The Christmas Letters (7 page)

December 20, 1985

Merry Christmas! to Ruthie, Mama, and Close Friends Only,

Now that Copeland Construction is sending out those big metallic cards —I did not pick them out, in case you get one of those too! Back to the old carbon paper for this letter. I’ll try to type hard.

And let me say that it is a
relief
to sit down for a minute! I am surrounded by boxes as I write. This is getting to be an old story, isn’t it? I don’t know why we never seem to move in the summertime, it would be so much easier. But I have told Sandy, this is
it
! I plan to
die
in this house! You should have seen the way he looked at me when I said it. Then he just about died himself, laughing at me. Of course a man does not relate to a house the way a woman does —for Sandy, a house is something you
build,
not something you
live in.
And I’ll swear, he can’t even look at a piece of land (or a mountain, or a beach) without imagining a house on it. Or
something
on it . . . and now they are building golf courses, too, as I have mentioned before.

This house, which I hope to die in—so write it down in your Rolodexes—is #5 Stonebridge Club Estates. It’s a
“new” Victorian with so many turrets and terraces that I lose track of them. Sandy and the decorator had a “field day” planning everything. It’s a lot of fun, but almost too grand for me! I feel like somebody on a British show on public television, as in “Upstairs, Downstairs.”

You know that I have been after Sandy for years to
slow down,
relax, get a hobby . . . well, the good news is that he has taken up golf—he says that if he’s going to build these courses, he might as well learn the game. The bad news is that he’s gotten so “hooked” on it that he spends every free minute out on the course, it’s like another job!
Men!
But I guess he is enjoying it—poor thing, he deserves to, he has worked so hard all his life, you know, even in junior high and high school down in Florida. Sandy never wants to talk about his past. He says he has “put all that behind” him. Which is certainly true—why, we barely
know
Sandy’s family. His parents have been dead for years, and I have never even met two of his brothers, who live out West. I think this is a shame, but Sandy says it is American! It certainly isn’t Southern, as I pointed out to him, but then Florida certainly isn’t the South.

Oh well! Who am I to say? I had it so easy, by comparison. And as for the kids today, well . . . “‘nuff said”! We give them too much, if you ask me. I think they
all
ought to work. But strangely enough, Sandy disagrees with me on this, he is just so proud that they don’t
have
to! He wants
them to concentrate on extracurricular activities so they can get into real good schools. So that’s what they are doing.

This means that I am in the car constantly, driving everybody everywhere to clubs, practices, etc. As I told Sandy recently, sometimes I feel like I am
part
of the car, like a fancy gearshift or something. But I guess it will be worth it. James is already a state-ranked Junior tennis star at 11. This past year, he has had matches in Greensboro, Wilmington, Kinston, you name it. And those matches
last forever,
let me tell you. Actually I am privately not even sure that they are good for kids, what with John McEnroe as a role model! They throw their rackets and everything, often (it seems) encouraged by their parents, who are just as competitive as they are. I am proud to add that James never does this. He has beautiful manners on the court, his coach insists on it. Sandy thinks tennis is good preparation for life, but I am not so sure. Anyway it is a big relief for me now that we have moved so close to the club, so James can just walk over there for his lessons. It will also be convenient for Claire and Melanie next summer, as they are both on the swim team.

At school, however, they go off in opposite directions. Claire is the cheerleader and math whiz, while Melanie is very active with the drama club and literary magazine. I’ll swear, it’s like each of them represents a different side of the brain! (I guess Claire must take after
you,
Ruthie!) I
have never seen so much energy, or so much talking on the phone. Actually, this goes for
both
of them. We have had to put in a separate phone line for the twins. They remain best friends despite their different interests, though it’s easy to tell them apart now that Claire has cut her hair and Melanie has let hers grow so long. I’ll be glad when they can get their driver’s licenses —or I
think
I will. It will certainly be easier for me, but of course I will never know exactly where they are then. . . . Well, there are things you can’t afford to think about too much, as a mother. The whole world is so dangerous, isn’t it? and yet we have to let them go. Somehow it is harder to let girls go than boys, Sandy feels this way too, I know it is a sexist attitude on our part.

Andrew has already been accepted at an art school in Boston, after winning the Danziger Art Award last May when he was only a junior. Even I am forced to admit that all those years of a messy room (read, creative kid) have really added up to something special. I will actually
miss the mess!

Sandy has always expected the boys to enter Copeland Construction Company with him, but it looks like he will just have to wait for “James McEnroe Jr.” to come along, since Andrew clearly marches to a different drummer. Andrew didn’t even tell us that he had applied for early admission to art school! In a way, Andrew is just as independent and bull-headed as his dad, I guess this is why they have clashed so much over the years. Of course Sandy
is just as proud of him now as I am. I confess, I can’t seem to get it through my head that Andrew is actually graduating! It seems like just yesterday to me that I was walking him to first grade at the old Cobb School, when we lived on Rosemary Street. I remember how tight he held my hand.

Ruthie and Jay have finally produced their first child, Eliza—Ruthie says her biological alarm clock finally went off! Now she acts like she invented motherhood. (Just kidding, Ruthie!) Seriously, she has also developed a new line of maternity clothes called Mother Nature. Look for them in stores everywhere, starting next summer. Personally, I think this is a great idea, remembering all those awful plaid overblouses we used to wear back in the old days, with
bows
and things . . . where
does
the time go? Now the idea is to let your belly show, Ruthie says it’s much more natural. Some of the Mother Nature dresses are actually
knits!

Mama is fine, in fact she’s amazing, still running her little restaurant. Of course she is heartbroken over Joe’s disappearance, as am I. Sorry to interject a note of sadness into the Christmas letter, but I want to ask all of you to let me or Mama know
immediately
if you hear from him, or if you spot him anywhere. (Randy Billings, one of Sandy’s foremen, swore he saw Joe on the street in Chattanooga, Tenn., but this lead did not pan out either.)

Sandy and I have now joined a couples gourmet club which is a lot of fun. The other couples are John and Dovie
Birmingham, Hap and Sarah Swann, Brenda and Roger Raines, Mary Lib and Bo Clark, and Sam and Ruth Wingate, many of them neighbors here at Stonebridge Club Estates. Each couple is responsible for dinner once a year (we meet every two months). So far we have had a Hibachi Grill-Out, a Northern Italian Evening, a Mexican event, and an English High Tea—Sandy nearly starved! It will be our turn in May. Any ideas? Maybe I should just bring Mama over here to cook for everybody—Sandy is really “into” gourmet, but I still think there is nothing like Mama’s home cooking. This reminds me of something funny Mama said the last time she came for a visit. I had taken her and the girls to an early morning swim meet, picking up some coffee and bagels on the way. Mama didn’t say a thing when I bought the food, but the funniest look came over her face when she bit into her bagel. “Well!” she said. “Whoever thinks this is good has clearly never tasted a biscuit!”

What else? I continue to volunteer at the PTA Thrift Shop and the Altar Guild (I have given up the Sunday School class) and recently I joined a women’s book group— I decided it was time to take “time for myself.” I am really enjoying it.

. . . And to all a good night,
Mary

P.S. From the files of the Gourmet Club (these are really good)

RUMAKI
(Chicken Livers with Water Chestnuts)

6 chicken livers (about ½ lb.), each cut into 3 pieces

6 canned water chestnuts, drained, each cut into 3 pieces

9 slices bacon, cut in half lengths and partially cooked

6 scallions, cut in 1-in. pieces

Marinade:

¼ cup soy sauce

¼ cup dry sherry

1 tsp. brown sugar

2 Tbsp. sesame oil (optional)

1 slice fresh ginger root, 1 inch in diameter, ¼ in. thick (or) ½ tsp. powdered ginger

Combine soy sauce, sherry, brown sugar, and sesame oil in non-metallic container. Squeeze in fresh ginger root with garlic press. With sharp knife, cut a small incision in each piece of chicken liver and insert a piece of water chestnut. Place prepared chicken livers, precooked bacon slices, and scallion strips into marinade. Mix well to coat, and let stand for at least one hour, longer if possible. Drain, reserving marinade.

Wrap a bacon strip around each piece of chicken liver with water chestnut. Secure firmly with small well-soaked bamboo skewer. On 9-inch bamboo skewers place 3 wrapped chicken livers, alternating with scallion slices. Lay on platter and pour reserved marinade over all.

Place on oiled grill over medium coals for 5 or 6 minutes, turning to crisp bacon evenly. Serve each skewer on individual plate with small fork. These should be served
hot!

(Contributed by John and Dovie Birmingham)

Dec. 10, 1989

To my dear family and friends,

It’s early for me to be writing the Christmas Letter, but there’s so much to say, it may take you until Christmas to read this one. Mama died peacefully in her sleep this past August, at age 67. She had no illness, or symptoms of any sort, beyond the slight “slowing down” you would expect. She was as mentally sharp as ever, right up to the day of her death. The last person to talk with her, her next-door neighbor, Mrs. Muncey, said Mama was fussing about where the paperboy had thrown her paper—up in the
shrubbery by the porch where it was hard to get to, instead of the yard. Mama always read the paper, and always watched the news. She was a remarkable woman.

It’s funny—I can’t say I actually had a
presentiment,
but that Sunday right before her death, I suddenly dropped everything and got in the car and took off to see her. I can’t say why—I just
felt
like it. Sandy thought I’d gone crazy, of course, but it was the Member-Guest Invitational at the club, and I knew he would never miss me. I knew he’d be over there all weekend anyway.

It was a hot day with a white sky that seemed to blend in with the fields on the horizon. The road ahead of me was shimmering in the heat, the way it does in summer. There’s never any traffic on 111 South—my kids used to call it the “ghost road”—so I got there in no time. I found Mama walking around the house in her black and white voile dress and her stocking feet, just home from church. I stood outside the screen door for a minute and watched her. She opened first one drawer, then another. She peered all along the top of the mantel, then felt behind all the books in the bookcase, those old
Reader’s Digest Condensed
books which she had had ever since I could remember. She reached up to touch the top of the grandfather clock.

“Surprise, Mama!” I said from the door.

“Why, hello, Mary.” But Mama did not seem at all surprised. She smiled her old sweet smile at me and gave me a
big hug when I stepped inside. I did not point out that she had left the door unlatched—we were always trying to get her to lock it. Though she had been losing weight for a year or more, she seemed strong as ever when she hugged me. Then she held me out at arm’s length and looked at me good, her blue eyes starred by the cataracts which the doctor said weren’t “ripe” enough to operate on.

“How’s the kids?” she asked, and I said, “Fine.”

“How’s Sandy?”

“Fine.”

Then she asked, “Heard from Joe lately?” and I said, “Mama, you know I haven’t heard from Joe. I would have called you if I had.”