More of Christmas With Big Mamma

Brenda Miles’ Christmas Tale picks up today where it left off last week:

Part II

Christmas morning found us all gathered back in the familiar kitchen dining on slab bacon fried only until it was good and warm, eggs fried in the bacon grease until they were brown and lacy around the edges, and biscuits so huge they would put McDonald’s buns to shame. Pure butter dripped from our fingers as we gripped the biscuits that held Mamma’s fig preserves hanging out the sides.

We washed all the dishes and cleaned the kitchen before we went into the front room for “the tree.” This year Stella had gotten my name and she gave me a hot pink night shirt (too large!) with a turquoise sheep on the front that read, “EWE AIN’T FAT EWE IS JUST FLUFFY.”

I smiled between clamped teeth and said, “Thank you, Stella. I can’t wait to wear it.”

She was nibbling at a leftover biscuit in which she’d made a hole and had filled with sorghum molasses as she muttered between bites, “I knew when I saw it that it was you...get it?? It was EWE!”

“I get it, Stella, and I will always think of EWE when I use it.” What I was really thinking was, ‘I will cut this stinkin’ thing up into dust rags and I will think of ewe each time I squirt it with lemon Pledge!’

You see, Stella’s girth was the joke of the family. She went from one Oprah Winfrey diet to the next with about the same amount of success as Oprah. She licked her fingers, rubbed her bloated stomach and declared she couldn’t eat another bite all day. The rest of us looked at each other and rolled our eyes until Big Mamma looked at the clock and declared, “I’ll swan! It’s 8:15. The day is half gone and we still have dinner to fix!”

Dinner at Big Mamma’s is what everybody else would call lunch. But Christmas dinner was the ultimate meal of the year. Everyone in the house flew in to help. Jerry Don grated coconut. Stella made and crumbled cornbread for the dressing. I boned the two big hens cooked the day before. Mamma always said turkey was too dry. Jimmy Ed, who had just returned from town with a big sack of ice, crushed the pieces under a thick dishrag. Joe Bill helped Mamma make ambrosia and pulled out the cloves she had stuck in the pickled peaches. Martha Sue brought out the ‘chow-chow’ from the storeroom. When she opened the lid and the spiced cabbage smell entered the room, Mamma and everybody else looked around to see if someone had made a little nuisance of himself there in the kitchen. We warmed the purple hull peas and the Kentucky wonder beans with onions that Mamma had put up last summer. We later spooned up the squash and set the big bowl next to the four pies that rested on the sideboard, their meringue at least two inches thick and perfectly browned. Stella waddled out to the pie safe and brought out the white fruitcake and the rum cake wrapped in dishtowels to keep them moist. She cut them into large portions and placed them on cake plates, licking the knife after each slice.

I finished the giblet gravy and poured it into the rose patterned gravy boat that had been in the china cabinet since I had been old enough to notice and I am now...well...I’ve gotten older; let’s just leave it at that. We carried the steaming bowls and platters laden with enough food for Cox’s army into the dining room and placed it on the table Mamma had already set. After we gathered around, Hamp asked the blessing (Jerry Don timed him at 21 minutes while Stella, sitting beside him, figited) and we sat down to Christmas dinner at exactly 1 p.m.

We were still nibbling and picking up last dessert crumbs by pressing them into our forks when Stella belched and then announced to the table, “Lord, I don’t know when I’ve enjoyed a meal so much, especially since I’ve been on that Slim-Fast stuff this week, getting ready for it.” She then reached across to fork a pickled okra, explaining she always liked to end her meal with something salty. The okra followed two pieces of pie and a slice of white fruitcake. We remained at the table awhile longer, too full to move.

After dinner, we laughed again at all Mamma’s stories and she laughed louder than us all. Since she entered her 80’s, and that was almost ten years ago, she’s become awful forgetful at times and was apt to tell the same stories over and over. We have all taken up the joking way of the grandchildren who, some time back, had begun to number the stories. Jerry Don whispered under his breath, “#31!” when she began telling of her conversion at a grape arbor revival when she was 15. Mary Jeanette whispered, “#26!” when she began to tell the story of how Papa ordered a new ice box to surprise Mamma and it was too wide to get in the door. It still remains on the back porch. Even my Caleb joined in by announcing, “#17” when she related again how Jerry Don just wouldn’t come out when she was in labor until Ole Doc Summers began singing “She’ll Be Coming ‘Round the Mountain!” Mamma swore he finally made his birth appearance in order to get Ole Doc to hush. “I’ll Swan! It was the beatenest thing I ever DID see!”

We had heard these stories at least 100 times, yet we all laughed again as if hearing them for the first time.

Finally, pushing away from the table, Mamma said, “Come on, Old Jake, let’s go to our chair.”

This was her way of saying it was time for a nap. The two shuffled off into the front room and settled in front of the fireplace.

Only three or four years ago she would’ve never left the cleaning-up to us ‘girls’ but now she had to do it. Age had finally outdistanced pride. After the food was all put away and the kitchen sparkled enough to suit us women, we, too, went to find a place to lie down somewhere to let our big meal settle. And to get ready for the night ahead.

You see, Roman candles and sparklers were as much a part of Christmas at Big Mamma’s as the meal and celebration itself. As soon as it was dark, we all gathered in the yard or on the porch to watch the fireworks. Tonight Lou was standing a little too close to a bush when a cherry bomb went off and she screeched, “Jerry Don! You Idiot! You made me wet my pants!” Along with the rest of the family, I laughed from where I stood beside Mamma on the porch. Mamma cackled, dabbed at her eyes, and said, “With no rain this past month, that hydrangea needed a little water!” We all howled louder.

After the fireworks, we went back inside to finish off the chicken and dressing and desserts and to sit stupefied before the fire. We watched half of “It’s a Wonderful Life” before Mamma scratched Old Jake’s head and said, “You know, I just might need to take a little sody water. I still feel all filled up and like I might not be able to sleep.”

Being the only daughter, I took it on myself to mix the baking soda and water and took it in to where she sat. Minutes later, she belched real big and said, “Oh yeah, that’s better, Hon. I think me and old Jake will go lay down now. A signal for the rest of us to go to an early bed, too.

One by one, our cars left the next morning with each of us promising to get back at Easter.

Yes, we would try to get the grand kids to come, too. Big Mamma smiled, wiped her hands on her apron, and said she’d be looking forward to that. But her face looked a little grayish, I told Caleb afterward. I just prayed that this big bunch of company had brought more pleasure than stress.

To be continued…

Brenda Miles is a former La Grange resident now living in Arkansas. Contact her at: brenstar@att.net