SINGING ON THE SIDE PORCH

LELA LEE BENNETT HUDSON
APRIL 10, 1901


Today is the day my paternal grandmother was born. She was the only grandparent that I ever knew. My Dad's father died when my sister Jill was a baby as did my Mother's parents. She has been on my mind today, so I will do what I usually do when something gets stuck in my head - write.

She lived next door to us, sharing a yard. As a kid, I made a path from her back door to our back door that was easily seen from either vantage point. She was my main care-giver the first three years of my life due to my brother, Terry, being sick with cancer.

To say I was her "favorite" grandchild is an understatement and yet another thorn in my side with my two older sisters. Bigma, as we called her, lived in a big white house with three separate porches. The one on the "front" of the house was open and only used for very special guests. The side porch that faced our house was an enclosed screened porch and the two of us spent many hours in her old glider. She would brush my hair, which was very long back then, and hum some tune she made up. The "back" porch was totally enclosed and held odds and ends of furniture that she no longer thought "proper" for inside the house but was the perfect place for a young girl to use as a playhouse.

Bigma was an interesting woman. She came from a tragic upbringing that left her scarred in many ways and unfortunately hindered her relationships with her children, in-laws and most everyone else but me. I like to think I saw the real woman behind all the drama and chaos that usually followed where she had been.

My Mom felt guilty (and still does) that my first three years were spent with Bigma while she had to be away with my brother. At that time, the nearest cancer treatment facility was in Jackson, Mississippi, a full 2 hours away. So Mother stayed during the week while Daddy worked and my two sisters kept the house going, and on the weekends, my Daddy stayed with him and Mother came home to rest. It was a trying time for all but being so young, I only remember the good times.

Bigma taught me how to sew; cross-stitch, quilt, embroidery and crochet. She tried and tried to teach me to crochet but I never really did pick it up. She was known for her handwork and quilting and made many over the years. I am blessed to have two of those and an afghan that she made for me one Christmas. I only have to look at them to feel her presence again.

She taught me to love nature, birds, flowers and the beauty of the simple things. Standing 5'2 in her stocking feet, she was what we call a "plus-sized" woman but she had a beautiful face, blue eyes and thick wavy hair. My Mom has always said that of all us kids, I get the texture of my hair from Bigma, and yes, those blue eyes that all the Hudson's seem to have.

She always wore a big straw brimmed hat on her head when we were out doors and she loved working in the garden with my Dad. The barn was directly behind her house and she was forever out there asking my Dad endless questions of different things that she thought needed to be accomplished in the garden. I'm sure this aggravated him but he always seemed so patient and gentle with her.

Bigma never learned to drive. This drove my Mom nuts because this meant we had to take her everywhere she wanted to go. I'm not sure why she refused to learn but she was a stubborn woman and if she said no, you could forget it. Driving was one of those NO's you didn't question.

I remember watching Watergate on the black and white TV in her living room together. We watched "Days Of Our Lives" everyday, much to my Mom's chagrin. For her to have had such a sheltered life in many ways, she knew everything that was happening with national news and politics and I remember asking question after question over the Watergate saga.

Someone gave her a grey and white Persian cat that she named PopCorn. PopCorn idolized her and would follow her around like a dog. She even learned to get in the bathtub and have a weekly bath. It's the only cat I've ever seen that went willingly to the water to be drenched. At times I worried Bigma was going to drown the poor thing!

My best memories were spent on the "back" porch where I had my make-believe house. All of my dolls lived there and I could play for hours. She had an old second-hand stove that she refused to part with for some reason and had given me old pots, pans and dishes she no longer used. I would play like I was cooking dinner and all the dolls where my children. Also, there was a huge storage closet attached to the porch where she kept boxes and boxes of scrap fabric that she used for quilting. If someone had a dress or something they no longer wanted, she would ask for it and cut them into squares. She would also purchase bolts of fabric on sale "just in case" someone needed something extra special that would require a lot of material. My favorites were the silks and toiles and I would play "dress-up". Most of the time I was a princess, a bride or a movie star.....you know....same shit I play now. LOL

My most cherished thing that once belonged to her is my china cabinet. It wasn't overly expensive but I loved it from the time I even knew what it was. She kept "what nots" in it instead of china and I would constantly re-arrange everything. I guess she got tired of me playing in it or asking for it because when I was 12, she insisted that Daddy move it from her house to my bedroom. I remember he argued and argued with her but she had her mind made up. I was having that china cabinet, end of discussion. I kept books and things in it for years but when I became an adult and started on my journey of collecting china (I have about 10 different sets, most antiques) I began to display things. It's in my living room now full of beautiful Wedgewood china that I picked out when Jerry and I married. After she was moved to the nursing home, her two daughters made sure that no one got anything that belonged to her so I'm so thankful that it was in my possession.

She passed away in 1992. I was already living in Nashville and married to husband number two. She was 91 and had been in a nursing home for a while. I hated that. The few times I went to see her there, I cried all the way back to my Mom's. Her mind went and some days she would know you and some days she wouldn't. The interesting thing is that when I'd go see her, she would remember me....but I was that little girl again. It made me feel special that her memories were of those times too. I will forever be indebted to her as I truly feel she is the person that cultivated in me the gift of imagination.

Perhaps the music I write now is born from an endless tune I learned long ago on the side porch while a sweet old woman brushed my hair.