Some weeks back, because I had too much of the here and now on my mind, I had closed my laptop, Frettin' Fannie, and put her to rest on a closet shelf. Covid- 19 has changed how we live in so many ways, I don't even seem to know what time it is anymore. Covid 19 is kinda like getting glitter on your hands-it stays with you for months, just when you think it's gone you look in the mirror, your nose sparkles, glance down and your toes glisten.
We're not only dealing with a global pandemic those days but also with many accumulated grievances. Hopefully, we have learned a few needed lessons from some of the recent heartbreaking, senseless tragedies and are taking better care of others and of ourselves.
Sad to say, your humble correspondent has no earth-changing words of wisdom or opinions to give on, so much that has grabbed us by the ankles. Not sure that anybody listened in the dear dead days beyond recall, but I used to consider myself to be the voice of authority on many issues and could toot a horn with the loudest of them. I don't have any answers anymore. On the one hand, although I feel like weeping and wailing, on the other, I'm kinda ready to move on, there are still a few stories to keep me stepping forward on my journey of life. So I once again take pen in hand and lift Frettin' Fannie from the closet.
Now in my chair, old lady Fannie humming, I'm sitting on ready, not exactly rocking on go, but hands raised, the keys will be struck. Thinking of a time only a few months back, I'll return to another recent journey-- begin my rewinding, catch 'em up memories and then will push Frettin' Fannie on around the next bend in the road, wherever that may lead.
***
It's been awhile back since I first began writing about a trip up the Natchez Trace with Great Grand Maddie Sanford to visit and vacation with family in Tennessee and Illinois and as I write these words I realize a quick review is needed.
Maddie and I had left early in the morning, headed to Illinois by way of Olive Hill, Tennessee. We would spend a couple of nights with daughter-in-law Gail, then the three of us would motor up the road aways to visit son Bob, who was working in Chicago.
Our trip had started off with a few minor misunderstandings—Maddie and I had several terse encounters with her cellphone.
We were trying to get onto the Natchez Trace, and after a few wrong turns from her Gluckstadt home I received much, not exactly wanted, (but in retrospect I must own up to it) definitely needed, instruction. If Maddie and her cell phone, 'Sore Ears' (Siri to the rest of the world) hadn't given us directions on through Mississippi and into Tennessee we might have ended up who knows where??? Maybe West Memphis, Arkansas; Springfield, Missouri; or even Padukah, Kentucky.
It took some doing but with voices from the backseat, Maddie and I had made it on up the Trace. When we crossed the line from Mississippi, I began singing an old song to myself that I used to play on the accordion, "I was waltzing with my darling, to the Tennessee waltz," and I felt like I was swimming with the currents as we crossed the coffee-colored Tennessee river and drove on through the town of Savannah.
The tune winding down a short time later ,Maddie and I took the Olive Hill exit and drove a twisting, gray strip of a country road a few miles. Turning into a grassy pasture we passed a greeting committee of cows who raised up, then once again bent their heads to pull and chew. Waiting at the end of a long, winding drive, Grandson Brent and daughter-in-law Gail greeted us with hugs.
I popped the trunk and Gail and Brent began the process of unloading our luggage.
There was a slight breeze, the country air was crisp and clean, a Sunday afternoon kind of peace seemed to settled over the countryside as Maddie stepped away from the car and stretched her hands out to pet a kitten who had rolled over onto it's back.
"Wait a minute!" Brent dropped a suitcase, shook his head and took slow steps around the car.
Gail cupped her ears.
"Tire leak," the two of them said in unison.
"Our tires are fine." I pointed toward Maddie's cellphone. "That invisible talking lady that bosses everybody, Sherry, Shirley, Sore Ears, or whatever her name is, hasn't told us any different. And I've been led to believe that she doesn't make mistakes."
Gail gave me a questioning look, one I get quite often now from family members. "It's Siri," she corrected. "She's on your I-Phone, too."
"I told her that," Maddie said. "But I don't think she heard me."
"She doesn't speak to me," I said. "I've never met her."
Even as I spoke these words my skin crawled and for some reason, I felt like a rabbit had run over my grave.
Brent's eyes widened. "Don't move!" he yelled.
"Watch out!" Gail grabbed Maddie.
Brent dashed for the house.
"What the devil's wrong with y'all?" I asked. "Slow down! Where's the fire?"
"Look." Gail pointed." Look. There. Right there on that rock."
She and Maddie inched backwards toward the car.
Curious, but not seeing anything I stepped closer. Then, I heard it. A noise that sounded like pot lids clanging together. Only a few feet away from the two of them, lay a hissing, coiled, ready to strike, rattlesnake.
"911!" I punched my cellphone. "Sore Ears. Call 911!"
