as much as I was. All Mama was concerned with was adding another ribbon to the wall in the den. At least, I think that was all. Even though sometimes I had this queer feeling that somehow she took some sort of pleasure in showing me off, like maybe, heck, I donât know, like maybe it was like she was showing her own self off, and it did her some kind of good that I couldnât never figure out. Anyway, she liked to get blue ribbons on other things, too, not just me. The wall, itâs covered up not only with her ribbons, but mine, too. You see, I had to get blue ribbons on my own projects, too, whether they were canned peaches, crocheted doilies, or lap quilts. I had to because Mama said.
Winning blue ribbons is okay, I guess, but where do you stop once you get started? In school, you have to make all Aâs, in piano you have to practice so much that youâre the one picked to go to district competition, and in church you have to act so God-fearing that youâre the young person chosen most Christlike for the year. Thereâs just no end to the competition once you start. It hangs on, following you everywhere, even to Ward Eight, where Iâm wondering whoon this floor will turn out better than any other person in this division. If we all stood up on the display shelves at the county fair to be judged, who would receive the blue ribbon for being the least crazy? Itâs a good thing Mamaâs not here. She might not fare too well in this contest.
Poor Alice isnât doing too well in this contest, either. Alice, who was just fine during lunch turns into something else altogether along about the middle of the afternoon.
After lunch everybody heads down the hallway toward a room at the end of the hall to something called the âwreck room.â At least I thought it was called that, because, maybe, shoot, I donât know, maybe because itâs where wrecks of people go. But then I find out it is really the recreation room, and people are just calling it ârecâ room for short. At least itâs good to know Iâm not a total wreck.
But here we all are, most of us, anyway, some playing Ping-Pong, some huddled around the TV, some looking at magazines, and some playing cards. When that Jewel Mavis comes strolling in on the scene with her guitar, she is walking just like everybody should stop in their tracks and listen to her strum on that thing, so thatâs what we all do. When she starts up, everybodyâs eyes and ears are glued to the Jewel.
âPlay âAmazing Grace,ââ Miss Cannon hollers out, even before Mavis gets started good.
Mavis bends her head slightly toward her guitar and beginsto strum, and although itâs not âAmazing Grace,â itâs amazing, all right. She plucks those strings so soft and light it sounds more like a harp than a guitar, and she looks just like something celestial sitting there among all of us lesser people.
âPlay âBringing in the Georgia Mail,ââ hollers James Freedman, whoâs playing a game of checkers with Miss Cannon.
But the Jewel never lets on like she hears a word. She just sits there and keeps playing on and on, her song going on forever, up and down and all around, like one note chasing another and never quite catching up with it. If she were playing that on the piano, it would sound most definitely like Bach. But do guitar players play Bach, too? I donât know. Iâll have to be sure and ask Aunt Lona.
âPlay something we know,â says Alice, and then it happens. She starts screaming and crying something awful.
âOh, Lord, God, no!â she wails. âNot again, Jesus Christ, so soon? No, no, please, dear Lord, not again, donât do it to me again!â
And she keeps on wailing and screaming so, that, before long, Orange Nurse and two other nurses besides come running into the rec room.
âOh, Lord, God, please give me back my eyes, sweet Jesus,
Winning blue ribbons is okay, I guess, but where do you stop once you get started? In school, you have to make all Aâs, in piano you have to practice so much that youâre the one picked to go to district competition, and in church you have to act so God-fearing that youâre the young person chosen most Christlike for the year. Thereâs just no end to the competition once you start. It hangs on, following you everywhere, even to Ward Eight, where Iâm wondering whoon this floor will turn out better than any other person in this division. If we all stood up on the display shelves at the county fair to be judged, who would receive the blue ribbon for being the least crazy? Itâs a good thing Mamaâs not here. She might not fare too well in this contest.
Poor Alice isnât doing too well in this contest, either. Alice, who was just fine during lunch turns into something else altogether along about the middle of the afternoon.
After lunch everybody heads down the hallway toward a room at the end of the hall to something called the âwreck room.â At least I thought it was called that, because, maybe, shoot, I donât know, maybe because itâs where wrecks of people go. But then I find out it is really the recreation room, and people are just calling it ârecâ room for short. At least itâs good to know Iâm not a total wreck.
But here we all are, most of us, anyway, some playing Ping-Pong, some huddled around the TV, some looking at magazines, and some playing cards. When that Jewel Mavis comes strolling in on the scene with her guitar, she is walking just like everybody should stop in their tracks and listen to her strum on that thing, so thatâs what we all do. When she starts up, everybodyâs eyes and ears are glued to the Jewel.
âPlay âAmazing Grace,ââ Miss Cannon hollers out, even before Mavis gets started good.
Mavis bends her head slightly toward her guitar and beginsto strum, and although itâs not âAmazing Grace,â itâs amazing, all right. She plucks those strings so soft and light it sounds more like a harp than a guitar, and she looks just like something celestial sitting there among all of us lesser people.
âPlay âBringing in the Georgia Mail,ââ hollers James Freedman, whoâs playing a game of checkers with Miss Cannon.
But the Jewel never lets on like she hears a word. She just sits there and keeps playing on and on, her song going on forever, up and down and all around, like one note chasing another and never quite catching up with it. If she were playing that on the piano, it would sound most definitely like Bach. But do guitar players play Bach, too? I donât know. Iâll have to be sure and ask Aunt Lona.
âPlay something we know,â says Alice, and then it happens. She starts screaming and crying something awful.
âOh, Lord, God, no!â she wails. âNot again, Jesus Christ, so soon? No, no, please, dear Lord, not again, donât do it to me again!â
And she keeps on wailing and screaming so, that, before long, Orange Nurse and two other nurses besides come running into the rec room.
âOh, Lord, God, please give me back my eyes, sweet Jesus,
Similar Books
