White Gloves and Party Manners

I've been sick and a little tired today. It was also a Kylee day. Once a week, our granddaughter comes to spend the evening because both her parents work on the same night.

My boy got a Valentine's coupon from Zaxby's with a free cookie for him and a friend. ZBoy decided that he wanted Kylee to have the other cookie, so I packed the kids up and took them to Zaxby's for dinner.

Well, I thought I took kids. As it turns out, I took a couple of crazy animals. They ran and made too much noise and I had to be very stern with them to make them sit more or less quietly in our booth until our order number was called.

ZBoy settled down to the business of eating dinner rather quickly and quietly, while Kylee kvetched about her fries, her sandwich and things in general. I opened her chocolate milk for her and told her to eat.

I can hardly describe what happened next.

A moment later, I looked up from my own dinner and across from me, Kylee had stuffed her mouth with french fries so full that she couldn't even close her lips over them. It was disgusting.

"Are your table manners always this atrocious? Are you this rude to other people you eat with?" I demanded (remember, I wasn't feeling so hot and when I feel like that, blunt is my middle name).

Tears started welling up in her eyes, but I was having none of it. I waited until she managed to swallow that mess, and asked her where she learned her manners. "From my dad. And my teachers are always trying to teach me," she whispered. Well, that explains a lot. Her dad is NOT the poster child for good manners of any sort, much less table manners.

Trying to reign in my irritation, I explained to her why having good table manners was important. And as I did, I remembered...

I don't know how old I was, maybe ten or eleven, when my mother announced that she had signed me up for a course in manners at a local department store. I was aghast. Why on earth did I need manners? Why should I have to take a COURSE in manners???? On Saturday mornings, no less? Off she dragged me, kicking and screaming (figuratively, of course - I would never have dared to to it literally) to the White Gloves and Party Manners class at Gayfers Department Store.

My instructor was a trim, older (like 40) woman with the most amazingly fluffy, gravity-defying blonde hairdo ever. Ms. Townsend was a Southern Lady and she was going to turn that class of about 15 little ruffians into ladies if it killed her. We were required to wear proper dresses, be clean, and wear white gloves to class.

I thought I was going to die.

She drilled us in how to sit down and stand up, how to walk, how to curtsey (!), how to meet people and shake hands. We had to introduce ourselves over and over, using good diction and proper English. We had tea and luncheons and practiced not leaning on the table, sitting up straight, how to keep a napkin from sliding off our laps. Sipping not slurping. No clattering silverware or knocked over glasses allowed at her table!

I grumbled every week when I had to go to class, grudgingly getting out of the car and going in for my latest lesson on how to walk.

But for all my resistance, I learned.

Oddly, the graduation was a fashion show for the department store, where all of us suddenly turned into little models. Our outfits were picked out for us (and we got to keep them!), and we had to walk straight and tall and confidently down the runway, smiling and at ease. That turned out to be a hell of a test. When it was all over, we got little diplomas tied with a white satin bow.

What I actually got was so much more.

I am not the most outgoing person in the world, but I know how to meet people, put them at ease and hold a conversation with them. I can eat barbecue out in a field or have high tea in some fancy restaurant and feel confident of my ability to do either one without embarrassing myself. I stand up straight, sit up straight - and my napkin rarely falls off my lap.

And I still have my book somewhere. I was telling all this to Kylee over chicken fingers. Her eyes got wide as she listened. And I told her that I would be willing to teach her table manners every Thursday when she came to visit. If she did well, we would get dressed up and go somewhere for our very own special lady lunch one day. She nodded slowly as she thought about it. And decided to do it.

Guess I'd better dig out that book!

You can tell you're sick when...

I have spent much of the day not talking. After a week of sneezing and coughing, I woke up this morning with a sore throat. I managed to accomplish about four hours of work from home before calling it a day and getting out a can of chicken soup.

I was also tired. I woke up repeatedly last night from increasingly weird dreams.

Among the weirdest:

I was at Goodwood Plantation with my husband and my son and we were getting the tour. In the diningroom of the main house, the tour guide was extolling the virtues and accomplishments of one of the owners. "What did he do?" I asked. Apparently he carried a strip of wood into the house for the edge of the diningroom table. "You mean he didn't even put it on?" I asked incredulously. "He just carried it in here?"

In the next dream, my husband and son were gone and I was dating this man:

Owen and I were staying at a romantic bed and breakfast with lovely clawfoot tubs. I suggested a bath and he began disrobing. When he got down to his underwear, he took them off and there was another pair underneath. In all, he removed a week's worth of underwear. I asked him why he was wearing so much underwear. And he said, "My mom always told me to put a fresh pair on every day!" "But, Owen - you're supposed to take the old underwear off before you put the new pair on!!!!"

Don't ask.

I hope I get some REAL sleep tonight. No wood strips. No Owen Wilson with tons of underwear. Just sleep.

Paying Respect

When my father retired, he retired his real clothes and his real shoes. He lives now in sneakers, shorts (sweats when it's cold) and t-shirts. For church, he wears pants with a zipper and a polo shirt. Maybe a sweater. For funerals, he has a black polo shirt and black pants and black sneakers. He thought he was done with dress clothes.

Until a couple of days ago.

In his heyday, my dad was a man about town. He knew everyone there was to know in government and business around here. He was a reporter and a salesman. He moved up in his company until he was president of his division, which put him in contact with people like the Governor and Bob Hope. Dad was no slouch in the who-you-know game.

As Dad was coming up in the world, there was another guy, a little younger, who was also a rising star. His star rode his shrewdness in business and his honesty in his dealings and carried him to wealth and stature in the community - and no one ever begrudged it to him because he got it the right way. He had friends and family and all the time in the world, that guy.

Until a couple of days ago.

It was a freak accident. One of those that occurs in a split second of inattention. It was in the paper the next day, but the victims of this accident weren't named. However, the location of the accident was a dead giveaway for those in the know - like Dad. He prayed that it wasn't who he thought it was... but it was.

Dad was a bear all yesterday. He gets like that when he's deeply upset. When I talked to Mom, she told me he was. She also told me that he bought a white dress shirt.

That's how much this man meant to my father. Dad put aside his comfortable clothes and even his comfortable funeral clothes to don the pants, shoes, dress shirt and tie to go pay his respects to an exemplary life.

Afterwards, he called and asked me to go to lunch with him.

As we sat and ate, he regaled me with stories. He wept a little, laughed a lot, and got philosophical. And when lunch was over, he strode out to his truck, ready to get on with the rest of his day. The rest of his life.

Because things like this happen sometimes. And the older you get, the more often it does. I don't think you ever get used to it. It's begun to happen to me and it's always a shock. My friend died. We're so young! How can that be? And I realized today, that those feelings never go away, no matter how old you get. It is always a shock to the system.

Then you put on your dress shirt and go pay your respects.

Fun Monday - Bookworm

Angela (The Lurchers) is hosting this week. And her challenge is one of my favorite subjects!!!

OK, I know that pretty much all of you out there are bookworms. So for Fun Monday on 2nd February, firstly tell me what book you are reading now. What's it about? Are you enjoying it and why? If not, why not? And secondly, if you were to be stranded on a desert island, what one book would you take with you.

What I'm reading now:

The Vampire Lestat by Anne Rice.

I admit it - I'm a Lestat fan. I re-read Interview with a Vampire recently and when I was done with that, picked up Lestat. I like Anne Rice's vampire stuff and the Witching Hour series (though the first one is the best of those). I really enjoy her descriptions of everything. I like the characters and the other-worldliness within the world. I'm not sure how many times I've read these books, but when I am really busy at work or home, I tend to re-read stuff because I don't have to pay too much attention to it. When things are slow and I have time to concentrate and mull things over, I like reading all kinds of different books.

I'm also reading Marathon! by James Galloway, on recommendation by my friend Alice-in-Wonderbread. When she challenged me to join her in running a marathon in two years and I told her I was just learning to run, she suggested this book. Very interesting stuff. Motivating too! My heart is becoming a runner faster than my legs, but my legs will catch up soon.

What book I would like to have with me on a deserted island:

The Stand by Stephen King.

Another book that I've read numerous times, but every time I read it, I find something new, think something new... As dark as that book can be at times, it is also a very hopeful book. I also happen to think that it's perfect for the deserted island scenario because much of it is about what drives us to be a society and how people would go about rebuilding one from scratch. What values to you bring along with you? What should be the laws? How does each person function within a new society? Interesting stuff to think about - all wrapped up in a Stephen King novel. Plus, it's really, really long!

Check out what everyone else is reading, or would if they didn't have George Clooney on their deserted island with them - go visit Angela for a list of participants.