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Thunderstorms likely this evening. Then a chance of scattered thunderstorms overnight. Low 73F. Winds SSW at 10 to 15 mph. Chance of rain 90%..

Thunderstorms likely this evening. Then a chance of scattered thunderstorms overnight. Low 73F. Winds SSW at 10 to 15 mph. Chance of rain 90%.

Recently, I was asking my 10-year-old granddaughter why she would not sleep upstairs in her bedroom at my house. She will only do that if her brother is here also. Her answer was, “It’s scary.”

Sounds reasonable. That is why I cling to the side of a king-sized bed while she sleeps soundly with a dozen or so “Stuffies.” Never could she have survived my bedtime ritual at her age. Someone we will call “Mother” for privacy would enter my bedroom every night. She would pull closed the Priscilla’s and remind me, “Pressing masking tape across the window panes, then quietly thumping with a screwdriver causes the glass to peel away. Then, a big hand can reach in and unlock the window and step right into your bedroom.”

Also? The intruder would get under my bed and hold himself up using the bed slats. That way, even if I checked under the bed, he wouldn’t be seen. Her parting words were always, “Give your cares to Jesus for sweet dreams.”

My mother was the only human I have ever known who refused to go to the Post Office (Choctaw Station, Box 2221), M&M Bake Shop or Mason Elementary Auditorium. She loved going to the A&P, and later Delchamps. She had no problem going into Carter-Heide, Fine Brothers, Alec Loeb, Mel Macs, Williams on Magnolia, Hamilton-Graves or Burton’s Jewelers. She also enjoyed exercising at the YWCA, where the machines did the work for you as you stood still.

She refused to go to any doctor and sent me to take my younger brother when he was sick. That meant, when he was 8, I was still only 16. She would write out Chris’ symptoms on embossed stationery. Once, he broke his arm playing ball with the Wansley boys. She had me drive him to the E.R. I was barely old enough to drive. Here we went, me looking through the huge steering wheel knowing no rules of the road or how to park or where to go. I had my tonsils removed there years earlier, so I knew the general vicinity, but barely, because I had not paid attention to anything other than how many popsicles I would get.

By the time Chris was fixed up and we were ready to leave, it was near dark. I drove all the way down Old Bay with no lights. It didn’t occur to me that cars had lights. At one point, mother stopped driving all together.Daddy drove her around. She sat in the backseat as if he was her hired chauffeur. Then came the time that, for whatever reason, she began to cover everything in our house with red velvet.

Even the trash can. My lifelong pal Debbie Yoder can verify. The fact that none of us found this odd underlines how abnormal things were around there.

There was a Dutch door in the kitchen. Mother was certain that someone was standing right outside smoking around 9 on summer nights. We all said not to us does it smell like cigarette smoke. No, ma’am. Just the scent of all of those Loblolly pines. This went on for several weeks one summer.

The boy who is now a respected retired businessman in town lost interest and stopped coming by to chat with me at the Dutch door about 9 p.m. while he smoked.

During those years, the late ’60s, it was a common occurrence to blow the car horn when one passed a friend’s house. A classmate on the street had a new boyfriend, and when he came by, he would tap his car horn. Da- Da-DaDa. Mother was convinced this was the signal to “come and get your drugs.” It was plain as day. A drug ring!

The fact that no car stopped and that no one went out of their house when the signal occurred was immaterial. It was definitely a drug car with a drug-calling horn. I don’t know what drugs were supposedly being offered, because at the time, we knew nothing about drugs. However, the Ladies Home Journal had a warning about them. Mother was not going to be caught unaware.

Wine seemed to be acceptable. There was always a bottle of Mogen David in the fridge. We were told it was for Communion.

She got it into her mind

there was a peeper looking in

our windows around 5 p.m. every day. By this time, I had gotten old enough to realize her cooking supper, us doing homework and Daddy pulling in the drive from work did not make for interesting peeping. It seems to be of great interest to Mother, so we went along. I never asked her why she didn't just close the open curtains.

She could have just “rebuked.” Mother was a great one for “rebuking.” She rebuked my two short skirts, fishnet hose, hair in the kitchen sink and cats. Car horns blow all the livelong day around here now. And this time, Mother? They could well be calling for you to get your drugs. A whole lot of rebuking needs to happen since you were here.

Marilyn Deaton writes true adventures about people, pets, the public and never-ending home repairs. She lives on the Avenues in Laurel.

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