We hadn�t planned to go to church, but now we were late. There�s not a religious reason that we don�t usually go. As a matter of fact, we make it there sometimes an entire month of Sundays in a row. It�s just that out weekday labors runneth over into Saturday. God took Sunday off; even He understands that sleeping in sometimes takes precedence. Sleeping in is one of the great gifts God gave us. Such a natural and simple pleasure has got to be Heaven Sent. But Grandma Dot was visiting this weekend and a special effort had to be made. Besides, I don�t think Grandma Dot has slept in a day in her life.
I sat in the very back of the van on the couch wrangling the little kids. I probably didn�t have to look after them, but once I start feeling cornered, I like to make myself feel worse. It�s the genetic martyr in me. Besides, I like kids and they like me.
So there we were, hurtling down the road, feeling overwhelmed with Christian love for each other, when I realized what day it was. Sure enough, the sign in front of the church said it was Assembly Sunday. Church starts an hour early the last Sunday of every month so that the congregation can eat pot-luck together after the service to promote unity. It sounds like a good idea, but so far it has caused nothing but trouble.
"Why didn�t anyone tell me that it was Assembly Sunday?" Mom�s like that: it�s never quite her fault.
I shifted in my seat. "I only just remembered when I saw the sign."
"Can we make it to another service?" Grandma Dot was still convinced that we could make it.
"No, Mom, this is the late service, all the other churches start earlier. We missed it. We could have a service at home." She looked back at Grandma Dot, with eyes requesting an answer.
"That�s fine with me. We should go to the store and pick up juice and stuff."
I thought once we missed church it would be done with. I should have known better.
Dad drove us to H-E-B and Mom and Annie got out. He then drove to the back of the parking lot to wait for them to come out of the store. It didn�t take longer than a short fuse before Dad was rocketing to the loading zone.
Mom climbed back into the back into the van, lugging her bag of groceries. She laid the bag in the back, right in front of Grandma Dot. Temptation. Dottie immediately began itemizing the contents. She pulled out a small bottle of grape juice, perfect for the communion service with none remaining for later memorable sips. There was a carton of salt-free saltines. Isn�t that an oxymoron? Last Grandma Dot pulled out a value pack of gum. My mother always buys a value pack every time she enters the grocery store, and with five kids, she goes every day. Needless to say, we all are gum chewing fools.
"Salt-free saltines are not unleavened bread." Grandma Dot mumbled away at the offending box of crackers. "They have soda in them, that�s why they used to be called soda crackers. Soda is leavening. . ." and on, and on. . .
"Mom, are you saying something?" My Mom craned her neck around the seat to look at Grandma Dot. "What are you talking about?"
"We can�t use these crackers."
"They don�t have salt in them." Mom didn�t even bother to look at her now. I think she had foolishly dismissed the entire problem. But then, she tends to think that once she�s spoken, it�s understood. I don�t think anyone can argue the way a mother can. Two mothers pleasantly arguing with each other are something to see�from a distance.
"It�s not a question of salt, Jeannie. These have leavening. We can�t use them."
"What are you talking about? They don�t have leavening, they�re flat."
"They have soda. Didn�t they have matzo? That doesn�t have leavening."
"H-E-B doesn�t have matzo."
"Yes, they do."
Mom finally looked back at Grandma Dot again. "Have you ever been to this H-E-B, Mother? They do not have matzo. I know, I go here every day. I�ll go back to another store after we drop everyone off at home." The genetic martyr had reared its ugly head again. This was going to be the nastiest communion service since the original.
"Well, I suppose it�s what�s in your heart that matters." Grandma always wins graciously. Strangely, I had never before found the contents of my heart on a list of ingredients. They do say you are what you eat.
Everyone piled out of the van, walking to their respective lairs. Mom stalked into the kitchen with her bag of religion and set it firmly on the counter. She handled the bag as if it were the object of her fury, glaring with hot eyes I had long learned to avoid. Eyes that powerful can leave scars, or at least sunburn you for a while. Grandma Dot seemed immune to their venom.
Grandma Dot pushed aside her fuming daughter. She could only see baby Jeannie, eyes, fists, and soul violently clenching in impotent rage. The flares shooting from my mother�s militant eyes were absorbed by the asbestos fog surrounding Grandma Dot. Her mother armor in place, Dottie launched her counter-attack. "What are we going to do about these crackers, Jeannie?"
Mother gasped. "I already told you, Mother, I will go back to the store. I still think the crackers are fine." Mom continued her attempt to wither Grandma Dot. She was out of practice, weak from easy victories over her children. This was a forgotten from of warfare, familiar but ancient. The weapons she had in her maternal arsenal were bought from Grandma Dot�s warehouse. The old standards, guilt--nagging--the dreaded stare, had no effect on the master.
"No, you don�t have to go to the store for me. I�m sure I can get by with crackers this once, God will understand what�s in my heart." She was devious, this tempered warrior. Dottie had pulled out the big gun, guilt by submission.
Lulled by the sudden acceptance, mom anticipated triumph. Victory, however, in a fight with your mother, is defeat. This battle was over.
"Mom, you don�t have to eat the crackers. I�ll make something unleavened. Maybe there is something in a cook book that we can improvise with. Do you think that will work?"
"I�m sure we can find something, dear. Perhaps a pie crust?" The treaty had been accepted and signed. Mom disarmed her eyes and Grandma Dot began looking in the cook books. She found a recipe that would suffice and began to spread flour over the counter for the sacramental pie crust. The flour billowed into the air, obscurring Dottie�s small smile.
Finally everything was ready and Mom shepherded all the kids onto the front lawn. Lanie spread the gargantuan van cover on the grass. I was surprised at how cushiony it was. I mean, why would a van cover need to be quilted? Once the spreads were laid, we all arranged ourselves on the padding. Everyone sat erect and solemn, pretending, I guess, they were in pews.
Daddy had picked out scripture to read, the Beatitudes. "There�s probably nothing in here that I could read that the adults haven�t already heard. But I think it�s important that we remember the lessons from our childhood." Dad fumbled a little with his bible, getting comfortable with his voice, and read.
"Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted."
Lanie watched Daddy read with shady eyes. Lyle, her husband, was not present on the communion quilt. I wondered what she must be thinking. Her sister�s husband was leading our service with quiet dignity. Her husband was at home. Can there be a one person partnership?
"Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God."
Anne and Phillip didn�t so much as glance at Dad. They were softly giggling and playing the child game Dame Nature inspires. Anne�s hair played tag with her eyelashes as Phillip pointed out the rays of sun that he called Heaven�s Slides. According to Phillip, even angels have recess.
"Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called the sons of God."
Mom watched Dad read with proud eyes. She often told me how she marveled at the way he handled the craziness of her family. They could be so petty and self-involved. But he never treated them with the unconscious disrespect they showed him. Mom told me his patience was inspiration the same way her family was aggravation; with her husband beside her, she could find the balance she had been looking for her entire life.
"Blessed are those who are persecuted because of their righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of Heaven."
"Why you wanna do that fer?" I looked up to see a fuzzy headed man with skin like stale, weak tea. He was looking in confusion at all of us on the lawn. "You some sort a cult?"
"Excuse me?" Dad just quietly closed the Bible to watch as mom spoke.
"You know, a cult. One a them snake kissin�, hands on, squirmy types. No �fence meant, I�s jest curious. I ain�t never seen one a y�all except on the t.v."
"We are not a cult, we just missed church this morning, and it�s such a beautiful day, we thought we�d enjoy our service outside."
"Yer service? You mean with the snakes? Where ya keepin� em? Back in th� bayou we got�m all over. I �spect you ain�t got nothing but a garden snake less�n you went to the pet shop. But if it�s a poisony snake, you best get them younguns somewheres else. I don�t care how much faith you got, snakes is dangerous binness." The man rubbed his hands up and down his leg as he spoke.
"Sir, we aren�t having that kind of. . ."
Snake man didn�t even seem to hear Mom. He spoke with the ecstasy of a man who had found the hidden oasis in a lonely desert. His words drooled out, syrupy. "Dangerous binness. . .once knew a man who got bit in the leg. Square on his knee, liked ta kill him. You see, missy?" Snake man squatted down to Anne�s level, pointing at his knee with glee. Her eyes lost their lids for a moment, but she didn�t look at his knee. Anne was staring was staring into snake man�s stubbled, grinning mouth. She backed away from him and ran over to mom, holding her nose. Mom whispered something to her and set Anne in her lap.
The man just shrugged his shoulders and smiled bigger. "Kids, huh. Guess she don�t like the snakes as much as y�all do yet."
"Sir, we don�t use snakes. We are not a cult." Mom was still amazingly patient. Maybe she was feeling particularly Christian. Who knows?
"Well, I�d best be going. I still hafta finish Mildred�s shopping and if I dawdle too long she�ll start to worrying. You enjoy yer service and be careful with the snakes. They�s dangerous business. Bye." Snake man waved and grinned, once more, winking at Anne as he shuffled on, whistling a breathy non-tune.
Anne got up and stalked back to her perch. "That man had bad bref." She then plopped herself back down indignantly, head in hands.
Mom and Lanie looked at each other and started laughing. Soon Dad started in, then Phillip and instantly everyone was family again. Really family, the way you are when you�re not thinking about how individual you are.
"Well, I guess we should get back to the task at hand. I think we�re ready for communion. Phillip, why don�t you pass around the glasses?" Phillip walked the mini wine glasses around the circle. Anne jumped up and grabbed a couple to pass out; there were some grumbles, but nobody stopped her.
When all the glasses were passed out, Anne looked perplexed. "Mommy, where�s a glass for me an� Phillip?"
"Annie, you and Phillip aren�t baptized yet. You can�t take the Lord�s Supper until then."
"Why not? I have grape juice all the time." I could tell by the sudden fullness of Anne�s lower lip that she was about to erupt into tears. Phillip noticed he didn�t have a glass either and realized he wanted to join in the mutiny.
Mom headed off the argument, "I�m sorry, honey, as soon as you�re a little older, you can get baptized. But for right now, just sit quietly, we�re almost done." Anne slumped over to her seat by Phillip and together they sulked in silence.
After the service we stacked the plates and glasses. "Why don�t we all go around and say the things we�re thankful for?" I think Mom was confused, it was not, contrary to her belief, Thanksgiving Day. But we all had to do it. Mom said she was thankful for her family. Dad said he was thankful for our being able to get together. Grandma Dot said she was thankful for God being present in her family. I said I was grateful for the support of my family. With that, we were finished.
Lanie took her communion-proof car cover and stuffed it back into her van. Mini wine glasses returned to the kitchen. Anne, fully recovered from the tragedy of not being grown up, ran around the yard, getting in the way. Everyone prepared to separate.
In the front room, Mom and Lanie were debating on who would take Grandma Dot to the airport, both of them equal candidates striving to look like they weren�t. For once, mom won. Lanie would be on shuttle duty. I was proud that mom got out of it, but I don�t think she was. I was in the living room, trying to avoid good-byes. Why is it that family only makes an attempt to be pleasant when you first arrive and right before you leave? At any rate, it was time for everyone to clear out. I was ready to leave myself. Dad glanced over at me, seeming to say, "We�re almost there."
"Is it wrong for me to be grateful to God that Grandma doesn�t live in Texas with us?"
Dad laughed, but in keeping with his paternal responsibilities, replied, "Probably."
