Jitterbugging for Jesus

How much she liked to sit in her easy chair by the window in the den with the windows open and listen to the mourning doves making that long, lonesome cooing.

How much she liked to sit in her easy chair and relish a glass of cold Sherry Wine or a sip on some gin (straight up) when the 5 o’clock bells chimed down at the First Baptist Church.

How much she loved The Methodist Church and its Wesleyan emphasis on the social gospel tenets of feeding the hungry (she grew up in severe poverty after my grandfather abandoned her, her brother and sister and my grandmother).

How much she hated the very thought of children anywhere going hungry.

How much, when she was younger and I was little, she liked to hang clothes on the line with clothes pins.

How much she loved the late-night talks shows and especially Jack Paar, Johnny Carson and Doc, and David Letterman (“you’re just like that rotten scoundrel Dave,” she told me once, laughing; I was honored), and Paul Shafer and “The World’s Most Dangerous Band.” (“My old lady friends don’t understand that,” she said once. “That’s cause you’re hip, Goldie,” I told her. She laughed out loud.)

How much she loved to laugh.

How much she liked music and especially how much she liked to play Eddie Arnold, Marty Robbins, Perry Como and Andy Williams albums (among others) on the stereo when sipping her Sherry Wine or Gin.

How much she loved Paul McCartney’s voice and liked for me to play Beatles songs she liked a lot, especially “Yesterday,” “Michelle,” and “Your Mother Should Know.”

How much she hated for me to put on Jimi Hendrix’s “Purple Haze” on her stereo at 200 decibels just to get a rise out of her. (“Turn that damn thing down!)

How much she loved her mother (whom she housed and fed almost every day of my grandmother’s long life), and her sister my Aunt Rainie (who never had children and was the co-mother of my brothers & me).

How much she loved to serve her hot-pepper cheese twists (good with cold Sherry Wine), shrimp on ice, and certain delectable sweets every year at our annual family Christmas Eve Party.

How much pleasure she took on my birthday every year in cooking and serving me my favorite meal (Southern fried chicken, mashed potatoes swimming in butter and gravy, corn on the cob, homemade biscuits and lemon ice box pie).

How much she loved in her later years to dress up, drive to town and have ice cream and “girl talk” at the drugstore with all “my old lady friends.” (Such an Old South kinda woman.)

How much she and my Aunt Rainie loved to dress up and drive to Bryan-College Station, Texas (20 miles away) for Sunday buffets at the restaurants over there.

How much she loved the old Dean Martin Show on TV (“that I-talian’s got that right amount of sex appeal.”)

How much she laughed when I told her I didn’t really care to hear about Dean Martin’s alleged sex appeal from my mother.

And finally, how utterly devoted and sacrificial she was on behalf of others and especially her family–and how she was living proof that those who live their lives in love will love their lives.