I spent March 30th helping my brother Johnny put up a privacy fence. Acting on the axiom that good fences make good neighbors, Johnny must have been seeking extra good relations as his fence was to be 8 feet tall!
Now to build a fence properly, one must use a lot of string, first to set the posts in line. then to make sure the support rails are installed right then to make sure the tops of the pickets are in line. Now Johnny has a collection of string, some day-glo orange string, some bright lime green string and...some bright pink, a brand new roll. A ribbon the color of this string would have made wonderful decorative trim to a young girl's Easter dress. It was a nice color and I immediately thought about what my mother would have said about it.
When Mama was pleased with the appearance of something, her voice would rise about an octave and she would say:" That's so purty!", with her voice rising another octave on the word purty.
Now, we all know that the dictionary says the word should be pronounced "pretty" but good country folks everywhere don't necessarily refer to the dictionary when learning how to pronounce words so most of us say "purty" and everyone knows what we mean. As long as the listener knows what the speaker intended to say, communications has occurred and the dictionary be ...darned. Since this is about my Mama, she wouldn't have wanted me to say "damned" so I won't.
Mama's birthday was March 30 so when I commented to Johnny about the string, he reminded me of the date and its significance. March 30th is also the date we buried our father in 1978.
Mama died on March 29, the day before she would have turned 90 years old. Although Mama was in bad health, we had planned a celebration on March 31st, a Saturday, to commemorate her birthday. The celebration was to be held at her church in the fellowship hall.
When Mama died, the birthday party changed to a wake and funeral, again to be held at the church. Although a tremendous effort was made to inform folks of the change of plans, one lady came expecting a birthday party but instead found the wake. As Mama would have said, she was quite "got off with."
My mother was quite famous for her sewing abilities, particularly her quilts but to her family, for her biscuits.
When I would visit, she would make a pan or two of biscuits for me. She would occasionally burn one and I would comment that she made a burnt offering for the prodigal son's return and she would laugh. When I finished eating, she would ask if they were good and I would say, "no, I had to eat a dozen before I could find one fittin' to eat!" She would laugh again.
So, Mama, mixed in with the planning of fence construction, our designs for building a better trap for carpenter bees and all the other topics of the day, Johnny and I celebrated your birthday with happy memories of you, and with a piece of string. It was so purty.
I have to quit now, I can no longer see the screen.
