The Good Mother
Someone seemed to banging on the wall outside the kitchen. I open the back door to see what the commotion was about and there was my 86 year old neighbor Mother Whittington. She was sporting a lofty, bright pink, straw hat that matched her cardigan. Perhaps she was too out of her mind to knock on the door so she took to pounding up against the wall and rambling aloud things like "Hey Hey in the there!" and "Uh hello.. hello?" All that sounded very muffled and animated through the kitchen window where an over worked fan resides. I thought for sure someone was lost or had hurt themselves and was calling out for help.
It turns out I'd left my car lights on. With Mother Whittington it is never just hello or thanks and go on about your merry business. Oh NO. Its hello or thanks and lets talk for 27 minutes. So I turn out my lights and thank her. All while eying my housing, hoping that me having no shoes on and practically lurching toward the gate of the backyard would give her the indication that I was busy... in other words not ready to commit the next 26 minutes of my life hearing about getting her one over-sized golden tooth fixed or about how she needs help with this or that, or about how long she has lived in her house (since 1956) or about her old Cadillac or about the condition of her yard. But sure enough there I stood listening to her again with a half smile on my face touching her shoulder gingerly every time she said something remotely funny.
I'm just a sucker. At any moment I could have gotten out there but instead I took a comfy resting position leaning up against my old tin can of a car and settled in for the long haul. Thank goodness my housemate had come outside just then. She had bags in her hands and was clearly going somewhere -I could use that to my advantage and leave when she departed.
Mother Whittington stands about 5 feet 6 inches off the ground. The hats she wears make her look shorter somehow. Maybe it is because she always has a hat on. Or perhaps it’s the height above her head that her hats take up. Sometime she cloaks her head with white or red church hats that resemble flying saucers with huge bellowing flowers drooping over the sides.
Peering up at us under her Barbie pink hat Mother Whittington began to drag on about her good health. She boasted, "I'm in great health. I tell you I look around and my brotha's sick, my niece is sick, my this one and my that one is sick.. but oh no not me!"
What happened next is something I want to do when I'm 86. Mother Whittington continued, "I'm 86 and I can bring em up and bring em down and dance all around!" She was referring to her legs and as she talked she stomped them up and down and crowed around like chicken chasing at something behind it.
Lanna and I glance over to each other both looking for a signal to jump ship, and to share a raised brow at the hilarity of what we had just witnessed. Thus began our retreat to our backyard which was counter-acted with "Pretty in Pink" inching closer.
It was a bit of a strange dance. It was a deleted scene from the urban remake of "West Side Story." We took one step backward she took two steps forward. She singing John Prine's "Hello in There" and us singing Madonna's "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun."
We all had danced practically into our backyard where I had might her 27 minutes ago when "The Good Mother" caught on that WE WERE GOING INSIDE. The music faded out. "Ya'll take care and don't mind my messy yard," she said. We said our final goodbyes. I chuckled softly as I stepped barefoot into the serenity of the house.
posted by Hanifa @ 11:36 AM
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