The last Sunday in September, and I began the day by punching on the coffee pot then letting doggie Lettie Lou out to do her business. Stepping into my church clothes, caffeine brew ready, cup in hand, I sprawled in the den lounging chair. Picking up my Bible I read one chapter in the New Testament, then turned to the Old and picked up where I had left off yesterday, II Samuel 5:24.
"When you hear the sound of marching in the top of mulberry trees, then you shall advance quickly."
I had planned to go to church, but I began to ponder:
The dog days of summer were gone and I heard not marching from mulberry trees, but an early morning breeze blowing through the branches and leaves of nearby oaks and I knew pine tree needles were falling. I could almost hear my Grandmother Brent's voice:"Think about other folks. Even if you aren't down here in Summit, wherever y'all are, just do the right thing, Lottie Elyne. You go on down the road with them. Tell your people you'll be coming too."
Kinfolks, Scott and Brent Holland and Jean Harrison McCormic had just flown in from the far west; California and Washington State family had come to Mississippi. Scott and Brent had come back to Mississippi for a reason special to their hearts. Cousin Jean with them, they were going to visit a few family places first and then take care of why they had come. They had asked me to spend this day with them.
As for me, those windswept noises had now drowned the church bells. Verse 24's words blowing in my ears, I decided to skip church today; it had been many years since my western cousins had been in Mississippi. I gave them a ring. "I can go with y'all," I said.
"Let's make a day of it."
The three of them were pleased. "We'll pick you up in just a little while, Gran Lottie."
I shucked off my Sunday-go-to-meeting-clothes and put on a different outfit.
While I waited to be picked up, Lettie Lou sprawled by the side of my chair. Leaning over and rubbing between her ears, I thought about their mother Wanda, who had been raised in Clinton.
Growing up not far apart, the two of us were close to each other; at times she and I had almost felt like sisters.
It's been many years since Wanda's last visit home to Mississippi; Scott and Brent's mother had become a confirmed westerner, and back then she was helping some of her family move from the east coast to the west.
My dear cousin had passed away in California some years since then, but her last trip home had been one to remember.
Walking down Old Canton Road, calling for her lost dog Madison, she had made the evening news in a very unusual way. A local TV news reporter turning off County Line onto Old Canton, seeing and hearing Wanda, thinking he might be on to an epic-making moment had slammed to a stop. The reporter looked like he was standing on an ingrown toenail when he found out that she was looking for her dog, Madison, not trying to start a war between Madison and Hinds County.
Long time passing since that day but that had been a time to remember; one I wrote about many years after the happening, and was printed in the Northside Sun not too long ago.
This would be a very different visit for family. On this trip south, Brent, Scott and Jean wanted to care of a matter of the heart, northwest of Jackson, up towards the Delta, then to make a few quick outings and visits.
I was glad I'd listened to the voice in my ears. The plan was I'd go with them to Lakewood Cemetery, where their grandparents were buried, then drive on to Clinton where their mother grew up and we'd take pictures of her old house.
Early the next morning they would leave Jackson; the reason they were back here was very special; the two boys carried a treasured box in hand. They were bringing home their father's ashes, Walter Holland and they would go to his hometown, Hollandale, for a personal memorial and burial; to put their father to rest.
The time frame for their short visit was running out. Too soon they'd be boarding for their flight on back out West, but along the way and afterwards, they made a few other fast outings and memory making excursions before heading for home.
On the day before they were to leave they had returned to Jackson early in the morning and on their last afternoon in Mississippi, son Bill took them on a fishing trip.
The next day, before their afternoon boarding time we had a quick, delightful family gathering and a delicious lunch at Brent's Drugs, the meal beginning with French fried onion rings for our three tables. While we were waiting for our food order, we heard a little about their fishing expedition with Bill.
"We had an absolutely fantastic time," Brent said. Then a serious sound to his voice, he shook his head. "Not so sure about Bill. When we got there, he spit on his bait, then caught some bass. Scott and I caught each other's fishing lines."
"Bill spent most of his time untangling us," Scott said. A shadow crossed his face.
"Oh yes," he said. "And don't forget, Brent. You almost landed an alligator."
A grin on his face, Bill held up his hand as our food was placed before us. "That's enough said. We're not eating alligator meat for y'alls farewell lunch, so let's us just enjoy our meal and each other's company."
For me it was my usual; Fish's famous Egg and Olive Sandwich, and ending with a thick, creamy, chocolate milkshake.
All too soon we had goodbye hugs and tears and I was back home. Just me and doggie Lettie Lou.
As I have done on other goodbye times, all quiet and still, I stood in the yard, looking toward the airport. I was shaking my head, then a slight breeze came up; the crepe myrtles were shedding, watermelon colored blossoms covered my feet.
I heard a hum. I looked over toward the airport and what did I see?
Nothing--there were no jet trails in the sky but my grandma Brent's voice sang in my ears. "Coming for to carry me home."
