The Red Flannel Rag

I have always believed that she was physically and sexually abused when she was

too young to defend herself. I asked her several times, “Mom, did anybody ever hurt you

when you were little?” Her response was always the same, “What’s in the past is over.”

While she was proud of her clean white clothes on the line early every Monday

morning, her comforters, and the clothes she made for us, Mom’s main identity was

wrapped up in her cooking. When people showed up at the house unannounced, she

often said, “If I knowed you was comin’ I’d have killed a chicken and churned,” or “I’d

have baked a cake.” She appeared to most as very gracious when she made these

comments, but I knew she was subtly telling people they should have let her know they

were coming so she could have planned a great meal for them.

Nevertheless, she was always able to feed any number of people who arrived

unannounced. If she knew ahead of time that a large number of people were coming to

eat, like on hog killing day, she would say to me, “I‘ll have to put the big pot in the little

one.” For many years, I didn’t ask her what that meant because I figured it was some

kind of magic she practiced to cook a lot of food. Finally, I asked again, “What does that

mean?” She responded, “I am gonna have to use every pot I have to cook enough food

for these people.”

The simplicity of her answer was a shock to me, because I did, and still do,

assume a deeper meaning in just about everything I hear. I have always assumed

everybody else is smarter than I am and can express themselves in more meaningful

ways.

After a long day of cooking, cleaning, and taking care of kids, Mom would say,

“I’m as jumpy as a long - tailed cat in a room full of rockers,” “I’m as nervous as a whore

in church,” or “You don’t have to be crazy to live here, but it helps.”

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