Just like a Slattery

Hi, my name is Susan, and I’m a plant killer.

I can take a cutting of nearly anything and root it in water, but when it comes time to plant it in dirt, it all goes to hell and dies within 24 hours, no matter how well the root system is established.

Except for last year, and I had a little breakthrough. I bought four Chinese butterfly roses and a Chinese plum tree and had Joe put them out for me. I watered them religiously every day, just like the people over at Gardenhood told me to, and they took. And they’re still there.

The roses have different colored blooms on each plant, and because they have five petals, they look like butterflies lighting on them. I think next year my plum tree will have blooms on it.

So now I want to put another tree out. I went over to Gardenhood yesterday, thinking that what I want is a Japanese Maple, one of the ones with the tiny leaves that look like hands and turn bright red. The tree itself is kind of short and umbrella-shaped, and when you look at it, it sort of looks pixelated.

But then I got distracted and found a Red Tip (?) and I just want it terribly. Only I don’t think I have room for it. Unless I have Joe move my plum tree that he just put in last year. The Red Tip grows to about 25 feet tall and about that wide, and Lord have mercy, I just need that tree. The leaves are dark purple and it has has purple blooms.

I see what’s coming: I’m going to end up having that plum tree moved and the new tree put in. And get the Japanese Maple on top of all that.

I am a little astonished at my need to plant things in the outdoors, or anywhere, really. So unlike me.

There is a mouse in my kitchen.

I know there is because I saw him last night. Or her. I don’t know if it’s a girl mouse or a boy mouse, and I don’t care, all I know is the mouse has got to go.

Several years ago, there was a mouse in my kitchen and I went shopping for a mousetrap. I asked the man at the Ace Hardware what kind to get. He advised me to get one of those glue traps, on account of mice are wily little creatures, able to jimmy the bait out of the snap traps without setting them off, but glue traps are flat and they’ll walk over them and become stuck in them.

I am here to tell you you don’t want a mouse stuck on a glue trap, because what happens after it gets stuck is horrific.

This was all before I got my dog (who is no mouser anyway), and I had put the glue trap out and gone on to bed with a towel stuffed under the door so the mouse couldn’t get to me in my sleep and walk across my face or something silly like that.

At about two in the morning, I heard an awful squealing and flapping coming from the kitchen and went in there to investigate. It was worse than my wildest dreams.

The mouse was stuck there by his two left paws and was jumping around the kitchen trying to free himself. There was blood all over the place because he had already managed to snatch his tail free. It was like the Valentine’s Day Massacre in Miniature in there.

And there I stood in my nightgown, wondering how best to deal with a mostly alive mouse at two in the morning in the dead of winter.

I did not have a bucket to drown him in, nor did I have the heart to beat him to death, and I certainly wasn’t going to call 911 or ask a neighbor for assistance.

What I did know was that I had to deal with it quickly so I could go back to bed and put it all out of my mind.

When I have inscrutable problems like this, I like to go sit on the edge of the couch and fold my hands in my lap, all churchylike, and contemplate my options. I sat there for a few minutes and came up with what seemed, at 2:00 in the morning, like the best plan.

I went back in the kitchen and got a heavy-duty two-gallon Ziploc freezer bag and filled it about 2/3 of the way with water and then I used a plastic spatula and picked it up by the glue and put the whole mess, spatula and all, in the bag and squeezed as much of the air out as I could and sealed it. Then I set it on the front steps to deal with in the morning.

That mouse was mad as hell the last time I saw him alive.

When I went outside the next morning, the bag was no longer on the steps but out in the yard, several feet from where I’d left it.

I later told my brother about The Incident and he was disgusted. With me. He pointed out that my solution was more barbaric than putting the poor thing in a trash bag and smacking him with my shoe or something.

I’d make a terrible killer, because I hate to ruin upholstery or spill things on my shoes. But today I have to go find another mousetrap, and when the man recommends a humane catch-and-release trap (and he will), I’m going to say, “Nosir, I’d like one of those inhumane traps that will snap his little head right off.”

Mary Lizzie Scarbrough

November 12, 1918 – May 14, 2011

Daughter, sister, wife, grandmother, great-grandmother, aunt.

Always loving, always loved.

A life well lived.

It was 96 degrees in my car when I left work today, and I left the windows and the sunroof open, and parked in the shade.

It is only May 10.

I ain’t sayin’, I’m just sayin’.

When I was growing up, central heat and air was not the norm. When the Dublin Mall was built, it was advertised as The Climate Controlled Dublin Mall.

Houses then were built to accommodate the heat – higher ceilings and thicker walls, and doors and windows positioned in such a way that you could open the right ones and get the cross draft, plus there were the shade trees.

We had window units, but we only used them if we had company or for some other special occasion. Otherwise, it was the miraculous oscillating fan, or a box fan in a window, drawing the hot air out of the room and into the night.

I went to school without air conditioning, and lived in dorms and some apartments without air conditioning, and I lived to tell the tale. Why, I had to walk to school in snowdrifts taller than a grown man!

I had a car without air conditioning and I drove all over the place with what I really wanted to wear and when I got where I was going, I’d hop out of the car and change clothes right beside it.

Now the heat just makes me ornery and I’ve been known to ask people who invite me places what the air conditioning situation will be, just in case I need to decline.

I come by it honestly though, because my daddy’s that way, too. Several years ago, I was talking to Granny about my uncle Bobby’s motorcycle and asked her if she was worried Daddy was going to get one. She looked at me like I had two heads and said, “No, shug, your daddy likes air conditioning too much to ride a motorsiccle.”

My granny is 92 years old. She has lived a good life, and she is well loved.

And she is dying.

I don’t know when, of course, but the good Lord is calling her home, softly and tenderly.

Granny was born on a farm, she grew up on a farm, she was a farm wife, and a farm mother. She raised six good children, has 14 grandchildren, and has lived to see somewhere in the neighborhood of 14 great-grandchildren, all of whom she could call by name.

When I was little, I loved to stand on a chair in the kitchen and watch her cook, and I loved to pat out biscuits after she lickety-split rolled out the dough on her old bread board.

She could put a meal on the table to feed a houseful in what seemed to me like minutes, but of course it took all morning. Somehow she made it all be done at the same time, something I still can’t do, even if I’m just making three things, and she always put nine or ten dishes on the table, not counting dessert.

There was always tea so sweet it would make you pucker, and she was always asking, “shug, did you get enough? What can I get you?”

You could go to my granny’s house and lick a path from the front door to the back door and never get your tongue dirty. I have never before nor since known a woman that clean, aside from my Grandmother.

I know I make her sound like one of those tiny Southern ladies with wrinkles who wore a flowered dress and an apron and had her hair stacked up on top of her head, but that wasn’t Granny.

Granny was tall, at least to me. Tall and lean, and always with her hair cut short and set. She wore jeans and Keds, and I never saw her with a spot on her shirt or a hair out of place. I have inherited her ability to be suspiciously unwrinkled at the end of the day, and I have inherited her thick, coarse hair.

She was also strong, as she is now. There was nothing she could not reach, nothing she could not lift, nothing she could not do for herself, any time she pleased.

The only thing I ever knew her not to do was drive. I asked her one time why she couldn’t drive, and she got a twinkle in her eye and said, “I don’t want to drive, I want to be driven.”

And she was driven – anywhere she wanted to go, somebody was chomping at the bit to take her. My papa – Hawk – took her to the mall on Saturdays and sat in the middle with the other gentlemen for as long as she wanted to stay, and when he didn’t, one of my aunts did.

I had a long separation from them, but I never stopped missing my granny, my granny who laughed loud and hard, except for when she giggled, and always had time for me to pat out the biscuits, my granny who called me “shug,” always had soft hands, and always had patience for a child.

I’d give anything to have one more day standing on a chair in her kitchen, spilling flour all over the place while she calmly watched.

Eight years ago today, my brother Charlie married Miss Marcy Kay Crego of Wadley, Georgia.

I have found out a lot of things about Marcy since I met her. She loves magazines and catalogues, like I do. And Pottery Barn. And shopping. And her dog. And makeup and hair products. She wouldn’t be caught dead with chipped toenail polish, and she won’t have to be, because she has something like 89 bottle of nail polish.

She is one of the smartest, funniest, and genuinely nicest people I have ever met. She is sweet, and not in that ugly way that Southern women sometimes call other women sweet.

The other day, my friend Leah and I had to stop by Daddy’s and pick up dog on our way back from St. Simon’s. Marcy said she hoped we hadn’t stayed in that really nice place, The King something, because her friend had stayed there and there was a turd in the pool.

Marcy posted on Facebook tonight that she got in trouble with my brother for that, because you’re not supposed to tell turd stories to people you just met. Her involuntary response of giving him the hairy eyeball makes me love her even more.

I want a chandelier in my bedroom. One with crystals. Badly.

Conventional wisdom says you should have a ceiling fan in your bedroom, and I do, but it’s ugly. Besides, I can’t sleep with a ceiling fan running because it gives me a terrible sore throat and wrecks my sinuses. I’m delicate that way.

Amanda wants one in her laundry room. I’m not sure how elaborate she wants hers to be, though.

I had dinner with Jennifer and the chirren tonight (after which we came awfully close to getting shot near), and we were talking about how I think she ought to write a book, and she said if she wrote one, it would probably be a cookbook/organization book, which reminded me that Amanda is having a fling with her label maker, and it hit me: Amanda and Jennifer need to meet!

Amanda and I have a somewhat sordid history with our old book club. We weren’t very good members, because we mostly were there for the wine and appetizers and to talk and giggle. And Jennifer said she wouldn’t mind being in that kind of book club.

But back to my chandelier. I want one in the bedroom. Which I think is much more doable than a butler’s pantry, since I really can’t add on to the house. Maybe I should look at some next week. I know for a fact that if you start unscrewing things on your ceiling fan, it will eventually just fall to the floor, and I definitely know how to install a ceiling fixture.

I am going to answer a meme. And I’m not tagging anybody. But you can answer it in the comments, if you like, and I will make pithy replies to your answers.

1. What time did you get up this morning? 7:42. According to the clock, which is set some bizarre number of minutes fast to trick me.

2. How do you like your steak? A little more than medium.

3. What was the last film you saw at the cinema? “The Lincoln Lawyer,” with the very hot Matthew McConaughey.

4. What is your favorite TV show? Right this minute? “The Middle.” Ever? “Northern Exposure.”

5. If you could live anywhere in the world where would it be? I’m liking Watkinsville right now, but I’ve still got a lot of world left to see.

6. What did you have for breakfast? Blueberry Fage yogurt with Kashe cereal. I need my fiber.

7. What is your favorite cuisine? That which someone else makes and cleans up after.

8. What foods do you dislike? Cole slaw.

9. Favorite Place to Eat? Wherever my friends are.

10. Favorite dressing? I make a pretty great dressing myself.

11.What kind of vehicle do you drive? 2011 Honda Civic.

12. What are your favorite clothes? The comfortable ones.

13. Where would you visit if you had the chance? Everywhere.

14. Cup 1/2 empty or 1/2 full? I pride myself on keeping it half empty.

15. Where would you want to retire? I’m planning on staying busy.

16. Favorite time of day? In the evening, in the evening…

17. Where were you born? Smack in the middle of Georgia.

18. What is your favorite sport to watch? Hockey.

19. Who do you think will not tag you back? This is a no-tagging game.

20. Person you expect to tag you back first? See 19 above.

21. Who are you most curious about their responses to this? Everybody.

22. Bird watcher? Well, I don’t put on a hat and take binoculars out there or anything, but I watch them when they’re available.

23. Are you a morning person or a night person? Night.

24. Do you have any pets? I have a tiny little dog. She’s cuter than whatever pets you have. And smarter.

25. Any new and exciting news you’d like to share? Well, my mother went home from the hospital, and I have a friend coming to town and we’re going on a little trip.

26. What did you want to be when you were little? In charge.

27. What is your best childhood memory? Most of it, before I started looking like Billy Carter.

28. Are you a cat or dog person? Dogs. Cats give me the creeps.

29. Are you married? Not yet.

30. Always wear your seat belt? Boy howdy.

31. Been in a car accident? Not one that I caused, and not one in which anyone was injured, no.

33. Favorite Pizza Toppings? You know, I’m going with pepperoni. And l like corporate pizza. There it’s all out in the open. I’m fine with Pizza Hut.

34. Favorite Flower? Tulips.

35. Favorite ice cream? LaLoo Strawberry Darling.

36. Favorite fast food restaurant? I don’t generally eat fast food, but I do love Dairy Queen. I love everything about it.

37. How many times did you fail your driver’s test? Not even once.

38. From whom did you get your last email? Lane Holmann, who swears she’s going to buy tomato plants this weekend. Lane has cute shoes.

39. Which store would you choose to max out your credit card? Were I going to be so silly as to max out my credit card, it would be on a plane ticket to Rome. Or London. Or Istanbul.

40. Do anything spontaneous lately? No, but I’m planning to one of these days.

41. Like your job? Mostly.

42. Favorite veggie? I don’t eat veggies. I am an adult. I also don’t nom, also because I am an adult. I eat vegetables, my favorite of which is the Brussels sprout.

43. What was your favorite vacation? San Francisco. No! New York! No! London! No! Italy!

44. Last person you went out to dinner with? Sheila and her lovely daughter, Anya.

45. What are you listening to right now? Silence.

46. What is your favorite color? I like red no matter what color it is.

47. How many tattoos do you have? Just the one.

48. How many are you tagging for this quiz? No one!

49. What time did you finish this quiz? 10:52 ayem.

50. Coffee Drinker? Yes.