Cousins
The Southern definition of cousin is, “we are just like brothers and sisters.” At least this has always stood true in my family. I was blessed to have grandmothers who remained the matron of the family for the first 30+ years of my life. They were the center of attention and on Sundays, holidays, birthdays, and more, my cousins and I were all gathered around Granny or MawMaw. In my elementary and high school days, I had four cousins with me through the tenth grade. Tim, older than me by seven months, died in a motorcycle accident just shy of his sixteenth birthday. Our whole family was devastated, as any would be. The closeness instilled by our grandmother proved to be a resource of healing for each of us.
As an adult my cousins and I have remained close. A good friend once told me, “you’re family is all up in each other’s business.” So, true. We are. When something happens, I call my cousins first. I know they will be beside me no matter what.
In the summers we’d gather at Granny Cochran’s porch after a morning in the garden. We were pea-picking, corn-shucking, bean-breaking buddies all day. The garden was a central part of Granny’s life and if you were around, well, she had work for you to do. We wouldn’t have had it any other way.
On Sundays my family would gather at MawMaw’s house and I’d have the opportunity to see all my cousins on my dad’s side of the family. Food was a central part of our family gatherings and still is today. An abundance of food was always available. We ate, talked, and ate more. All the while, building bonds that could never be broken by life’s uncertain ways.
Cousins understand each other more than anyone else. They can tell when something is wrong, right, or headed in a bad direction. My cousins love without judgment. Southerners are often portrayed negatively in the press, especially during heated political times, but there are so many attributes of a Southerner that go unrecognized. Our commitment to family is unmatched. Our ability to build life long relationships with our very first best friends, our cousins, shows that we are all about love.
Thank you and much love to all my cousins. I am grateful to be walking this journey alongside you.
Tibby, Let’s Go to Lunch
Even though Sundays are off days Nancy Grammley is always up before the sun rises. Standing before her vanity, she looks into the mirror and adjusts her perfectly cut and colored blonde hair. Not too long, not too short-just perfect. At 65 years old, Nancy feels confident in the way she looks. Her husband Tibby is always complimentary. Speaking of Tibby, Nancy wonders when he will get up. She picks up her coffee cup and walks into the bedroom, “Tibby, are you getting up?” she asks. “I am now,” he says.
Thibedeau “Tibby” Grammley is thoroughly enjoying his retirement. The former plant safety manager enjoys golf, television, and having multiple meals per week at the Dixie Café, a staple in the Grammleys’ hometown of Sawyer Lake, Alabama. Tibby throws the covers back and swings his legs over the side of the bed. “What do you want for breakfast?” asks Nancy as she examines the closet in order to decide which shirt to iron for her husband.
“Tibby, breakfast. What can I fix you?” repeating her question. “Let’s just go to the Dixie Café,” he replies. “Oh Tibby, you ate there four days last week and for goodness sakes, I work there five days. We see enough of the café,” she exclaims. “Well, I’ll eat a couple of eggs and some toast,” he requests. Nancy nods in approval as she pulls a pin stripe shirt from the closet and a pair of black pants. “By the way, I’m not cooking lunch today, so we can eat out after church,” she says. Tibby’s face lights up as he wipes sleep from his eyes replying, “Great, we’ll go to the Dixie Café.” Nancy can only muster a simple eye roll.
At the end of the church service, Nancy always makes a point to speak to everyone she sees on the way out. Striking up conversations with those around you is the only way to learn what’s going on. She spends most of her shift at the Dixie Café listening to customers’ conversations and relaying their stories to others. It is a vice. She learned how to gossip or “pass information” along at a young age from her grandmother and great aunts. They used to listen in on the “party line” in Sawyer Lake in the 60s and 70s and repeat the conversations of others. It always intrigued young Nancy. Tibby is pulling at Nancy’s arm; she can barely relay her suggestions on the sermon to Pastor Shane. “I’m hungry, let’s go to lunch,” Tibby pleads. Nancy knows right away it is his blood sugar. The two Grammleys get in their Buick and head toward the café.
The café is busy but winding down since Pastor Shane ran over today, an apparent sin Tibby spewed over and over in the car. The Grammleys take a seat in a corner booth. Nancy’s coworker Lovella yells from behind the counter, “Girl what are you doing in here on your off day?” Nancy points her finger at Tibby and Lovella just shakes her head.
Waitress Evelyn Rhineheart, who looks exactly like a shorter version of Nancy, walks up to the table with a young girl trailing her. “Hey, Evelyn. Tibby just had to come in and have the hamburger steak today, and I just didn’t want to cook,” explains Nancy. Evelyn tells Nancy she understands completely and introduces Chancey to her coworker. “Oh, when did you start, honey?” asks Nancy. “Last night was my first shift, but they called me back in today, so I reckon I’m doing it right,” says the tall thin redhead with the thick Southern accent.
“Are y’all gonna take my order or what?” demands Tibby. “Settle down Tibby; get us the usual,” says Nancy. Chancey looks down at Tibby like she wants to slap him and then walks away to put the order in. “Evelyn, what’s her story? I didn’t even know they were hiring someone else. What kind of name is Chancey?” asks Nancy. “You act like an ole busy body,” proclaims Tibby. Both Evelyn and Nancy stare down Tibby and he knows, low blood sugar or not, he’s busted.
Once the meals arrive, Tibby scarfs his down and then requests a slice of pie, but Nancy nips that in the bud, and Tibby retreats from battle. “Oh look, there’s the mayor,” says Nancy. Tibby throws up his hand as Levi Curtis waves to the couple. The mayor is credited with rebuilding the town after the 2018 tornadoes. The head cook Vince, a tall and graying older man with an athletic build and a bright smile, emerges from the kitchen to shake the mayor’s hand and deliver his to-go order of chicken and dumplings. Just as Vince notices Tibby and Nancy, Chancey walks by with a full tray of glass ketchup bottles. She is holding the tray above her head while walking between tables.
“Chancey, be careful with….oh crap!” exclaims Vince as Chancey stumbles and ketchup bottles go flying off the tray. Most fall to the tile floor , break, and splatter. But three fall and land directly on the Grammleys’ table, breaking and splattering both Nancy and Tibby. He in his pin striped shirt and black pants, and she, in her pale blue blazer over white silk with matching blue slacks, now covered in ketchup. Vince, Lovella, and Evelyn all rush around checking on the customers while Chancey collapses in the floor crying.
“You just had to come to the Dixie Café today, Tibby,” whimpers Nancy, looking down at her stained clothing. “Don’t lay this on me, Nancy, it’s your fault we are a eaten’ here!” he rebuts. “Excuse me?” she asks. “How exactly is it my fault when you chose the café? Tibby looks around at the chaos, down at the table, the ketchup everywhere. He’s trying to gather the courage to say it….”It’s your fault, because you didn’t cook.” There is no verbal response. The sudden handful of ketchup hurling toward Tibby’s face is sufficient enough. Bull’s eye.
“Tibby, Let’s Go To Lunch” is just one of the stories in the upcoming book, “The Dixie Café “ based on the play of the same name. The Dixie Café ran from November 2018 to May 2019 raising over $7,500 for various charities.