About An Angel and Good Spaghetti...

Mae Evelyn Canada Roberts made really good spaghetti.  Odd that out of ninety years of life so devoted to her family, faith and country the first thing that comes to my mind is her spaghetti.  But Lordy it was good spaghetti.  I suppose there were nights that its job was to simply be supper for her family. But when I remember that spaghetti, I remember it feeding a small army.  Her family, my family and anyone else that showed up hungry.

 She and her husband were friends with my parents going back to when Moses wore short pants. We lived on one end of the town and they lived on the other.  But once or twice a year we made the trek from East Atlanta or Stone Mountain (depending on where we were living at the time) to Riverdale to spend an evening visiting, laughing and digging back into stories that went on long after our plates were empty.  They were stories from days that seemed like a thousand years ago to me but were clearly just yesterday for the parents and grandparents at the table.  Listening to them, the evolution of what we later called "the greatest generation" was quite evident. If not then, certainly later in life when I had sense enough and life experience enough to appreciate what these people had lived through. Along the way I wasn't ever the kid yawning and watching the clock in U.S. History classes.  Because of those evenings at the Roberts' supper table (and that heavenly spaghetti) the places and people taught through textbooks and lectures were days I felt I'd lived myself.
   
Evelyn was the very embodiment of everything we've come to know about that generation:  Loving those in  their life with a deep,  functioning love - "...not love with words or speech but with actions and in truth." (1 John 3:18.  You have no idea how proud it'd make her that I quoted scripture in my effort to pay tribute to her.)  Never living above their means.  Never complaining about a day's work, whether at a job or at home, keeping a house full of young 'uns  in clean clothes and with full bellies. Hardships endured weren't refined into fuel for martyrdom - they were transfigured into ways to make the world a better place.

When I was a child and at home during the summers, it was usually just Mama and me, as my sisters were older and either married, on their own or going to summer classes.  The phone rang a few times a day.  I learned Mama's demeanor well enough to know who was on the other end.  If it sounded like she was talking family business (" I went to the bank..."  "Insurance company called..."  "That faucet is leaking..."  Tim's been in the backyard all day with the dogs...") it was Daddy, checking in from his office to see what was shaking. If she was laughing out loud, making jokes, being happy and assuring the person on the other end it was good to hear from her, then I knew it was Evelyn.  Mama would be in a good mood the rest of the day after a call from Evelyn.  

I don't think she ever forgot a birthday.  And stand back when you opened her card - confetti or glitter was going to fall out and make you laugh.  She sent me and my sisters birthday cards whether we were 10 years old or grown, married folks.  There are a few still around my house somewhere, I'm sure.  I'll never throw them away and someday - when my time comes and someone is going through stuff I've kept - they'll wonder where the confetti is coming from and go home with a speck of glitter somewhere on their body.

I was there at the hospital the last time Evelyn came to visit Mama, shortly before we had to relinquish the matriarch of our family to hospice care.  Mama was near the end, not talking much.  When she did talk it was not something one could understand . She recognized very few of us and was clearly ready to go home.  A stare was all she had to give.  But when Evelyn approached her bed, grabbed her hand and said "Hey sweetheart..."  Mama smiled a big smile.  Evelyn said "I came by to see you how you're doing and to tell you how much I love you."  For the first time in a while Mama opened her mouth and said "well ok then."  They kept holding hands for more than just a few minutes, simply exchanging smiles.  I could see a thousand unspoken sentiments being expressed by two people who KNEW each other, down to the core of their souls.  When she left Evelyn kissed Mama on the jaw and walked away from that bed and told her son "I reckon we'd better go."  She gave me a kiss and a hug and told me everything was going to be alright.  I knew she didn't mean that Mama wasn't going to die - it meant that Evelyn firmly believed she'd better off than all of us when she did die and wanted me to believe it too.

Because of a pandemic attacking the country she loved, only a few us were able to sit out in the sun and say goodbye to Evelyn as they laid her to rest right next to her beloved husband.  Though we're not blood relatives I'll be forever grateful to her family that they consider us such and allowed us to be there. Speaking of being laid to rest, I hope Evelyn's able to get some.  See on the other side she's going to be quite busy helping my Mama keep my father and her husband in line.  And I sure hope she has time to keep an eye on me and all the countless souls that gained an angel when she left us.  Mostly, I hope that heaven has a kitchen - I'm gonna' need a plate of spaghetti when it's time for me to head that way.   

If Daddy came back to visit me and 2020

     "So people pay...FOR WATER?" (Which would be followed by "if you put a $1.25 in that machine for a bottle of water we're going to have a talk.")

     "So essentially if you BREATHE near a quarterback it's 'roughing the passer' now?"

     "Seriously?  The Braves WON a World Series and the Falcons WENT to 2 SUPER BOWLS?"

     "Tech won a National Championship in 1990?" 

     "You're paying someone to change your oil?   WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU??"  (After an explanation that vehicles are a bit more complicated now and have computers and you can really screw up stuff by working on them yourself - "Well then I'd walk wherever I had to go.  NOT paying people to work on my cars.")

     "Gas costs WHAT a gallon??  Well then I'd walk wherever I had to go"

     "Central air-conditioning?  Did you find a gold mine on your property?  Buy an attic fan, open the windows and turn off the a.c."

     "I'm right proud of the woman you married. She's a good girl.  But, seriously....YOU do the dishes AND COOK sometimes?  We're going to have a talk."

     "Pandemic or not, I'm siting on the left side, third row of that sanctuary come Sunday morning if I'm alone and have to preach to myself."

     "So you're telling me this pickup truck we're riding cost more than the house you grew up in??  Turn off the A.C. and roll down the windows!  I'm freezing! And why in the world does the radio keep saying 'subscription updated.'  You PAY for radio???"

     "I guess if you insist on making the gas companies rich don't wait on some little bell to tell you when you need gas.  It hits half a tank you go to the gas station and fill it up...after you go to the bank and take out a loan!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

     "They just let that person use that word?  ON THE NEWS?"

     "YOU HAVE HOW MANY CHANNELS ON THIS TV?  AND HOW MANY DO YOU ACTUALLY WATCH?  UNPLUG THAT THING AND GO BUY SOME RABBIT EARS."  (this could be the only argument I MIGHT win by explaining that with that many channels you can get up on Saturday mornings in the fall and watch college football games until the wee hours of Sunday morning.)

     "NO! There's only one Varsity.  And this ain't it and I ain't going in...but if you are bring me a chili dog."

     "This chili dog ain't nowhere near as good as the ones at the real Varsity."

     "This is not a grocery store.  It's a small town.  I bet they got their own zip code.  And why is that woman letting her young 'un climb those shelves?  If she won't jerk a knot in him I will! 
And what is that...a...a...PHONE in her hand?   I don't like talking on the one at the house! Not taking one to the store with me!  How much you pay for that?"

     (Still at the grocery store) "That woman on the cereal aisle is talking to herself" 
Me - "Daddy, she's got a bluetooth."
Daddy - "well she oughta get a crown..it's obviously making her nuts."

     "Red Man chewing tobacco is offensive?  To who?  I'm the one chewing it and not hurtin' a soul!"

     (Speaking of phones)  "So you just took a phone out of your pocket and paid your light bill.  Well isn't that fancy DICK TRACY?!!  How much do you pay for that?"

     "So you take your kids to all these different places where they can play with other kids?  Our kids always had a place to play with other kids.  IT WAS CALLED THE BACKYARD!!!!!!!!"

     "The dog spends all his time in the house and sleeps in here, too?  Well that's a good thing."  (animals - his Achilles Heel.) 

    "So you're a man. A pretty good one I reckon. You married a good girl, you got a good home and a good dog.  I'm right proud..............I'm not used to men talking to each other this way.  I'll shake your hand if that's ok."

     

    

   

    

Thursdays In East Atlanta

     Eight O'clock Coffee.  I paused when I saw the name on the little pod of coffee I was about to put into our space age coffee maker.  You know you've made a considerable number of trips around the sun when a routine erupts into a very random memory.  Then you find yourself back in a time when we didn't have space age coffee makers and one had to wait on a percolator to quit bubbling before the coffee was ready. 
     I had a psychology professor who described our minds as filing cabinet drawers (ok, so I went to college back when people used paper and the filing cabinet industry flourished.)  The files we use a lot-phone numbers, passwords, our address, the way home to that address, how to tie our shoes - are always at the front of the file drawer.   The files seldom or never used - your locker combination in eighth grade, EVERYTHING you learned in algebra, the questions on your learner's permit test - get pushed to the back of the drawer.  Also back there are very good things.  Conversations, sights, sounds, smells, tastes, days spent on inner tubes and playing in creeks.  This morning the Eight O'clock Coffee pod reached way back in the drawer and pulled out the file labeled "Thursdays in East Atlanta."
     Mama didn't learn to drive 'til she was 40-something.  So when I was a child and grocery store day arrived we had to take a long walk.  We went up Fayetteville Road and took a right on Mary Dell Drive.  We'd walk past East Atlanta High School and Peterson Elementary, all the way to the bus stop at the top of the hill. At the bus stop we got on the Gresham Limited and rode to East Atlanta.  I remember those old buses having straight-shift transmissions.  So depending on your driver, you might have a rough ride.  And if it was damn hot outside, it was hotter in that bus.  You could slide open the window and blow some hot air in on you if you liked.  But the passenger next to you might put up a fuss about it if she'd just been to town to have her hair set.
    Back to our destination.  East Atlanta is in the city limits of Atlanta yet it behaves like a small town inside that large city (then and now.)  Now they call it East Atlanta Village and it's a trendy, Bohemian little stretch of Flat Shoals Avenue.  There's restaurants, coffee shops and funky stores of all kinds.  But back then it was just the main street of our little town in the city and where we did our "trading."  There was a Trust Company Bank on the corner of Glenwood and Flat Shoals. There was also a bakery, a drug store, a movie theater, a barber shop and an A&P grocery store down that little 1/2 mile of street.  On those Thursdays, our trips on the Gresham Limited had two primary destinations:   The Trust Company Bank to cash a check so that we could buy groceries and then up the street to the A&P to buy them.
     When we arrived at the A&P I was already in pretty good shape, thanks to a lollipop courtesy of the teller at the bank.  Mama would lift me up and put me in the seat of the buggy and we'd head for the Coke machine.  Soon I was armed with a lollipop in one hand and a cold "Co-Cola" in the other (glass bottle of course.)  This was the 1960-something equivalent of letting a young 'un watch "Sponge Bob" on your iSomething so that you could shop in peace.
     Back to Eight O'clock Coffee.  The reason that little pod of coffee took me back to simpler days was that Eight O'clock coffee  grinder that sat in the middle of that old store. To a small child it seemed as big as a Volkswagen.  The coffee was sold whole bean and there weren't 90 brands from which to choose.  I remember Eight O'clock and Luzianne (which had chicory root in it and could walk on its own.)  Since coffee grinders were not household items in those days one had to pour your choice of coffee  in the store's grinder and grind it there. I'm firmly convinced the beautiful smell coming out of that huge coffee grinder led to the coffee addiction I carry with me still today.   I started drinking it when I was around 5 or 6 years old.  Mama used to put an ice cube in it so it wouldn't burn my tongue.  Daddy fussed that it would stunt my growth.  Well thank God I drank it...
     Without fail we would see someone we knew while shopping.  We always ran into Anne Bullock as Thursday was also her grocery day. Other than being patrons of the same grocery store we also went to church with Anne. This was at the Methodist church that sat at the corner of Moreland and Metropolitan and was named after Martha Brown (I never really knew who Martha Brown was...but there hung a very unflattering portrait of her in a hallway at the church.)  Every Sunday Anne sat on the second row of the left side of the sanctuary and we sat right behind her on the third row.  I can remember thinking she must be the richest woman in East Atlanta 'cause of the way she dressed. And she was always dressed as nicely at the A&P on Thursdays as she was at church on Sunday.  On the day of my baptism she was wearing a hat full of flowers.  Before they could get me up there to sprinkle my head, I'm told that I picked a few of the flowers out of that hat.  Later in life I had the opportunity as a young adult to visit with Anne.  Though much older, it was apparent that she still never left her house without looking good enough to take to Chinatown.  I reminded her of the stories I'd heard about me ruining her hat the day of my baptism.  She had no recollection of it but got a good laugh nonetheless.  She couldn't remember the hat incident but she did share something with me  that had managed to stay with her into what were, by then, the latter days of her life. "I can remember seeing you sitting in that buggy at the A&P, a lollipop in one hand and a Co-Cola in the other.  I used to think 'we should all be as content as that child is right now.' "
     Contentment.  It seems to come naturally in your early years but has to be hunted down later in life.  I think that old A&P store is some type of hipster art studio now.  Reckon it might cause a stir if a 50-something-year-old man came and sat in the middle of the place, a Coke in one hand and a lollipop in the other and asked what they did with the coffee grinder?