Miles and Memories

Sunday, July 31, 2005

Well, They're gone. It got awful quiet around here real quick. I went from having messages left on my phone at 6AM that said, "Hey, Pick up some of them Krispy Kreme doughnuts on your way over here," to . . . my routine. Coffee. Check. Birds and Cicadas. Check. Squirrels and chimpmunks, check. Read. Reflect. Write. Check, check, check. Awful quite.

We did have lunch at Amerigo's around 3 in the afternoon and it was wonderful and I don't have a picture to prove how wonderful so you have to take my word for it. It was a prayer answered is what it was seeing my Aunt sitting next to me and my sister and Mamma across from us, and all of us laughing and toasting and tasting.

Lots of people didn't think my Aunt Kate would make it out of that hospital last time. It didn't look real good. People got ready for the worst. I kinda said, Uh-uh. Come'on God. Let her make it to Nashville. Let her have a roadtrip. (SHE LOVES THE art form of the ROADTRIP! My Uncle John used to say she had put more miles on her car backing out of driveways than he had going forward. But they were like that - ornery with each other.)

(TIME TREK)

My uncle has just been shot. A good uncle and a good man. Gunned down on a midnight errand to help someone out, do a man a favor. It's the kind of thing that makes good people want to take justice into their own hands. At any age. But Uncle Joe's "just been shot" is growing colder and I am on my way to see my aunt Kate, a few weeks later. The first time since this hideous happening. She and I alone climb into her car, and head north with no agenda. Towards the mountains. Maybe for some fresh air. Some vistas maybe high enough to to begin to see into the distance. To begin to understand.

She drives. And drives. We take to the mountain roads and visit friends from long ago. Friends of hers that were friends of theirs when they were young. Friends that will cry with her and listen to her late at night around the kitchen table. Then we will drive again. We will visit the huge river gorge where deliverance was filmed. We will drink cold apple cider at every stop we make and buy green apples. She pours peanuts into my coke and passes them over to me as she drives. I have a license. I never drive. Aunt Kate was born behind the wheel.

She grieves and she tells me stories. Of her and Uncle Joe. Of their courting and their mating and their fighting and their forgiving. Of their loving and lovemaking. And we drive on into the night, over mountains and into the morning with the memories fueling us all the way to every stop and then back onto the road again. We are history and memory. And my Aunt Kate is moving forward with every mile, following that white line down the middle as if her very life depends on it more than taking another breath. One memory, one mile at a time. )


We didn't make it for pancakes (they're a littttttttttle slow in the morning) but we made it for lunch to McCreary's in Franklin and if you come to Nashville you should go there for a great corned-beef sandwich and some other stuff. Then I led them to the interstate and decided to hop on and drive down to the next exit just make sure they were going in the right direction and driving straight. All seemed well except that they were doing 50 on 65 and anyone that lives IN Nashville or has driven THROUGH Nashville knows you don't drive 50 on 65 anymore than you drive 65 on 65. You GO SPEED RACER GO!

And that fact alone let me know a lot of things because Aunt Kate was driving and she is the original Speed Racer. The original. So, I watched semis backing up behind them. Thinking Ummmm, this doesn't look too good. And cars sloooooowwwwing down quickly all around them and this little bottleneck beginning. But then I got off at the next exit and Mom waved out the window for as long as she could see my car and I knew she was crying.

They called. They made it. Landed finally safe and sound and only a little worse for wear (maybe middle-worse for wear) but they are home.

I had a prayer answered and Aunt Kate had one more road trip. And this neice of hers understands what that means. To the bottom of my bones I do.

posted by River Jordan at 8:59 AM 0 comments

Guns and Roses

Thursday, July 28, 2005

This is one of those midnight posts. This is me up when I should be down. This is me listening to the rat-a-tat-tat of words pinging off my brain to the point I go, "Oh for goodness sakes I will never, ever get to sleep with all this writing going on and words rickoshaying around in my brain at this speed- I might as well get up and WRITE THEM DOWN SO THEY WILL LEAVE ME ALONE. Now, I'm not going to talk about that or I would have to to the In THE WRITER'S ROOM blog. And I'm dedicated to staying in the Rambling room For the time being. Which makes me think of Rambling Rose by Nat King Cole and what a rich voice he had. Pure velvet. (This year marks the 20 anniversary of his death - check out http://nat-king-cole.org for great information of a wonderful! singer whose music lives on.)

But I wouldn't be up if my SON had not come sneaking into the house and done SOMETHING like get clean clothes and LEAVE AGAIN. I don't know what age you get to when your momma ears turn off but I'm not there - yet. And now it's almost funny if he had not pulled me up from the possibility of sleep - because of how carefulllllllllly he was walking up the stairs which made one of them squeak and it pinged me right up to the surface. Now, he is old enough that he doesn't have to sneak - but the fact is he knows that he might find his mother up working at odd and all hours of the night, and that she is a light sleeper and that just MAYBE she might say, "Why don't you take that trash out if you are leaving?" or "Whatchadoin?" or "Whereyougoin?" (As if I don't know because I do.) Or, "You better go over and see Mommanthem (otherwise known as Nana and Aunt Kate) before you go" and even then it would be like, "You better go see THEM," because there is no further description necessary. But the funny thing to me was all I wanted to say is, "If you are looking for a midnight snack - don't eat that pig in the bottom of the fridge because I didn't think it was good 3 days ago and I don't think it has improved a bit from resting on that bottom shelf."

But then for some reason I started thinking about guns (I don't know why) and how all the women in my family carried guns (I know why - but I will not write about that here - that goes under http://thechroniclesofsoutherncomfort.blogspot.com - it's my way of keeping stories straight!) I grew up with things being that way and if they didn't carry one strapped to them or just beyond that 3 step thing, they had a shotgun propped in the corner and knew how to use it - but this is not ABOUT THAT, it's about me lying in bed thinking about guns - and why I don't carry one which is 1) I might shoot myself by accident. This assessment is based on how frequently I can burn myself in the kitchen or 2)I might lose my gun. Just totally lose it. This is based on the fact that I have lost - well, everything in my life but my children at one time or another and they probably WISH that I had lost them but they were (and ARE) stuck with me for better or worse.

I have lost journals (just found) keys (found) fingerpainted pictures (very important - still missing) driver's licenses (no comment), bank cards (canceled), and the list continues but the fact is I travel fast, do a lot of STUFF, and lose some OF IT along the way- okay- so I'm working on never losing anything again (It's that Settler part of me that longs for perfect order) and the gypsy part of me that is forever traveling with EVERYTHING attached somewhere loose by - so things get lost. (Sidenote: if you are reading this and you happen to be one of the people in my life trusting me with really important things - like your children or your dying wish - don't worry. Really.) So, for me to carry a gun that will SURELY come up missing at some point is probably NOT good idea.

But I think about these things in the middle of the night. Guns and the laws of entropy and of the general order of the universe and of gravity. Like the things missing in my life- generally, they return to me of their own accord given enough time and they always find their way back in the order that they were lost, only in reverse- most recent missing object first and so on. Like pouring water in a water bucket and dropping it BACK down in the well from the source from which it came.

And then I started thinking about Roses. How for a long time I didn't think I liked them because they are so - popular which after awhile makes them ORDINARY instead of EXOTIC AND WILD AND WONDERFUL. And I like wildflowers. And orchids. And happy daises. But the fact is I love roses. Rare ones. Old ones. Not the ones so easily come by. But the ones where you walk into an office or a home and they are REALLY, REALLY roses. They smell. Okay, to be more poetic, they exude a sweet fragrance and each rose type possess it's own fragrant personality. And I lie awake and think how I would like to be insane enough to plant a rose garden and piddle in it and worry over it and dust it - just for the sake of a few great roses that share their wonder by unfolding a little more each day. Just the way life does. A little more each day. Fragrant. Colorful. Soft. Thorny. Moody.

And so it's midnight and I was lying awake Rambling in my brain and thinking about Guns and Roses.

And about that pig that's still down in the fridge. And about how Mommanthem are leaving tomorrow morning and how I really need to take them out to breakfast. For pancakes.

And bacon.

posted by River Jordan at 11:57 PM 0 comments

Ham-N-Them

Tuesday, July 26, 2005

Okay. They are here. Hamnthem. They drove all day. Against doctors orders. But the traveler was driving and the settler was riding and you just cannot pry the fingers of a traveler from the wheel of the car. Not when they have the feeling of moving after being still for so long. Not after they have that music of the sound of tires on the highway running beneath them, the great freedom of the miles ticking away on the roadside sign. What a glorious feeling for a traveler to be on the move. What claustrophobic boredom to set them down on the ground and say, "STAY!" It's a veritable living grave to them. That planted, stationary, never gonna get to go nowhere again, feeling. Ask me how I know and I'll tell you - 'cause I is one.

But my husband will say this isn't true. He will say that I'm a traveling-settler - or maybe he says, "gypsy-settler which is about the same as being schizophrenic" Something always warring to rock by the fire, to plant flowers, to stay there long enough to see seeds become whatever seeds become (buds? greens? bigger?) and then full grown somethings. And the desire to keep my keys in my back pocket and to drive west on any given day and I don't mean to Fairview or Memphis or even Arkansas. Oh heck no, I mean WEST! Till one might, oh, say, run out of road. Then to see some stuff and turn around and go the other way. Just a little drive to clear the brain pipes, blow 'em out really good.

Look, I have this perfect theory. That the perfect house has a back door that opens on the treasured memories of the past (in my case: the south) and the familiar faces of all those people that represent 'home' to me. A good old back door of familiar blood and territory. But the front door of life opens to something new and exciting and different and unknown - all the time. New favorite friends and foods yet in the making. A revolving world of delight and experience and adventure. Front door- gypsy. Back door - settler.

But where was I? Oh yes, the back door. Mommanthem. Here with the ham. They made it all the way and crashed in a motel after a fine breakfast/dinner at WHERE ELSE, The Waffle House, celebrating more than 50 years of smothered, covered, and bothered or something like that. http://wafflehouse.com

But they have made it. Tired but triumphet. It has been the adventure we anticipated. Only the next morning my sister was waiting on them I said, "They are moving mean this morning," And she said, "Well, then, they can stay right where they are!" (Sidenote: A long drive, a little sleep, and not enough time for your medicine to kick in, can make you a little mean.)

The next morning we took them to breakfast at the Loveless Cafe because, hey, we are in NASHVILLE and we had to. Biscuits and all that. (Ya'll come on up/over/down and we'll take you, too.) Aunt Kate ordered ham and redeye gravy. I said, "Keep them biscuits coming. Don't hold back. If we need you to stop, we'll tell you." (I hum when I eat biscuits.) http://lovelesscafe.com (And that is one, very, cool website but don't expect to find the biscuit recipe.)

We have ATE some food and I have realized how much we love to eat food - together. It is a celebration. I have been to some get togethers where the food was like a well, placed side - something special but never meant to overtake the main dish which was the company and conversation. Well, that's nice but when we get together, the conversation is about the maindish. We are focused on the food as in,
"Ummmm, try a piece of this with a piece of that."
"Well, what is that?"
"It is WASABA sauce for your sushi."
"Wahaba?"
"WASSSSSSSABA."
"I don't eat bait."
"This is raw free. See - r-a-w free."
"What does sushi mean then?"
"I don't know but it's not raw."
"What is the dark green stuff?"
"Shut up and put some of this real butter on it and eat it, it's goooood."

Then we sat up after the babies were asleep, and after the men were missing and Mom and Aunt Kate got in rocking chairs and rocked, and we all told the stories. Which ones? Well, the ones that rolled up out of us that night because that's what the visit is about. The food- and the stories. And a good visit, like a good funeral, has to include both. I can't tell you about the stories because of the nature of the material but the best one involved a keyhole. Okay, I can tell you this much.

It was a story offered up from my Aunt Kate and it was from ago, back when doors had keyholes. And it involved her telling something and my sister and I saying,
"Nu-uh."
And her saying, "I'm telling the God's truth."
AND then all of us said, "But how did you know?"
"I just knew, that's all."
"But how did you reallllllllly know."
"Well, when a person looks through a keyhole and sees . . . "
And then the three of us bust out laughing.

(They are such a play in the making but I look at them and listen to them and I think 1) I'll never get it all and 2) No one will believe it, they'll think I am overwriting!)

Oh, and that traveling pig? Don't worry. I have the pig in my fridge. Yes, I do. And as my sister says, "Listen! I hear a Slap, slap, slap! - now what could that sound be? Oh that's right, that would be the sound of our arteries slamming shut."

I guess we were just born and bred to eat ham and sweet butter and cornbread and fried potatoes. Bless our hearts.

posted by River Jordan at 12:51 AM 0 comments

MOMMANTHEM

Thursday, July 21, 2005

They are coming. Mommanthem. This them, this time, being my Aunt Kate. They are getting on the road, alone together at whatever age this finds them and making their way NORTH to NASHVILLE. I have lived here for about two years. I have not seen hide, nor hair, of them unless I carried my rear-end SOUTH to Florida or to Georgia. But now my sister lives here and she possesses two grandchildren and she hasn't even been here TWO WEEKS and mommanthem are on their way, drafting her fumes from the driveway.

This is the most recent conversation with my sister -

ME: Momma is tired, she is just worn out.
Sister: Why?
ME: She stayed up all night to cook a ham.
Sister: They are bringing a pig up here?!
ME: Yes, they are bringing a pig.
Sister: Oh, for God's sake.

I don't imagine God's sake needs a baked pig but then neither do our hearts or behinds if you know what I mean. But somehow, traveling WITH A PIG has become some twisted tradition and getting into the car to go somewhere TO VISIT without taking a PIG out of the car to grace your dear friend or family member is somehow archaic, prehistoric, downright hostile.

Sister: Well, you are right. She told me she is worn out from pulling the pig out of the oven and shoving the pig back in the oven all night long.
ME: Yep, I told you.
Sister: Next time, why don't they just tie a whole pig to the top of the car and that way they can just cut off a piece anytime they stop alongside the road and feel they need a treat?
ME: Good idea. You tell them.

But she won't because there might not be a next time. It's that southern thang. Might never see you again. This might be the last time you ever look on my face. You better love me now because now might be all you got. (Writer Plug: Silas House knows about this. It infuses his love for family and place in every word he writes and he talks about the tradgedy of leaving those you love everytime you cross the road so check out his site at and go see him ANY CHANCE YOU GET at silashouse.com


So,they are coming . . . dragging that pig with them, bless their hearts. And we are so happy for them. And they are so excited to be on this great adventure at their age because one of them is A TRAVELER and one of them is A SQUATTER but The TRAVELER has been down on her health lately and this trip, well, it is something special. It is a landmark and a passage that we will all remember for a long time.

So, they are packed and traveling like little children going off to camp or kindergarten. I wish I could be in the car. I wish I could hear the memories they will conjure up while driving through those back woods of Alabama. I wish I could hear the pictures they will paint with their words. But I can't. It's not for me. This is their time to be themselves together, maybe for the last time. To be that unique chemistry of memory that only the two of them can be now. To be the last two survivors of a tribe of seven. This is not about us, or the grandkids, or even that well-done pig being drug up the road. It's all about them. About hello and goodbye and one more story for the road while there is still time for such strange and wonderful things.
And everybody said, AMEN.

posted by River Jordan at 12:21 PM 0 comments

Lance Armstong, Gumbo, and Movie Pushing

Wednesday, July 20, 2005

Lance Armstrong is winning. Okay, I haven't watched today but as of last night Lance is winning. Tonight my husband and I will watch the race delayed and replayed. Up close. Like we are there. I wish we were. This year, in France, in Paris at the end of the race to watch them cross the finish line, and with all my heart hoping Lance will win. Lance's new book is featured here and for info on his foundation http://www.livestrong.org I've decided that Lance can be in my SPECIAL Club. (Those of you in the know, know I had to pull that million dollar name until the timing is juuuuuust right.)Call it what you will. It's my imaginary wall of people who inspire me. Like my husband and my sister and my mom and in amazing and different ways, my sons. (Okay, the people are not imaginary but the wall is.) I'm pulling for Lance. And I'm amazed by him. By his grace before the cameras and his cool and his confidence.


MOVIES: Okay, everyone knows that I'm a movie pusher. I love the artform. I love the cool dark of a matinee and a LARGE POPCORN that is really fresh and the magic of the lights going down and the screen lighting up and that little trip that we get to take in that moment of time. Currently, my greatest push if for CINDERELLA MAN. It's the kind of movie that makes a person shake their head and say, "They just don't make them like that anymore," even when they are only 20 years old. Even when they just made another one and have a hundred more in the works. There's just something about it that is nostalgic (for obvious reasons) but also infiltrated with a kind of truth that we don't recognize anymore. Not everywhere. Not all the time. Great acting, scripting, make-up and know how. And it kinda just breathed its way into the box office and may just barely breathe it's way to DVD - but it shouldn't. It's worth the price of a full price ticket and a big screen trip!
Next runner-up - BATMAN. All the comic book fans have already seen the movie 3 times by now but if you haven't, if you like action movies, special effects, and well done cinema regardless of genre this is a great piece of work. This is the baddest BATMAN of them all (sorry Michael - I didn't think you could ever loose that crown but it's passed down)and the set design, lighting, and general story make it a must see summer movie. And worth seeing again.

NOTEWORTHY STUPID SISTER STORIES My sister has come up with one of the funniest, cleverest things I've heard of and I can't share it because it is worth MONEY. She was laughing as the words escaped her lips and then I was laughing - kind of - because I was in awe of her wit and her cleverness and I began demanding "Where did you get that? where did you get that? Did you make that up?" But she was laughing too hard to tell me - "Me, it's all me." This while we were pushing furniture around in her new house. This after I went over to help her HANG PICTURES but she decided something was wrong with her furniture in her bedroom and WE needed to do something about it. And I said the something wrong (I'm decent at furniture arranging, great at picture hanging and awful at organizing paperwork. It gives me the creeps. Makes my brain go into slow-mo like the sound of Charlie Browns parent's in Peanuts)And I say - 'of course, this furniture is not arranged to meet your dominant personality traits. The bed is in a 'soft position' the window is above your head which, while beautiful and captures the morning light on your face, makes you feel vunerable and ill at ease.' Okay, that's my version now, which was a short combo of that with a clippity, clippity, Aunt Kate rhythm that meant, 'Oh, for God's sake, this is obvious, I'll push and you pull because I'm not pulling anything!' (my back - my neck) So we giggle, and laugh and pull and push and in the middle of this, my sister says THIS THING that makes me stop in the middle of pull (after I said I wouldn't!) and say, wait, WHAT DID YOU SAY?!

Then we proceed to nail things to the walls and my sister pulls out A MEASURING TAPE and decides that we are going to be PROFESSIONAL about this. And I won't tell you what happened after that because it may make us look like our brains are working at the speed of dark. Suffice is to say that 1) We look like Lucie and Ethel trying to get the job done and 2)The PROFESSIONAL plan does not work for us. We must 1) not use the picture hanger things but only big ole nails and 2) not measure anything but just stand back and one sister says 'bout right? and the other sister says, 'close 'nough' and we did a very fine job, I must say. And all this in the middle of one year old clinging to my sister's leg pretending that he can't walk yet but I know when we leave the room HE DOES or how else did he get from THERE to THERE so fast?! Hmmmmm. And a 4 year old that should soon have her own talk show on television and I AM NOT KIDDING. The only thing stopping her now is that she doesn't know how to DRIVE and she gets just a little testy when she's tired. But hey, what talk show host doesn't? And the painter man was painting and PRETENDING not to here our whole Lucy and Ethel bit while the german shepard was walking around looking just a bit disgusted but patient with blue paint in his fur and the new puppy was literally latched on to my foot because he is a teething FURBALL OF FLUFF - see labradoodles entry for the backstory - and he thinks my flesh is so perfect for teething. I mean literally latched on with me screaming oww, oww, oww, and holding a nail and a hammer in my hand hammering. And the painter is painting and the talk show host is chattering something remarkable and my sister is going, "I think pictures should be hung at the height where you feel you are walking RIGHT INTO THEM." And I'm trying to gage what that means with this puppy knawing and swinging from my foot.

Gumbo? Gumbo doesn't have thing to do with anything except it sure is messy and made up of a lot of strange looking stuff and ends up tasting mighty fine in the end. Just like my mighty-fine, messy life.

posted by River Jordan at 2:27 PM 0 comments

The Messenger of Magnolia Street

Saturday, July 16, 2005

For those who have been asking about the status on the new novel to be released by
HarperSanFrancisco (Harper Collins) January 3, 2006 - Here 'tis. Early endorsements and book cover design. I'll keep you posted as the site is refreshed. River Jordan




The Messenger of Magnolia Street is like A Wrinkle in Time for grown-ups; It is a story filled with light. River Jordan writes so beautifully, with such faith and grace and surety, it is entirely possible to believe that she is transcribing for an angel.
Joshilyn Jackson, author of gods in Alabama
In The Messenger of Magnolia Street River Jordan has woven the spiritual mystery of redemption into the homey backdrop of the small-town south. She has not attempted to solve that mystery, but in the rich tradition of Flannery O’Connor, has only sought to engage and to deepen it, creating a story that is light with whimsy, but under girded by truth. Janis Owens, author of The Schooling of Claybird Catts, Myra Sims, My Brother Michael"In this fresh and memorable tale, Jordan's prose energizes each page with wisdom, humor, and suspense. If Harper Lee and Dean Koontz joined their talents, they might come up with something as beautifully riveting as The Messenger of Magnolia Street. Eric Wilson, author of Expiration Date and Dark to Mortal Eyes
River Jordan's wonderfully written The Messenger of Magnolia Street is a story of triumph evolving from the mystic regions of destiny, hope and belief. Rich in character and compelling in its dramatic content, this is a book that inspires as well as it entertains -- and that is a rare achievement.Terry Kay, author of The Valley of Light, To Dance with the White Dog

posted by River Jordan at 9:36 AM 0 comments

Skunk Funk and Labradoodles

Thursday, July 14, 2005

My sister tells me stories of her life. Bit and pieces that she shares of the oddities that come her way whether they be peculiar circumstance or strange people. She's the queen of quick observation and I try to get her to write these things down, to be as funny and witty on paper as she is to me. She'll have no part of it. "Too much work" - I think she said. This from a woman who has dealt with death and criminals in one career and the responsibility of saving lives in another. But it's not the seriousness of these things she shares - it's the absurdities. The absolute gut-splitting, hilarious absurdities of the human condition. And those stories I can't share. Breach of confidence and all that.

But behind her back I can share her personal stories. Like the fact that she has a great dog. A German Shepard that tries to grant her every wish - and did just that the other night when she yelled, "Here!" as the dog dashed off into the night. In retrospect she says she should have said, "No" or "Stay" or maybe even "go away" because the dog returned promptly and obediently . . . with an agitated live skunk in it's mouth. And while the skunk may have appreciated being saved and set free, that's not the impression he left as he departed.

"Tomato Juice," my sister says.

"I didn't know you kept Tomato Juice in the house," (Our mother does that.)

"I don't", she says - "I had crushed tomatoes - I made tomato juice."

That's the kind of quick wit and resourcefulness that makes her handy to have around. One - I didn't know that tomato juice would kill skunk funk and two - I probably wouldn't have had the crushed tomatoes either. I might have called 911. Or Momma long distance which is the same thing.

Now, my sister tells me she is getting another dog, a puppy, for my niece. A girly, girl of four that needs something small, possibly curly, that can be easily carried and embraced.

"They have Labradoodles now," she says.

"Labradoodles, huh?"

"Yep, Labradoodles. It's a cross between a labrador and a poodle. They seem to be pretty popular. I'm looking at several adds in the paper for them right now."

(I googled labradoodle - she's right. As posted here)
white labradoodle puppies, 2 yr. health guarentee, puppypackage, first shots and health exam
by lisc.veternarian, well socialized and prespoiled.
RESERVE YOUR PUPPIES TODAY, 8 FEMALES 1 MALE!
See previous owners pups and testimonials,
GO TO apuppypatch.com for more info.

Or even this posted cry for a labradoodle -

"Hi there, I am looking to buy a female standard size light colored Goldendoodle or labradoodle . It appears that this is a very rare breed . . . "

Indeed.

Sister reports that she isn't getting a Labradoodle for my niece but something a bit smaller. Presently, Labradoodles are rather large, bulky creatures. Maybe someday soon, miniature Labradoodles or even teacup Labradoodles will be available but until then, one can only hope.

You know I'm always eager to hear good news. Something that balences the scales a bit. So it's nice to hear the good stuff. All kinds of good stuff. Even if that means your favorite sister (she's my only) got sprayed by a skunk (okay - it gave me chuckle) and that for families who have always wanted a lab AND a poodle but could only have one dog - help is only a google, a mouse click, and a few hundred dollars away.

posted by River Jordan at 6:59 AM 0 comments

Previous Posts

• Reflections From the Frothy Monkey
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