Thanksgiving, 2016
Thanksgiving was a complete gas. Dropped down to visit Mom's peep in rural North Carolina. The silk flowers on her and Dad's graves are still bright and colorful against the Autumn leaves. Wednesday, I folded up the stand (which had fallen) carrying a huge heart shaped array of red carnations and roses and laid it discreetly length-wise behind their headstone.
I unloaded a plastic chair from the back of the Escape and sat the old Kindle on top of their headstone. A rooster started crowing as soon as the first notes of "How I Got Over" floated gently across the churchyard. The bird sounded extraordinarily full-throated and something was causing him to repeat the crowing over and over. I wondered whether it was Mahalia Jackson's voice getting pumped through those tiny speakers?
I sat and listened to the song. It had the intended effect. I was immediately brought back to the days and weeks and months before Independence Day when my first job before unpacking any cd or dvd was locating Mom's good ear. So, technically, where was it now, I wondered? I admit I wasn't paying close attention when the pall bearers placed the casket in front of us. I have a faint idea that Mom's head would have been just below the headstone. That's the only thing that makes sense.
By the time I reassured myself about the position of Mom's remains which could be measured as a matter of feet and inches beneath those silk flowers, Mahalia had finished her song. I shut the Kindle and when I turned around to grab the chair I had been sitting on, I found myself suddenly fact to face with the biggest rooster I have seen since I was a young child. He was one of those Rhode Island Reds, of a kind that was so ubiquitous around those parts when I was growing up and which had all but disappeared as people gradually became too busy to raise their own hens. Just about everyone I knew now bought their chicken from Bojangles, a fast-food restaurant about five miles away.
The rooster advanced steadily and rather relentlessly in my direction. I was actually afraid he was going to attack me. So, I kept moving. And, as I did so, it became clearer that he was just being curious. He walked all around the headstone, occasionally scratching and pecking at the ground. He followed me in a parallel path as I loaded the chair back into the Escape. It was the first time I had ever seen an animal in the church cemetery.
Thursday, Aunt Nannie and her daughter came to the cottage and we had the most expensive meal I have ever had to put together. Pans, roasting racks, carving knives, baking sheets and a tablecloth all had to be purchased for the occasion. It was only the third time I've used the oven in the fourteen years I have been renting the place. I roasted a turkey breast, warmed up a ham and even baked a cake.
It was nightfall by the time everyone arrived. Kelvin came just as people were putting on their coats. He tried the cake and pronounced it good. I was leaving first thing inn the morning, so nothing could be left behind. Aunt Nannie and Dandra were grateful for all the extra food.
I unloaded a plastic chair from the back of the Escape and sat the old Kindle on top of their headstone. A rooster started crowing as soon as the first notes of "How I Got Over" floated gently across the churchyard. The bird sounded extraordinarily full-throated and something was causing him to repeat the crowing over and over. I wondered whether it was Mahalia Jackson's voice getting pumped through those tiny speakers?
I sat and listened to the song. It had the intended effect. I was immediately brought back to the days and weeks and months before Independence Day when my first job before unpacking any cd or dvd was locating Mom's good ear. So, technically, where was it now, I wondered? I admit I wasn't paying close attention when the pall bearers placed the casket in front of us. I have a faint idea that Mom's head would have been just below the headstone. That's the only thing that makes sense.
By the time I reassured myself about the position of Mom's remains which could be measured as a matter of feet and inches beneath those silk flowers, Mahalia had finished her song. I shut the Kindle and when I turned around to grab the chair I had been sitting on, I found myself suddenly fact to face with the biggest rooster I have seen since I was a young child. He was one of those Rhode Island Reds, of a kind that was so ubiquitous around those parts when I was growing up and which had all but disappeared as people gradually became too busy to raise their own hens. Just about everyone I knew now bought their chicken from Bojangles, a fast-food restaurant about five miles away.
The rooster advanced steadily and rather relentlessly in my direction. I was actually afraid he was going to attack me. So, I kept moving. And, as I did so, it became clearer that he was just being curious. He walked all around the headstone, occasionally scratching and pecking at the ground. He followed me in a parallel path as I loaded the chair back into the Escape. It was the first time I had ever seen an animal in the church cemetery.
Thursday, Aunt Nannie and her daughter came to the cottage and we had the most expensive meal I have ever had to put together. Pans, roasting racks, carving knives, baking sheets and a tablecloth all had to be purchased for the occasion. It was only the third time I've used the oven in the fourteen years I have been renting the place. I roasted a turkey breast, warmed up a ham and even baked a cake.
It was nightfall by the time everyone arrived. Kelvin came just as people were putting on their coats. He tried the cake and pronounced it good. I was leaving first thing inn the morning, so nothing could be left behind. Aunt Nannie and Dandra were grateful for all the extra food.