Yesterday, I fell into a Southern novel. I passed the
July midday with bottomless glasses of iced tea, dressed salad greens, and
fruit too ripe to need sweetening. Temps were already sweltering when I walked
up the driveway, but inside, settled into deep chairs with a view of a shaded
deck, we were coolly removed from Texas’s sizzling heat.
Instead of this writing group meeting at the usual
restaurant, Lolisa offered her home for lunch. When she invited me, she asked me
to bring the newly printed memoir that I edited for my father. They wanted to
see someone else’s stories, collected, titled, and hardcover bound, proof that regular
people can “publish” their ordinary family histories. Something I’ve pushed
them to do since hearing their first efforts in our Memoir Writing class. Collected
scraps and sheets of anecdotes become important enough to share with family
when assembled into a real book.
Our
hostess announced lunch but said she needed to read her piece before we moved to
the dining room. Sharing our writings, what the group is all about, usually
follows lunch. Her reason for her reading became apparent early in her story:
Uncle Burton, a Lt. Colonial in General Patton’s Tank Corp and … with Patton in the final push into Germany near the end of the war [was] stationed in Selb, one of the towns where Rosenthal china was made. My uncle was able to buy two complete sets of dishes. One set for his wife and one set for his sister, my mother. We eagerly waited for Mother’s set to come. They were off-white with a gold etched band, and I thought they were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.
In my small West Texas hometown located ten miles from the corner with New Mexico, I don’t remember anyone having a grand set of dishes.*
She continued with how her mother used the dozen
place settings, her “good” dishes, for special occasions Eventually, Lolisa, promoted
to dishwasher for the demitasse cups and saucers because, she wrote, it was in pre-automatic
dishwasher days. That set of china from German has now passed down to Lolisa. Her
dishwasher stands ready, but she still hand washes them.
Even without knowing the story, we would have oohed
and aahed over her table. Wide gold-banded dinner plates, teacups so delicate
as to feel weightless set on a flowered cloth that seemed part of the garden
centerpiece. From where I sat, my eyes kept going to decorative plates hung
among watercolor paintings over the buffet. Also gold banded, centered with
flowers, they looked custom coordinated to the china. I asked but Lolisa said,
“No,” she had the decorative plates long before inheriting Mother’s china.
Perhaps she will add a page to her story, telling
where and how she acquired the wall hangings. Someday another generation will
have that to tell when hosting a summer luncheon.
Besides my show and tell with The Book, as Lolisa called my dad’s memoir, we had reason to
celebrate. The newest member is a finalist at the upcoming Mayborn Nonfiction Literary Conference. Her first conference, her first entry, and she hit a home
run.
We’re sure we all heard Mona’s shout when she
received the congratulatory email at 10:47 Tuesday evening. She phoned me
Wednesday morning still gasping and giggling between near tears. That’s what
hearing you’ve written something that is judged a success does to a writer. At
least neophyte ones. I wonder how many times Nicholas Sparks, or Hemingway for
that matter, heard, “We want to publish it,” before either treated the
announcement like another day at the office. Family matters prevented Mona’s
joining the lunch group, so we toasted her success in her absence, each of us
recalling portions of the story she submitted.
Adding to the glee over Mona’s success, Pat announcedthat her Beghtel Berries tales is at
the publisher. Good news can be shared anywhere, but it seems even more special
in a setting of fine china with tinkling crystal accompanying the chatter of
friends who support and encourage one another’s efforts. And perhaps, that
storybook setting sent us all home inspired to further writing efforts.
* Laenger,
Lolisa, “The Good Dishes.”