I’m sitting on my couch, hungry. I can barely concentrate to type. It’s not even that I’m hungry, per se. I have a craving…lots of cravings…for cheese. For ice cream. Ice cream sandwiches, to be particular. I haven’t had an ice cream sandwich in years. Haven’t even thought of them…but….oh….how dreamy one would be right now.

I’m driving myself crazy. Of course I would want all the things I can’t have right now. I’m repeating no dairy day. The person I’m praying for didn’t have a request, so I thought this would be a good a time as any to re-do this sacrifice. I was better prepared this time around. I had purchased an almond milk mocha Starbucks frappucino in lieu of my regular milk based one. I thought it would be okay. That’s what I get for thinking.

It tasted like watered down chalk dust with a tablespoon of the cocoa baking powder stirred in for “flavor”.

It was so bad, I poured out half of it. $2 down the drain.

Lunch was better. I had all the fixin’s for a loaded salad with Italian dressing, just hold the cheese. I didn’t miss the cheese, but I was hungry an hour later. I think it’s in my mind.

Supper was at library board. Evidently the rule of thumb for lactose intolerant folks is “when in doubt, assume that it will kill you. If it looks creamy at all, it’s a no.”

Corn pudding is out, then. And the salad, with its cheese throughout. I figured the green beans were safe, and I chanced it with the chicken and stuffing. Nobody uses butter in catering, it’s too expensive.

This day has been no fun at all. But, as usual, it’s given me a new perspective, admiration, and respect for those who have to do without. Life is hard enough without food allergies. Fortunately, cows have always been good to me.

But this ain’t about me and all the things I wish I could eat. It’s after nine, I can go to bed soon and set my alarm for 12:01 and go scarf some cheese. Or I can wait like a normal person and buy me an ice cream sandwich…or box of ice cream sandwiches…on my way into work in the morning. Perfectly reasonable behavior, I say.

I do have good news to share. It will probably seem like small potatoes/ first world problem, but I was pleased. So, I like Belk. They’re conveniently located in town so I can swing over there anytime instead of driving into Knoxville for makeup and whatnot. I have credit with them, and ever so often they send me “Belk Bucks”. There’s no limitations on what you can apply them towards, besides payment on your account. I’ve been out of eyeliner for a week and have been putting off going over for no good reason at all, other than I didn’t want to. I decided today would be my day before library board. I look at my Belk Bucks. It expired yesterday.

Grrrrrrr.

This would be $10.00 I was wasting, a total of $12 for the day when you count my nasty breakfast drink. I’m not okay with that. Perhaps they would honor it since it was just one day. But what if they wouldn’t? Did I have the gall to request the store manager? I really like my Clinique girls! I have to see them regularly, and I don’t want to make them uncomfortable. This would be akin to fighting with your pharmacist. I don’t wanna….but I also don’t want to miss out on $10.00 I guess I could try to use it online but I thought my chances would be better improved in person. I can be quite winsome, when I want to be.

So I marched in like I was taking charge (Baker says I always look like high drama. We’ve reckoned it’s a combination of the hair, glasses, and shoes–and boy, did I have on the right shoes!) and strode up to the white counter. A lady from perfume sales hustled over. I pointed out my eyeliner and swooned over the lipsticks while she ferreted it out. Lo and behold, it’s bonus days, and I can never turn that down, so I picked me out a new lipstick.

Out of stock.

I picked me out another’n.

Out of stock.

Third time’s a charm, right?

Right.

And really, they’re all fairly close in color, so it’s fine.

She scanned my coupon and never said a word. I nearly squealed with delight. I forget, Belk ain’t Proffitt’s. Ol’ hoity toity department store that they were. Yes, it’s fifteen years later and I’m still bitter.

So that’s all well and good. After all that, and I was still the first one at board, believe it or not. I could barely believe it, myself. But there were witnesses!

Board was a little livelier than usual, which was also nice.

Onto my prayers.

I have some neighbors. They’re not right next door, they’re just over the hill. I met them at the Co-op (I’m sure y’all are wondering how I meet new people now. The answer is I don’t) and we’ve just had this bond ever since. I send them a postcard when I go on vacation because I can remember their address as well as my own. They keep me in lettuce, cucumbers, and tomatoes all summer, while I provide them with….entertainment, I suppose. They are history buffs, and have some really interesting stories about Trundles Crossroads. That is, Seymour. Over the years Mary has also shared several stories about her mother’s privileged upbringing in Nashville. She was a true Southern Belle. I could just envision her mother as a debutante, out on the veranda with her tea and parasol, letting the boys entertain her. How nice…

This Southern Belle life continued through adulthood, where she became an avid gardener and was active in several garden clubs and served on many advisory boards for historical structures, characteristic of many true Southern ladies. She lived a life I hope to someday aspire to. But a decade ago, she fell and hit her head and that was the beginning of her dementia. She lived out the remainder of her life at a prestigious nursing home, where she was well attended to.

I understand that losing your mother is traumatizing, no matter what age you are, or she is, regardless of how sick or frail she was. Losing your momma is hard, hard stuff.

So my thoughts and prayers have been for Mary on this day, and for several days after I got the news. I consider it a massive loss that I never knew this woman, I would have dearly loved chatting with her and recording her stories of a life I can only dream about.

Lord I’m grateful you’ve gained a new angel, especially one that has an educated Southern accent. But I know my friend’s heart hurts to the point of bursting. I don’t know how you take news that your momma has passed and not fall to your knees. And she may have. I pray for dear Mary, that she remembers all the sweet memories she made with her mother. I pray that her heart will heal with each passing day, and that she knows you are there with her. I ask you to watch over her and guide her heart to grieve openly and to seek what blessings she can during the dark times. Again, I’m struck without knowing the right words to pray but I don’t want her to hurt. I want her to remember that her mother is with you now, and that is Home. May her horses remain her outlet, and keep her safe as I know she enjoys these lovely days from the backs of a few of them. May you bless her and keep her. Thank you for placing this couple in my life. Thank you for the gift of living in Tennessee. Thank you for the grass at our feet, wind at our backs, and the graceful beauty that horses represent. In these things I pray. Amen.

I know several women, and men, who have lost their mothers. I believe it leaves a hole, always and forever. Hopefully you will eventually smile when you remember, and look for her in the birds or the breeze or the sweet smell of magnolias. Maybe you just missed her, looking over your shoulder as you attached your diamond earrings. Maybe she’ll always be with you, nurturing and loving and being your biggest fan and lifelong ally.