I have been writing creative things today, but I don't want to post them yet because they are not done. I could just put up what I have so far, but I can't bring myself to do that. Even if I continue a short story in a later post, I need to at least be at a decent stopping point so that the post can stand on its own somewhat. So, this is why my post for today will be me just talking. I don't know about what yet-It'll be an adventure. Could be dull, could be interesting, might be quick, might be long. Uncertainty has a charm all its own.
I went to my Granny Huff's house Saturday and spent the night. It's been about two years since I last stayed with her. I've been afraid to go back ever since the incident with my dad. I was afraid he would find out I was there, then come over drunk and mean and do something horrible. For a long time after the night when everything finally fell apart I was afraid he would come to my house and kill me. Now I don't think he would, but I couldn't stop myself from thinking about it. He was at my graduation and he was wonderful! He actually acted like my daddy, and not like the thing he becomes after he drinks and does drugs. Before I saw him that day, I was worried he would show up and cause a big ugly scene or even shoot me and my family. But when I spoke with him, he was far more than I even dared hope he would be. That's the daddy I remember and that's the father I can still love. It's just hard when that side of him keeps getting pushed under by alcohol.
Anyway, I drove to her house by myself for the first time and it was great! I had the TomTom just in case, but I didn't need it. I remembered the way because it all looked so familiar. I was surprised by how much I remembered. The views were spectacular. I saw frozen creeks and snowy woods. When I got to the tops of the mountains, nearer her house, I got to occasionally look out on the rolling hills below and more pine covered mountains in the distance. Up where Granny Huff lives, the snow stays much longer than where I live so it still covered her yard and the vehicles parked in the driveway.
Christmas is Granny's favorite holiday and she wants the world to know. She starts playing Christmas music in October and keeps it going throughout the house all day long. I don't mind it when I'm there. It's part of her and I remember it being the same way growing up. When rounded the last bend before pulling in her driveway, I could see her house shining like a welcoming beacon from the top of the hill. The house was strung with lights of all different colors and there was a whole civilization of lawn decorations. They all lit up and several of them moved as well. There was a polar bear who moved his head from side to side, and two delicate reindeer that shone blue (there were others, but I remember those the best). Inside the front door I was welcomed by red and green everywhere. A huge, heavily decorated Christmas tree was situated near the faux fireplace. Smaller ornaments and decorations adorned tables, shelves, and whatever else had a decently flat surface. There was even a sparkly, glittery conglomeration hanging from the ceiling light. I loved it all. It put me in the mood for Christmas even more than the past few day's snowfall had.
Granny herself looked as she always has. For as long as I can remember, she has looked almost exactly the same. There is a great comfort in that. I am instantly thrown back to my childhood memories when I'm around her. It's so easy because she remains constant. I find out new facets to her personality and new facts about her life, but who she is at the core and how she acts has never changed as far as I've known. She wears long skirts, usually made out of jean material, because her church frowns upon women wearing pants. Her long black hair is thick and curled, like it's been my entire lifetime. She says she doesn't know what to do with it otherwise, so it stays the same. When she goes out somewhere-usually to church-she puts rollers in her hair the night before and sleeps with them in so her hair will be neatly curled in the morning.
I was greeted at the door by her and by her little white pekingese dog named Maggie May. Maggie is so adorable! She's slightly bigger than a football and she sounds like she's suffering perpetually from a bad cold. She snots and snorts and snores nearly all the time because her breed's noses are so smushed into their faces. I played with her with her favorite toy: a hairspray bottle lid.
Granny Huff took me down nostalgia lane by making my favorite childhood foods: mashed potatoes, mac and cheese, and chicken nuggets with Dr. Pepper. I tried to get my own plate and fill it with food, but Granny said: But I always used to get your food for you. Her tone sounded wistful and a bit sad, so I sat at the table and waited for her to bring it to me like I used to when I was young. She even poured me my drink and placed it next to my plate. I remember how she used to spoil me so much when I'd visit her that mom would fuss at me when I'd come home and expect everything to be brought to me.
There is an old, very large vase Granny keeps next to the refrigerator. I told her that I remembered putting trash into it as a kid. She then proceeded to tell me how she punished her son, my uncle, Todd when she found a huge stash of paper, cans, and the like inside of it. She said she didn't believe him when he told her he didn't do it. The next day when we went down to Todd's house and we related the story to him, he said that he actually did it too and that everyone did. I don't know what it was about that vase that made it so tempting to drop trash into. There was a trashcan right next to it, but I preferred the vase. Maybe us kids were making a subtle statement about its aesthetic value.
Granny told me the story of how I picked every single leaf off of one of her plants because I thought I was pruning it. My Granny Keister worked with plants a lot and I'd watched her pull dead leaves off her plants to encourage new growth. Granny Huff was so upset when she found me sitting in front of a stripped stem with a pile of leaves at my side that she locked herself in the bathroom and cried. She described to me how I got on my knees in front of the bathroom door and put my mouth to the crack near the floor to appeal: but that's how Granny K always did it! The plant in question is now growing quite magnificently in a corner of her kitchen. It survived my attack and I firmly believe I helped make it more resilient. Now she has problems keeping it from outgrowing itself and its pot.
Another story I was regaled with was the time I took dip that goes with chips and painted the dining room table and chairs with it. I do not remember this, but my aunt Sharon and Granny certainly do. We also discussed how I sucked my thumb till I was almost in middle school and how I was (and still slightly am) obsessed with rolling and picking fuzzies off blankets. Sharon told me about how I was at their house many years ago and they couldn't find me anywhere. She started calling for me and I called out: I'm under here where the BIG fuzzies are! And they discovered me buried under a big blanket.
Anyway, back to the more recent past. Granny, Paw Paw, and I played Rummy for hours. Paw Paw beat us miserably, but I still had fun. Granny kept looking daggers at him every time he laid down anything and Paw Paw kept saying "well that don't help me none" and "I reckon I don't have a chance this time around" and "ya'll're too smart for me, I caint do nothin with you." And yet he beat us with over 500 points when we hadn't even breached 400.
I love hearing my family on my dad's side speak. Although I don't live far away and am also a southern girl, they really speak country. They use words and phrases I don't hear very often at home. One of my favorites is when Granny or Sharon will be talking about how someone is mad and they'll say something like: she gets so ill in the mornings! And "ill" sounds like eel, being drawn out with lots of emphasis. Reckon and a lot of other southern words originated from Old English, which I think is pretty interesting-nifty, if you will. (I like the word nifty)
I think I'm going to go to bed now. I've stayed up way too long again and I will wake up bitter and resentful when my alarm goes off at 7am, which is only 4.5 hours away. I've enjoyed writing about memories as they came to me. They may not be beautifully structured or connected in chronological sequence, but that's not how my brain works when it comes to memories anyway. 'Night ya'll!
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