1948."
"That's what I said."
"You said segregated"
"Whatever."
"Raney, don't worry about how Johnny might feel. He's sensitive to racial issues. You don't need to talk to a race horse about the race. He's been there."
"What are you talking about?"
"What I'm saying is that Johnny knows about towns like Listre."
"What does that have to do with a race horse?"
"Never mind. Don't worry about it. He's not coming anytime soon as far as I know. He's busy with law school."
What happened with all this conversation about Johnny Dobbs was: I forgot to mention the vent.
VI
Charles's mother called on the Monday after we got back from the beach and said she was going to Connecticut the first week in September to see her sister, Charles's Aunt Sue, and would like to drop by to see us — on the way up (Monday, Monday night, and Tuesday), and on the way back down to Atlanta (Saturday night and Sunday). She asked if it would be all right, if three months had given us enough time to settle in. I told her it had. She said not to do any extra preparing. Lord, Lord. Last week was the big week. And it was not smooth, like I'd hoped it would be. Charles had that meeting at our house — wouldn't cancel it — on Monday night, then the Sneeds business was all over the newspaper on the following Saturday which we got in a argument about at Sunday dinner at Mama's with Charles's mother sitting right there in the middle of it, taking up for Sneeds. Sneeds runs Daddy's store. Not to speak of the fact that Charles and Millie went to an Episcopal Church Sunday morning — and dragged me along.
I figured from the start we'd put Millie in the guest room. (She told me on the phone, again, to call her Millie.) Charles suggested we stay in the guest room and his mama stay in our room. I said a guest is a guest and that his mother was the guest and that's what the room is: a guest room.
Charles said his mother was not used to sleeping on a narrow bed. So I asked him what did he think I was used to sleeping on, and why didn't he just give his mother the whole house and we'd move on down to the Landmark Motel for the duration.
It was a matter of principle for me and I won out.
Friday, before she came on Monday, I vacuumed the whole place, cleaned the window panes in front, shined up the bathroom, and made the guest room a little nicer by putting in the radio alarm clock, our antique brass lamp, a wall mirror, a little table with some fruit in a bowl, and our biggest wedding picture. Then I realized the fruit bowl might draw gnats, so I took that out.
Friday night Charles tells me about this meeting he's planning to have at our house Monday night — whether his mama is there or not. He's joined this thing called a TEA club; he's been to several meetings and it was his turn to have the meeting at our house. The TEA stands for Thrifty Energy Alternatives. I suddenly realized that with people coming to the meeting, and with Charles's mother being there, I'd have to paint, or Charles would have to paint, the living room.
"Charles, if you'll paint that living room some color I can understand then I'll be happy for you to have your meeting here."
"What's wrong with it as it is?"
"Why do you think I've carried back those six sets of drapes?" See, Charles is just like a man. Has no more sense for color schemes than Bill Grogan's goat. "They didn't go. Nothing goes with that scum green tint. And Mama said none of them went. And for sure your mother and somebody at the meeting will notice."
"You're telling me you don't want the meeting over here unless I paint the living room?"
"Most certainly. And your mother can't come unless you do."
"Raney. Do you have some color in mind? My God."
"Some off-white without that green in it. And I've told you about cussing in this house."
"You get the paint and I'll paint it."
So I did. Saturday morning. And Charles painted the living room. Saturday afternoon, before he finished, I got these real
"That's what I said."
"You said segregated"
"Whatever."
"Raney, don't worry about how Johnny might feel. He's sensitive to racial issues. You don't need to talk to a race horse about the race. He's been there."
"What are you talking about?"
"What I'm saying is that Johnny knows about towns like Listre."
"What does that have to do with a race horse?"
"Never mind. Don't worry about it. He's not coming anytime soon as far as I know. He's busy with law school."
What happened with all this conversation about Johnny Dobbs was: I forgot to mention the vent.
VI
Charles's mother called on the Monday after we got back from the beach and said she was going to Connecticut the first week in September to see her sister, Charles's Aunt Sue, and would like to drop by to see us — on the way up (Monday, Monday night, and Tuesday), and on the way back down to Atlanta (Saturday night and Sunday). She asked if it would be all right, if three months had given us enough time to settle in. I told her it had. She said not to do any extra preparing. Lord, Lord. Last week was the big week. And it was not smooth, like I'd hoped it would be. Charles had that meeting at our house — wouldn't cancel it — on Monday night, then the Sneeds business was all over the newspaper on the following Saturday which we got in a argument about at Sunday dinner at Mama's with Charles's mother sitting right there in the middle of it, taking up for Sneeds. Sneeds runs Daddy's store. Not to speak of the fact that Charles and Millie went to an Episcopal Church Sunday morning — and dragged me along.
I figured from the start we'd put Millie in the guest room. (She told me on the phone, again, to call her Millie.) Charles suggested we stay in the guest room and his mama stay in our room. I said a guest is a guest and that his mother was the guest and that's what the room is: a guest room.
Charles said his mother was not used to sleeping on a narrow bed. So I asked him what did he think I was used to sleeping on, and why didn't he just give his mother the whole house and we'd move on down to the Landmark Motel for the duration.
It was a matter of principle for me and I won out.
Friday, before she came on Monday, I vacuumed the whole place, cleaned the window panes in front, shined up the bathroom, and made the guest room a little nicer by putting in the radio alarm clock, our antique brass lamp, a wall mirror, a little table with some fruit in a bowl, and our biggest wedding picture. Then I realized the fruit bowl might draw gnats, so I took that out.
Friday night Charles tells me about this meeting he's planning to have at our house Monday night — whether his mama is there or not. He's joined this thing called a TEA club; he's been to several meetings and it was his turn to have the meeting at our house. The TEA stands for Thrifty Energy Alternatives. I suddenly realized that with people coming to the meeting, and with Charles's mother being there, I'd have to paint, or Charles would have to paint, the living room.
"Charles, if you'll paint that living room some color I can understand then I'll be happy for you to have your meeting here."
"What's wrong with it as it is?"
"Why do you think I've carried back those six sets of drapes?" See, Charles is just like a man. Has no more sense for color schemes than Bill Grogan's goat. "They didn't go. Nothing goes with that scum green tint. And Mama said none of them went. And for sure your mother and somebody at the meeting will notice."
"You're telling me you don't want the meeting over here unless I paint the living room?"
"Most certainly. And your mother can't come unless you do."
"Raney. Do you have some color in mind? My God."
"Some off-white without that green in it. And I've told you about cussing in this house."
"You get the paint and I'll paint it."
So I did. Saturday morning. And Charles painted the living room. Saturday afternoon, before he finished, I got these real
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