Sunday, June 3, 2001
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Sunday, June 3, 2001 |
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Maggie pert' near cheered me up By MARY JANE HOLT
After a recent late morning meeting I drove over to the Culpepper House in Senoia where they serve such a wonderful lunch in that elegant, southern B&B style for which they are known far and wide. Upon entering the lovely old Victorian home, I asked for a quiet corner table for one. Maggie told me I was in luck, that it was a really quiet day. It was 1 p.m. and the place had just cleared out. I was, in fact, now the only patron. That was a good thing. Unusual, but good. Maggie was an angel. Back and forth she came and went from the kitchen. One course after another she served me with true southern grace and charm. First, there were the scones with jam and cream. Then came the tomato bisque garnished with fresh herbs. (She and her partner grow their own herbs, along with much of their produce.) The main course was a beautifully presented assortment of quiche, sandwiches, pasta and fruit. Then followed the dessert, homemade cherry ice cream with a to-die-for slice of chocolate cake. She said the tea would soothe me. A special blend. A house secret. She gave me two little packs to take with me. She said each pack would make three cups. I felt a little like the guy (or girl) in the movies who lingers long at the deserted bar and tells the bar-keeper all his problems. Margie picked up right away on the fact that I was not having a good day. Although I did not have lots of problems, the one big one that haunted me haunted hard. After my meeting, I had figured I could treat myself to a really special lunch or just go home and have a pity party. Seemed like a no-brainer, to me so the lunch won out. Margie and I got to talking about two really wonderful folk art prints that are displayed over the tea and coffee service buffet. One depicts what it must have been like at a quilting bee a hundred or so years ago. The other is an old fashioned dinner on the grounds at a beautiful little country church of yesteryear. I like the prints. We talked about how both of our dads had been Baptist preachers of the sort that pastored such country churches. We miss our fathers. We wondered if any real old-fashioned baptisms ever took place anymore in America. (If you know of any area congregations who still" gather by the river" write to me at P.O. Box 246, Gay, GA 30218.) Like I said, it really was not a good day. For me. And Maggie didn't give up until she had cheered me up. I owe her. Just in case you are not real pleased with your present circumstances or with the way this present day is unfolding let me share with you a copy of something Maggie gave me to take with me as I left that day. She called it something else to think about. It worked. I regret that neither she nor I know the author. I always hesitate to print such as this without giving credit to whom credit is due. But some things are just too good to pass up. If you are ever over Senoia way, check out the following list that Maggie and Barbara keep taped to their back door and see if you measure up. Things that a True Southerner knows: The difference between a hissie fit and a conniption fit. Pretty much how many fish make up a mess. What general direction cattywumpus is. How long "directly" is ,Äì as in "going to town, be back directly." That "gimme sugar" don't mean pass the sugar. How to handle their "pot likker." When "by and by" is. The difference between "pert' near" and " a right fur piece." The difference between a redneck, a good ol' boy and po' white trash. Never to go snipe hunting twice. Never to assume that the other car with the flashing signal is actually going to make a turn. The best gesture of solace for a neighbor who's got trouble is a plate of cold tater salad. There was no cold potato salad on the "tour" menu that I sampled that day, but there was something so much better. A special lady with
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