You know what we need on this blog? More interaction and comments! So I'll start by throwing out a question to the female readership, though guys are welcome to contribute stories as well.
How many weddings have you been in? What was the craziest thing you had to wear? Are the couples you 'maided for still married?
I'll start - I suppose I need to restrict myself to talking about the weddings of people who will not be attending mine, don't I? So Lisa and Missy, you're off the hook.
But that's all right because with out a doubt all time "favorite" (and I use that word loosely) bridesmaid ensemble had to be the one I wore for Vicki and Robert's wedding. Vicki was a sorority sister - a lovely girl. Robert was the drummer for Telluride, THE party band of the late 80s in Tuscaloosa and Birmingham. The wedding was in August 1989 in Birmingham.
Vicki wanted us to wear black, which we all would have loved, but her mother put her foot down. So what did we end up in? Long red skirts, red heels and white long sleeved lace tops with peplums. PEPLUMS, people! The horror! The sheer Roll-Tideitude of it all was amazing. After the reception at The Club (is that place still around) we went (where else) To Louie Louie's in Five Points, Sharon and I still sporting our 'maid ensemble and hooker heels. What a night.
My favorite 'maid story, though, revolves around Dawn and Todd's wedding. Dawn was a sorority sister but we also went to high school together and had been friends there. Todd went to college with us, too, and was also from Gadsden. In fact, they live there now after several years in Birmingham. If I knew where, I'd invite them. So if you know them, tell them to give me a shout or drop me a line.
Anyway, the event took place in Gadsden in July 1989, a few weeks before Vicki's. We wore dark green dresses made with giant, poufy sleeves (think Princess Diana poufy). The seamstress employed copious amounts of netting in the shoulder seams to make sure the sleeves stood up. No one thought a thing about it during the fittings, when we only wore the dresses a few minutes at a time.
Flash forward to day o' the wedding and all us 'maids - all sorority sisters of Dawn's except for one friend and her little sister who was 15 - are in a Sunday School room at Bellevue Baptist Church getting ready. As anyone who's been in a wedding knows, you have to show up about two hours early on game day for photos. Sometime during the primping and preening, someone asked if anyone else's shoulders hurt. We all realized our shoulders did, indeed, hurt. We pulled the dresses off our shoulders and discovered that the netting had rubbed them raw and they were oozing blood. What to do - no one had Band-Aids and it was getting close to kickoff time!
My sorority sister Roma, God love her, came to the rescue. She got that look in her eye (the one that usually makes you think something like, "Oh, no, what's she up to now?") and dashed out to her car.
And returned with a box of (sorry, boys) panty liners. Which we all proceeded to adhere to our shoulders, and which we wore for the remainder of the day. (Yes, we wore them during the ceremony).
Somewhere I have a regulation, wedding photographer made photo with Dawn's friend and all her smiling sorority sisters showing off our sexy, be-padded shoulders, accompanied by one 15-year-old who looks like she's about to die of sheer mortification.
Ah, good times.
Almost as much fun as the wedding in which, instead of flowers, I had to hold a LIT candle. That was Charlotte's wedding (another sorority sister) which I was in along with a former beau. We set the happy couple up. Come to think of it, if anyone knows where to find her or Vicki, or any of the old Alpha Xi Delta crowd (aside from the lovely Maureen who I know is attending, all the way from NYC - yay!!!) let me know.
Back to the story: My beau was still in Tuscaloosa getting his master's, and I was already here in Atlanta. I was spending the weekend at his place, and had put my shoes on a high shelf in the closet to prevent them from being eaten by Kayliegh, our golden retriever, who was a puppy at the time.
We left for the wedding in plenty of time, and got pretty much to one or two exits before the Birmingham bypass (the wedding was in McCalla) before I remembered I had forgotten the shoes. This was 1991 or '92, I guess - before cell phones - so we just turned around and drove 120 mph back to T-town to get them. And missed most of the picture taking and caused much consternation. But it all worked out. And for once, I was thisclose to a lit candle and managed NOT to set my hair on fire.
I need to see if I can scan pictures from these events and post them, too. As for you, dear readers, you know you have good stories. Post 'em in the comments!
Showing posts with label memory lane. Show all posts
Showing posts with label memory lane. Show all posts
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Strange Happenings
My golden retriever Kayleigh died in 1995. I had just broken up with my old boyfriend and we were still on fairly friendly terms. We decided to spread her ashes on the equinoxes and solstices in places she loved, one of which was the farm.
We spread her ashes at the farm a few days before Christmas. My grandfather watched the proceedings somewhat bemusedly, I'm not sure whether he thought we were silly or was touched that we considred his place special; probably a little of both. He loved Kayleigh - everyone did; she was a beautiful animal inside and out. Her coat was darker than a regular golden's; somewhere in-between golden retriever and Irish setter. In fact, people regularly asked if she was an Irish setter.
So we went out to the car to get the ashes out and walk across the road. There's a certain point in the winter after the leaves are gone when you can see the water from grandaddy's house. It's not that far away and the light glints off it during the winter sometimes. I was looking at it and noticed a group of dogs coming our way. A big black dog, a smaller beagle-ish kind of dog and and the a sort of collie-ish mix dog. They came from the direction of the water and made a beeline toward us at the house. They were very friendly and seemed excited, leaping and dancing around us.
They followed us across the road and we went all around scattering bits of ashes. The stakes for Sam and Nedra's new house had been laid, but construction hadn't started. We sprinkled the ashes where their house was going to be, figuring that as pure and full of love as Kayleigh was her spirit would help bless their house even further. The dogs were with us the entire time.
We finished our duty, said our prayers and began walking back to grandaddy's. The dogs went on their way.
When we got back, we were talking about how nice it was for those dogs to come escort us as we honored Kayleigh one final time, and wondered where they lived. We figured Grandaddy would have seen them around and know who they belonged to.
He looked straight at me and said, "I've never seen those dogs before."
So were they just dogs who sensed something going on and wanted to be a part of it? Perhaps but the thing that always struck me about them was their utter joy. It's like they were elemental expressions of Kayleigh's loving and joyous spirit. Maybe they were guides for her on the final leg of her journey or sourcs of solace for us, or both.
The important thing is, they were there. And they affirmed my lifelong belief that there is something magical about that place.
We spread her ashes at the farm a few days before Christmas. My grandfather watched the proceedings somewhat bemusedly, I'm not sure whether he thought we were silly or was touched that we considred his place special; probably a little of both. He loved Kayleigh - everyone did; she was a beautiful animal inside and out. Her coat was darker than a regular golden's; somewhere in-between golden retriever and Irish setter. In fact, people regularly asked if she was an Irish setter.
So we went out to the car to get the ashes out and walk across the road. There's a certain point in the winter after the leaves are gone when you can see the water from grandaddy's house. It's not that far away and the light glints off it during the winter sometimes. I was looking at it and noticed a group of dogs coming our way. A big black dog, a smaller beagle-ish kind of dog and and the a sort of collie-ish mix dog. They came from the direction of the water and made a beeline toward us at the house. They were very friendly and seemed excited, leaping and dancing around us.
They followed us across the road and we went all around scattering bits of ashes. The stakes for Sam and Nedra's new house had been laid, but construction hadn't started. We sprinkled the ashes where their house was going to be, figuring that as pure and full of love as Kayleigh was her spirit would help bless their house even further. The dogs were with us the entire time.
We finished our duty, said our prayers and began walking back to grandaddy's. The dogs went on their way.
When we got back, we were talking about how nice it was for those dogs to come escort us as we honored Kayleigh one final time, and wondered where they lived. We figured Grandaddy would have seen them around and know who they belonged to.
He looked straight at me and said, "I've never seen those dogs before."
So were they just dogs who sensed something going on and wanted to be a part of it? Perhaps but the thing that always struck me about them was their utter joy. It's like they were elemental expressions of Kayleigh's loving and joyous spirit. Maybe they were guides for her on the final leg of her journey or sourcs of solace for us, or both.
The important thing is, they were there. And they affirmed my lifelong belief that there is something magical about that place.
Saturday, July 19, 2008
The Shed
By the early to mid 70s, when my memory starts to kick in, Mr. Hood was gone and the original farmland farther east in the bend had been sold. My grandfather bought the land where his house is, and my uncle bought the land "across the road" where the original house was. Though the farm was no longer a big commercial enterprise, my grandfather continuted to grow corn, okra, squash, tomatoes, potatoes, green beans, peas, bell peppers, turnips, watermelons, cantaloupe and more. Surrounding the farmhouse on threee sides was a peach orchard, with a few apple and plum trees thrown in to boot.
The Shed, as I posted earlier, came about in the 1950s, I think, when someone suggested my grandfather sell the things he was growing. I honestly don't know if it started out life in the configuration I knew, or was reconstructed from original parts that served a different purpose.
It was a three-sided structure set a couple of car lengths back from the road between two massive oak trees that must've been 100 years old when the thing was built. Looking at it from the road, the right-hand side was solid planks, the back was open about halfway down, but filled in with wire and planked the rest of the way down. The left-hand side was open with a high shelf and wire above it. The front was copmletely open and, in my day, filled with a metal display counter - flat on the front but with an internal shelf that was turned to the inside. Baskets of peaches, tomatoes, and other goodies were stacked on it. I think it came from Mr. Hood's store. It's still with us - under the tractor shed - and will be holding food during the reception.
The floor was soft, powdery dirt. The roof was tin.
My history with the shed, obviously, goes back to the beginning of my life. My grandfather enjoyed telling about how one day, as a toddler, I was sitting out there with him and some other cronies and decided to "wash my hair" with the dirt. Clearly that must've served as a sort of self-baptism indoctrinating me into the place, and the place into me.
As I grew older, when folks came to the shed during the afternoon on the Sundays or weekdays we happened to be down there, I was allowed to go ring up a sale.
During my first year in college, my parents began making noises about me possibly finding a job when I came home for the summer. I resisted, as about the only job I was likely to get would have involved a fast-food resaurant and the polyester uniforms they sported during those days. I wasn't about to go that route. Thankfully, my grandfather came to the rescue and offered me a job as his shop girl.
I worked Monday-Friday, roughly eight hour days, 8-3 or so. I sold corn, tomatoes, green beans, peas, apples, peppers, plums, cucumbers, okra and, of course, those magic peaches. There is no better smell than the shed on a warm afternoon full to bursting with juicy redskin peaches.
And of course, no better taste than a warm peach right off the tree.
I have to confess, I get sniffly now in the grocery store when I walk past a particularly fragrant peach display.
Without a doubt, that was my favorite job ever. I loved being at the farm; I loved being outdoors all day. I loved the people, and thank God for the experience with them. I realize, that growing up as I did I was highly unlikely to be a snob, but I also know that because as a sorority girl who just completed her first year of college, I could have been obnoxious in the "i know everything" sense. I never doubted that my grandfather (both of them, actually) though not college educated was a very intelligent man. But it would have been easy to dismiss some of the other folks I came across down there, but spending just a few minutes talking to these men - most of whom who wore overalls every day and likely never finished high school, instilled me with a deep sense of respect for what the did know - not what they didn't. They knew the land, knew the animals, knew how the very planet worked. And no stint at college could ever teach me that. And I was, frankly, awed by them. Especially my grandfather.
The Shed, as I posted earlier, came about in the 1950s, I think, when someone suggested my grandfather sell the things he was growing. I honestly don't know if it started out life in the configuration I knew, or was reconstructed from original parts that served a different purpose.
It was a three-sided structure set a couple of car lengths back from the road between two massive oak trees that must've been 100 years old when the thing was built. Looking at it from the road, the right-hand side was solid planks, the back was open about halfway down, but filled in with wire and planked the rest of the way down. The left-hand side was open with a high shelf and wire above it. The front was copmletely open and, in my day, filled with a metal display counter - flat on the front but with an internal shelf that was turned to the inside. Baskets of peaches, tomatoes, and other goodies were stacked on it. I think it came from Mr. Hood's store. It's still with us - under the tractor shed - and will be holding food during the reception.
The floor was soft, powdery dirt. The roof was tin.
My history with the shed, obviously, goes back to the beginning of my life. My grandfather enjoyed telling about how one day, as a toddler, I was sitting out there with him and some other cronies and decided to "wash my hair" with the dirt. Clearly that must've served as a sort of self-baptism indoctrinating me into the place, and the place into me.
As I grew older, when folks came to the shed during the afternoon on the Sundays or weekdays we happened to be down there, I was allowed to go ring up a sale.
During my first year in college, my parents began making noises about me possibly finding a job when I came home for the summer. I resisted, as about the only job I was likely to get would have involved a fast-food resaurant and the polyester uniforms they sported during those days. I wasn't about to go that route. Thankfully, my grandfather came to the rescue and offered me a job as his shop girl.
I worked Monday-Friday, roughly eight hour days, 8-3 or so. I sold corn, tomatoes, green beans, peas, apples, peppers, plums, cucumbers, okra and, of course, those magic peaches. There is no better smell than the shed on a warm afternoon full to bursting with juicy redskin peaches.
And of course, no better taste than a warm peach right off the tree.
I have to confess, I get sniffly now in the grocery store when I walk past a particularly fragrant peach display.
Without a doubt, that was my favorite job ever. I loved being at the farm; I loved being outdoors all day. I loved the people, and thank God for the experience with them. I realize, that growing up as I did I was highly unlikely to be a snob, but I also know that because as a sorority girl who just completed her first year of college, I could have been obnoxious in the "i know everything" sense. I never doubted that my grandfather (both of them, actually) though not college educated was a very intelligent man. But it would have been easy to dismiss some of the other folks I came across down there, but spending just a few minutes talking to these men - most of whom who wore overalls every day and likely never finished high school, instilled me with a deep sense of respect for what the did know - not what they didn't. They knew the land, knew the animals, knew how the very planet worked. And no stint at college could ever teach me that. And I was, frankly, awed by them. Especially my grandfather.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)