My Aunt Lottie was the epitome of Southern hospitality. She was the oldest of three daughters in a family of nine, my mother being the youngest daughter and eighth child. She and my Uncle Clayton lived in a typical white frame mill house within walking distance of the cotton mill where they were employed. As a child, I spent lots of time visiting at their house.
Back then, people dropped by without first calling to ask if a visit was convenient or if you had other plans. If no one was home, a note was left on the door that you had dropped by. Even if they wanted to call first, some of our family members didn't have telephones, including my grandparents.
Aunt Lottie and Uncle Clayton always seemed glad to receive visitors. Usually, the first question would be, "Have you eaten?" followed by, "Let me get you a glass of tea?" Sweet tea was never refrigerated at their house, probably because the sweet, syrupy mixture didn't last long enough to spoil. Aunt Lottie must have kept the door-to-door tea salesman in business. She had lots of Hall Autumn Leaf china pieces, including tea pitchers and teapots which were sold exclusively through Jewel Tea Company.
I remember swinging on their front porch, or sitting on a bar stool in the kitchen, drinking iced tea from brightly colored aluminum tumblers, dripping with condensation on a hot day. In the living room, the men carried on lively conversations about politics and religion. My mom called it arguing; the men called it discussing.
Uncle Clayton had a ruddy complexion, often wore a cowboy hat and a big smile. He was the family photographer, with his own darkroom. I was fascinated by the process, seeing the prints hanging to dry after coming out of the developing chemicals. To my recollection, he and Aunt Lottie owned the first color television in the family, another reason why we loved to visit. Uncle Clayton was a die-hard Republican who died, too young, of a heart attack at the age of 56.
Aunt Lottie's house was also where my mom and I often went for haircuts and body waves. My cousin Linda, a barber, cut our hair and Aunt Lottie or cousin Hazel gave the permanents. I can still remember playing with the little multi-colored plastic perm rods, and the distinctive ammonia smell of the permanent solution.
In the twenty-first century, we communicate with extended family by phone, email, or social networking. But you know, I really think my parents' way was best...Southern hospitality, unhurried visits, table talk, and a tall glass of sweet iced tea.
Copyright 2011 Charlotte Laney
Back then, people dropped by without first calling to ask if a visit was convenient or if you had other plans. If no one was home, a note was left on the door that you had dropped by. Even if they wanted to call first, some of our family members didn't have telephones, including my grandparents.
Aunt Lottie and Uncle Clayton always seemed glad to receive visitors. Usually, the first question would be, "Have you eaten?" followed by, "Let me get you a glass of tea?" Sweet tea was never refrigerated at their house, probably because the sweet, syrupy mixture didn't last long enough to spoil. Aunt Lottie must have kept the door-to-door tea salesman in business. She had lots of Hall Autumn Leaf china pieces, including tea pitchers and teapots which were sold exclusively through Jewel Tea Company.
I remember swinging on their front porch, or sitting on a bar stool in the kitchen, drinking iced tea from brightly colored aluminum tumblers, dripping with condensation on a hot day. In the living room, the men carried on lively conversations about politics and religion. My mom called it arguing; the men called it discussing.
Uncle Clayton had a ruddy complexion, often wore a cowboy hat and a big smile. He was the family photographer, with his own darkroom. I was fascinated by the process, seeing the prints hanging to dry after coming out of the developing chemicals. To my recollection, he and Aunt Lottie owned the first color television in the family, another reason why we loved to visit. Uncle Clayton was a die-hard Republican who died, too young, of a heart attack at the age of 56.
Aunt Lottie's house was also where my mom and I often went for haircuts and body waves. My cousin Linda, a barber, cut our hair and Aunt Lottie or cousin Hazel gave the permanents. I can still remember playing with the little multi-colored plastic perm rods, and the distinctive ammonia smell of the permanent solution.
In the twenty-first century, we communicate with extended family by phone, email, or social networking. But you know, I really think my parents' way was best...Southern hospitality, unhurried visits, table talk, and a tall glass of sweet iced tea.
Copyright 2011 Charlotte Laney
No comments:
Post a Comment