Hot Summer Rain

Hot, hot breezes blow through the yard while we play by the warm glow of the Security Light. Lightning bugs waver unsteadily in the force of the wind. Glancing up from our game, we see bursts of light behind the dark clouds in the distance. A thunderstorm is rolling in.

The first fat raindrops fall one at a time. Plop. On my elbow. Plop. On top of my head. Plop. On my brother’s eyebrow. Plop. Plop. Plop. As the hot dust under our feet turns to gooey muddy madness, we run and jump and shout and twirl, soaking the rain into our skin.

“Get in here! You’re going to get struck by lightning!” Nana calls from the front door.

Grudgingly, we take our time trudging, jumping, splashing our way back to the house.

The inside air is sharp and cold against our hot, wet skin. We shiver and toss our wet clothes on the floor, instead piling on socks and sweats and blankets. Nana brings us a Zebra cake and sweet tea as we watch blocky images dance across the TV screen. The jolting, robotic voices and stuttering scenes mean that the storm is blocking satellite reception. Soon we only see a black screen with floating blue words telling us we need to check with our service provider. The signal has been lost. Outside, rain drums against the windows and thunder threatens to shake the whole valley awake.

We lose power. Nana starts lighting candles all over the house, which were standing at the ready just in case of an outage. We all end up in the living room, our faces glowing warmly in the candlelight, and I feel like we’ve stepped back in time. Every Little House on the Prairie story I’ve ever read is coming to life in our living room. Well, except for the one about tying up a pig’s bladder and using it to play catch.  In this moment, we all sit quietly, almost reverently silent, watching the flames dancing at their stations around the room and listening to the rain.

In the morning, the ground is damp and springy and giant earthworms slither and creep through the yard. Grandma Dori told me once that a little boy found a bunch of earthworms and picked them up, but they were actually baby snakes and they bit him and he died. I have been terrified of making that same mistake ever since. When the worms get too wiggly in my hand, I’m certain I have made that fatal error and toss them quickly to the ground.

In the misty morning sun, our yard has become a tropical rainforest with trilling birds and chirping insects and heavy humidity. Another summer storm has come and passed. We race to the creek knowing it will be full and flowing. Our next Summer Adventure awaits.

Wisdom.

Vinegar cures everything. Indigestion. Bad breath. Lady parts. And you can clean the mirrors with it. Everything.

It doesn’t matter if Clyde did it, you have to clean it up.

“Without my Nana, I’m a nobody. With my Nana, I’m a somebody.” She later updates this little chant to “Without my Jesus, I’m a nobody. With my Jesus, I’m a somebody.”

Get what you pay for. Ordering at the drive-thru window is not as simple as it seems. Nana needs seedless buns (for her colon!) and a hot fudge sundee with no nuts. And if we get a mile away and Sissy finds that there is an onion on her cheeseburger-with-no-onions order, you better believe we’re turning around and heading back to get a refund or a new, onion-less burger.

Auttabin hair is the kind you have when it ought-a been brushed before you left the house.

Always spray a little perfume or cologne on each wrist, your neck, and your undies – “Just in case,” Nana says. Also, always wear clean undies, in case you end up in the hospital.

“When you’re talking to yourself, you’re talking to the devil.” Grandma Dori, Nana’s mom, tells me this while I sit and admire the little glass figurines in her living room. I wonder if she meant to call me the devil?

“Roll me one, Ma!” I have no what this means or where it came from, but every now and then someone shouts this out at a family get-together and everyone busts out laughing.

The Pedigo house. This is how you refer to your house when the kids have trashed it and you want them to clean it up so you tell them, “This isn’t the Pedigo house, you know! Clean it up!”

“I made it snow!” If Nana washes the windows or takes a lot of time fixing her hair. If Papaw waxes the car or fixes a leaky pipe around the house or stacks enough wood. Anytime you do something you should do, but normally don’t, it will snow. Guaranteed.

“Don’t swear, Sarah. Ignorant people swear because they don’t have enough of a vocabulary to express themselves with real words. Don’t swear. It’s trashy.” – Mom

The Matlock curse. If you are a woman with Matlock blood coursing through your veins, you will have cramps on vacation. And on your first date. And at graduation. And on your wedding day. A job interview, choir performance, or moving to a new city. You will  be visited by the Matlock curse.

“Pray about it.” If you ask Nana for advice, she tells you to pray about it. If you don’t ask Nana for advice, there’s a miniature Nana-voice in your head that says, “Pray about it.”