Our chair of deacons told me tonight that I’m apparently on June’s bad list.
When Norma suggested June ask me for a ride to church sometime, June became all huffy and said
“That little girl promised me a pie today. It’s four, and still no pie. She said she’d bring a lemon cream pie. She thinks I like lemon.”
I’ll have you know, that being a person of intensely ethnographic disposition, I asked her favorite pie flavor during my first several months on the job. Baked treats are how I show love. I know she likes lemon pie. I also know her least favorite pie is apple, and her favorite hymn is How Great Thou Art.
She went on.
“You tell little curly top she owes me a pie. She SAYS she likes to cook, but I don’t see any cooked things around here.
So, if you have a suggestion on how I can get back on June’s good list, let me know.
Picture the shortest, tiniest, baldest woman you know and sprinkle in a good measure of sass and you’ve got June.
She’s as funny as they come and a joy to visit. And even though the pie didn’t come today, she’ll get it some time this week.
She’ll probably say something like
“You made this whole thing from scratch? Must be good. I’m surprised though. The way you carry all the wine wherever you go (IT IS WELCH’S. GRAPE.JUICE.), I’m surprised you didn’t bring any bourbon to go with it. What do ya say to that, Curly Top?
And then we will be buddies again. She’ll tell the chair of deacons that “that little girl who comes to see me” made good on her promise.
Then she, and every other sweet church member of the wonderful congregation at SBBC and I will continue our lives together with visits, notes and phone calls- and every surrogate grandparent I have in that church,
will end each conversation with “Take care of yourself, don’t work too hard. Come see me any time. I love you.”