What I Found in the
Attic
I found some pictures today when I
was cleaning the attic. They were pictures of my great-aunt Glenna and her
husband, Paul, taken by Charleston Newspapers and mailed to them along a card
thanking her for participating in an interview. Apparently they had interviewed
housewives asking if they used a budget. Here was her quote:
"No, I don't fool with one. I
found that I spend it all anyway, so I don't worry about it. I spend all my
husband's money and save mine for a rainy day. A budget is supposed to be used
to tell you how much to spend. In my case, it would just be a record of how
much I've spent."
I can hear her say this. She was
such a spitfire, always wound up over something and in stark contrast to her
husband's mellow personality. I loved them together. I think my first love was
falling in love with their love.
Their last name was Darlington ,
and she called him by his initials, P.D. Everything that was his (flashlights,
tools, etc) was labeled with his initials. His initials were also on the gifts that he'd bought for her, I
guess because she didn't want to forget that he was the giver. She kept every
Valentine's candy box, every birthday and Christmas card, and I still have them
in his military trunk. She just signed her cards "me".
As I mentioned, she was wild. Her
favorite expression was, "Somebody oughta slap the shit outta
(fill-in-the-blank)." It pertained to whomever she was upset with that
day. She would watch the news, see a story about child abuse, and exclaim,
"Now! Somebody oughta slap the shit outta anyone that could hurt a
child!" Or she would be watching a talk show and call out, "Somebody
oughta slap the shit outta any woman who has four men that could be the daddy
of that baby."
She thought that the president, the
governor, local politicians, and the water commissioner needed the shit slapped
out of them from time to time. When city water came to the holler, she fought
hard to not hook up to it and to not pay extra for sewer hook up. I remember her
going to every meeting of the Armstrong Creek Public Service District to slap
them with her opinion on the issue. I also remember that when she flat out
refused to pay, a policeman came and P.D. had to sign their paperwork. I was
sure they were taking him to jail.
P.D. took all this in stride. He
would meet her rants with quiet replies:
" Now, Glenna."
"Well, I declare."
"A fellar has a time."
Sometimes he would just chuckle.
They did their own thing, and
neither of them cared what others thought. In the summertime, he would sit on
the porch in just his boxers, and she would wear only a pair of shorts and a
bra. They didn't rush to throw on clothes if company was coming. You found them
as they were. Glenna cleaned house about twice a year, and they only washed
dishes once a week.
But when they did wash the dishes,
they always did it together, and it took them most of Saturday night. When she
did clean the house, she was very meticulous and would "take out a
room" and clean everything in it before putting it back. And even though
they sat around the house in their underwear or thread-bare rags, when they did
dress up and go out, nobody could exude more class. He wore a fedora and
three-piece suits. She could look like a 1940s movie diva. They complimented
each other so well. They balanced each other out.
I've written about them many times, but I
don't know that I've ever truly captured them. Maybe they fought. Certainly
they did, but I never saw it. They never had kids, but all the kids wanted to
hang out at their house because of slow-paced peacefulness they created. Sit on
the porch in your underwear for hours drinking beer in the summertime. Hole up
in the winter and cook fried potatoes, biscuits, ham, chocolate fudge. She
didn't cook big most of the time, but when she did decide to, it was a feast.
They gave me all my ideas about
what is supposed to be, a fairy tale. Something that probably wasn't as perfect
as it seemed, but my heart can't be convinced of that. My childlike inner self
will not allow my adult mind to whittle away at the perfection I've created for
them. I measure my own relationships against theirs and come back disappointed.
It's not my fault, and it's not his either, but it's not there.
My mind is the attic where I keep
these things. Tucked away, protected, untouchable. The basement of my soul, my
foundation, is so penetrated by these roots. Penetrated and anchored. Anchored
but tied down. I don't know if I can ever leave this house, this land. I
don't know how much of me is me and how
much of me is them.
I've spent my adult life searching
for, homesick for, something that may have never existed in the first place,
and not surprisingly, I've failed. My path is like new vine clinging fiercely
to old branches. Branches that died long ago, that would have fallen away and
gone back to the earth had the vine not clung so tightly. But the vines are
magical and strong. The fairies come out at night and thread those vines along
the branches. I know this to be truth because she told me so. I can't let that
go.
