Days pass and to prove that I am no quitter, plus, there are some clouds in the sky, I drag the boom box outside again and ramp up the volume with the Eurhythmics’, "Here comes the Rain again" and start my rain dance. Feeling the beat, Babies!! I look up and there is that same dratted cop writing me ANOTHER ticket, “What on earth is this one for?!?" He pulls off his shades, looks up and then hands me the ticket, “False advertisement, Ma’am, Dance didn’t work."

  A couple of weeks pass and there I am sitting in my hobbit house, totally, completely bummed about this no rain situation, can't muster up the will to even think about doing my rain dance again. Then, there is a knock on the front door, it is that dratted cop AGAIN...with another ticket in his hand. "But I wasn't dancing. I wasn't even out in the yard!! What on earth is this ticket for??? He replies, straight-faced, “Dereliction of Duty."

  FINALLY, finally after two months of drought, the heavens opened up and the rains came down, so I am dancing out in my downpour, I worked for it, I earned it (after all, it cost me 3 tickets) and I am going to enjoy it! Same cop drives by, turns around, drives back by...but I stand my ground. Just keep on dancing...cop pulls up right by me...I keep on dancing, defiant, ‘cause this time I KNOW I am headed to the pokey, he rolls down his window, gives me a big grin and a thumbs-up and slowly drives away.

  Twink (the cat who owns me)

  Growing up we had dogs...you know...manly dogs, dogs that barked if a squirrel dared walk across the yard at night, outdoor dogs...my family had nothing to do with cats because my Mama LOATHED cats. So of course, I have always wanted a cat. Not just any cat, a black cat, a longhaired black cat. I now know what the old wives meant when they came up with the saying "Be careful what you ask for, you might get it."

  Twink came to live with us on the Fourth of July weekend in 2008. She was so small; she could stand in the palm of my hand. She was just a little bundle of adorable. She would lie in my lap and sleep. I could clip her claws and even file them while she laid there, Twink never offered to move, just laid there and purred. She only wanted her dry kitty food, a clean litter box and a tad of attention and she was happy. I remember the only thing my Mama said when she found out about Twink," Now why am I not surprised you have a blasted black cat?!?"

  We thought we were going to have a small cat even after she was grown. Then....Twink discovered Friskies...in the can...Prime Fillets....no el cheapo cat food for her. Boo once opened a can of not the name brand, Twink took one sniff, and tried to cover it up like she does in the litter box.

  Twink then proceeded to get big. I don't mean fat; I mean BIG...if she was a shorthair I would swear I have a pygmy panther on my hands. Stretched out from tail to nose she is over 3 feet long.

  You know how they say; "fixing" a cat makes them content and docile? Well, DONT YOU BELIEVE IT!! That cat has been ticked off ever since. She is an autocrat. She who must be obeyed...the title that used to be mine. Or maybe we share it. I have heard peoples' pets reflect their own personality. True...all true. Boo says Twink is me in cat form. She will do things with me, she won’t with anyone else. She will lay in my lap, no one else's but on her terms. She held me hostage the other day for nearly an hour before she would let me get up. You say...well it is just a cat, pick her up and move her. Yeah right. Try shifting an over 15 pound cat with sharp claws when she doesn’t want to get up! She sits up on top of my recliner and watches as I use the computer, with one paw on my head. She sleeps between our pillows, her head on my pillow and again with one paw touching me. She snores louder than Boo and that is saying something.

  But touch her when she isn’t in the mood, or maybe she is just bored and she will take a swipe at you. My family is leery of her. Most of my nieces and nephews are terrified of her. Yet she has never scratched or bitten any of them. It is just that look she gives them. Kinda lik
e...” I know where you live."

  She is our baby. Even as I type, she is up on her back legs begging Boo for uppies. And he will pick her up and walk her, just like you do with a baby. He speaks to the cat first when he comes in from work. He will get down in the floor and play with her anytime she wants. I will say, she is good company though. I spend a lot of time alone. My husband's job is such that he is on call 24/7. My son works nights and sleeps all day. So it is me and Twink. I talk to her a lot and she meows back, we understand each other. And yep, she reflects my personality. She rarely forgives and never forgets. When she likes you, it is unconditional, mess with her and you will draw back a nub. So yep, she is like me.

  Despite the fact she drives me crazy, bosses me around and has tried to take the man I love over, I am so glad this exasperating animal came into my life.

  Why do you call him Boo???" you ask.....

  Because he doesn't like to be called "Boo Bear" in public, but the real reason is, calling him by his name is too much like talking to myself. Our names are exactly the same except for one letter. Just one more link in the connection we have had for over 23 years now. Our anniversary is tomorrow (Weds the 9th) and I am amazed, 23 years, and it seems like only a moment in time has passed. We have weathered so many storms...health issues, family crises (ad inifinitum), Worries over kids, work, grandkids, money, all the stuff everyone goes through. Some days, I felt like I was in the middle of a maelstrom, no light at the end of the tunnel, but I could hold on and tough it through because Marshal was, is and always will be here for me. Don't get me wrong, we have our arguments, well, not really. Marshal doesn't argue, and forget changing his opinion on ANYTHING. But that doesn't stop me from trying! I will argue with a signpost. Ask anyone that knows me well, I express my opinion and you know exactly where you stand with me. Marshal is much more cautious, you can rarely tell what he is thinking. He is so.... rock solid...he is my touchstone. He keeps me grounded. He and I can talk about anything. There is nothing I can’t say to him. He is so much more than a husband, he is my best friend. Most people don't realize how funny he is. I love his warped sense of humor; it matches mine right down to the ground. He is unfailingly kind; I have never known him to refuse to help out someone in need. He is a wonderful stepfather and those are not my words but my sons. He has always been there for them. He is the one they turn to if they need a shoulder. Not because they feel they can't come to me, but my boys are very protective of me and will do almost anything to not upset me. (Truth though, I ALWAYS know what is going on with them, Mama's intuition).