Mama smokes about two packs a day, and she smokes anywhere at anytime. Nothing can be done to stop her. She's a Category 5 hurricane of smoke and ash. Warning labels haven't stopped her. Her posse of physicians haven't stopped her. Keeping vigil while friends turn into cancer-ridden raisins hasn't stopped her. At the moment she says she's quitting, but as I've told her, "Mama, you can't wear a nicotine patch and smoke in an attempt to quit. It just won't work, as one actually has to not smoke in order to succeed." She rolls her eyes, tells me to "leave her alone", covers her ears and lights up. What do I know? I'm just a college educated individual who understands the value in following the instructions on the package.
It was on one of these 250 mile family excursions when Mama insisted on stopping at a road side Denny's-like establishment better known as Stuckey's. For the un-initiated, a Stuckey's is a national chain of roadside diners known for their pecan logs, and stream of consciousness poetry. I lied. They're only renowned for their pecan logs, but I am sure someone at some time has waxed poetic about those ooey-gooey logs of chewy cardiac arrest goodness. Originally, she just wanted to use the restroom, pick up a fresh pack (her term for cigarettes) a Coke, and a pecan log. A pecan log from Stuckey's is a Southern delicacy. It is a tube sock of corn syrup, vanilla, caramel (car-a-mel is a three syllable word by the way, and it is not pronounced car-mel), and pecans. Daddy and I remained in the car while she was left to fend for herself. Normally, I fend for Mama, but since I am unable to void her bladder for her...she was on her own. If Mama could have me pee for her...she'd have me do it. She's that kind of lady.
What was to be a ten minute layover, slowly began to move into the thirty minute arena. Daddy was growing uneasy, and insisted that I venture into the Stuckey's and retrieve Mama. I was a bit apprehensive as Mama had been on a Valium bender. This was typical if she knew she would have to remain upright for a period lasting longer than ten minutes. I didn't know what I would find once I went in. For all I knew she would be sleeping while still on the toilet. Her head resting peacefully on the wall of the stall, a lit cigarette hanging from her red, Clinique lips. If only I had remembered my camera...
As I walked into the restaurant (loose term), I first noticed how quiet it was. There was more noise coming from the interstate, than inside. The place was packed, and all the patrons were staring at something to my right, but not in my line of sight. I turned, and found Mama attempting to manage a claw vending machine that served as a graveyard for cheap, polyester stuffed animals. She had her sights set on a blue pig with wings. Then there was the sound of one very agitated female, and it wasn't Mama. It was coming from a greasy, pig nosed, fat woman behind the dining counter. She was striving to give Mama directions, "Move it to the right, ma'am! No, your right! I said your right!"
I initially turned to leave, but I knew that returning to the car without her was not an option. I was going to have to walk over to her, and remove her from the machine. To complete my mission, I would need to draw on a similar experience I had had concerning our Shih Tzu, Muffin, and a Slim Jim; only Muffin didn't have opposable thumbs.
"Mama, what are you doing?" I hissed.
"Huh?" she replied. She was looking around the restaurant as if I was some disembodied voice. She resembled a bat attempting to echo locate. She rocked back on her heels, took a bite of her pecan log, a drag off her cigarette, and went back to her task without even acknowledging me. Mama has always managed to multi-task. Her skills at managing an automobile, a Coca-Cola, and a Kent 100 are legendary.
"Mama, we need to leave. Now."
"I'm not goin' anywhere until I get somethin' for my grand babies."
"Mama, you can shop at home. That's what the t.v. is for, remember? We are leavin'. Right now." She ignored me, and went back to maneuvering the claw. The greasy, fat pig-woman behind the counter was still yelling, "You need to put in more quarters, ma'am! It ain't gonna work without money, ma'am!" Her tone was beyond patronizing...she was viciously mocking her, and I was beginning to sweat. I yelled over to Pig Nose, "Ma'am, I have it under control!"
"Mama, let go of the machine, get your logs, and let's leave." At the time, the humor of that comment was lost on me. I went to forcibly remove her hands from the controls. She turned and slapped me. I was surprised. She had struck with lightning speed. Where do these Valium-induced-ninja skills come from? Amazing.
"Don't you ever touch me like that again! I am your Mama, young man!"
"I'm well aware of that unfortunate fact. Now, let's go." I said firmly. For whatever reason Mama let go of the machine, and slowly started to gather the various items that surrounded her. It was fascinating how quickly she was able to take root. She was slowly turning Stuckey's into her sitting room. "C'mon...that's right...get your logs...c'mon...Daddy's waitin'..."
I took her by the left hand, waved at the pissed pig-woman behind the counter and said, "Thank you. You've been so kind. Seriously, have you thought about a career in the penal system? You'd go far." She sneered at me, turned around, and scratched her ass. Her way of initiating a mating ritual, I'm sure.
Always Mama's wing man, I've been known to toast her bread (no butter when she has an upset stomach), change the channel on the television (Daddy didn't believe in remote controls, "That's what you're for!" he would say.) and to slap her back into consciousness before she caught herself on fire. Once I missed a day of school because I couldn't wake her up. At the time it was terrifying, but now I look back on that day and I think about how happy she must have been. Who wouldn't trade a few brain cells for a several hours of near comatose, uninterrupted sleep? People pay good money for that kind of ride.
During the 18 years that I lived at home, I thought playing indentured servant was what all kids contended with growing up. It was just an everyday occurrence. My sister, Big Sissy, has also carried on the same tradition with her children, and now her grandchildren. I call it S.P.D - Supine Princess Disorder. This is defined as a pathological listlessness in which the mother in question believes she is completely incapable of doing such complicated tasks as, standing, walking, or the most dreaded...bending over.
By the time I was fourteen Mama was growing tired of calling for me. Calling for me would involve her screaming my name (no matter where I might be located in the house) until I appeared at her side to do her bidding. "ROB!" she would bellow in her deep, tobacco marinated, Southern drawl (which adds several more syllables to a one syllable word). It reads like this: "RRR-AWW-BUH!" This is repeated several times with the volume increasing until I am within her line of sight. Once in her line of sight she can then, comfortably, issue her command(s).
As I got older I would return her bellow with a, "Ma'am!?!", but she would never answer. I would wait (usually a five second beat), and then she would call again, "RRR-AWW-BUH!", and I would yell out, "MA'AM?!?" increasing my volume to match hers until it became a long distance match of dueling "Rrr-aww-buh's" and "Ma'am's."
"RRR-AWW-BUH!"
"MA'AM???"
Five second pause...
"RRR-AWW-BUH!"
"MA'AM???"
Five second pause...
"RRR-AWW-BUH!"
"MA'AM???"
Eventually, I would give in, and inevitably ask the same question that I would always ask,
"Why don't you just tell me what you want, so I don't have to walk across the house, up the stairs, just to find out that you want me to get you a Coke?"
"Because, when I call you you are to come to me...not shout at me like I'm some sort of street walker. I am your mother, and you will treat me with the respect I deserve."
Having grown tired of this conversation, Mama decided to employ a different form of paging system. A device that not only would be more demeaning than her current method, but a device that would lessen the inconvenience of a caloric burn, and if Mama can spend a day without burning a calorie, that's a good day.
To Be Continued...
To Be Continued...
Grits-n-Gossip Bonus Feature:
Buried Culinary Treasures From Mama's Pantry to Yours...enjoy.
Halloween Treat 2010 - Buttermilk Candy
2 cups sugar
1 cup buttermilk
1/4 cup of butter (1/2 stick)
1/2 teaspoon of soda
2 tablespoons white corn syrup
A lot of pecans
1 teaspoon vanilla
Mix and heat over medium heat in a large pot until it comes to a boil and thickens. Set off heat and add vanilla. When lukewarm, beat until thick as for fudge. Pour out into buttered plate. This candy turns a rich brown before your eyes!
Spending the day without burning a calorie!?!?! That line is priceless. There are several great lines in this, and I can't wait to read the continuation. Thanks for keeping me entertained.
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