To Robyn and Bob

For my cousins, Robyn and Bob

I might have grown up in Cordele, but I was raised on Vienna virtue. Dooly County is my home place even if my parents didn’t settle there when they moved back from North Carolina in 1971.

Each of my grandparents as well as a slew of aunts, uncles, and cousins from the Hargrove, Davis, Mitchell, and Powers clans lived near this tiny town. God’s provision is perfect and He knew I needed my cousins Bob and Robyn Garret as much as they needed me and my sister Amy. We were always together for every big or little holiday, family celebration, and a few Sunday lunches at that restaurant by the interstate.

These are sacred memories in a small community with a relative on every corner.

I knew the Vienna First Methodist Church as well as I knew my own. The ladies of this church easily recognized my face and could tell me countless versions of my family’s history . It was in that sanctuary I sat with Robyn and Bob and learned about Jesus, faith, and a strong Christian walk.

I often rode to Sunday church, my eyes barely peeking over the car window as we drove slowly- always slowly- down a street until wide white porches of Aunt Maidie’s house signaled that we were close. The Baptist Church looks almost identical, situated on another corner a block away. I knew that church too. The other half of my family worshipped there.

A trip downtown in Vienna meant a stop at Forbes Drug Store and its magical revolving jewelry case. I memorized every aisle of Stephens Grocery Store because we went there at least once a day to pick up what we needed. Gran Jan could cook up ten different dishes and display them on ten different small plates around her kitchen table.
Always delicious.
Always eaten.
Always ready for my cousin Bob to devour whenever he might walk through the back door.

Somebody in my family still has the big recliner from our Grandmama Bessie’s house. The cousins and I would settle back in it and face her enormous console TV. She served countless peanut butter crackers and Coca Colie while we enjoyed her newly discovered luxury- a TV clicker. One big button worked the volume with just three choices and the other big click changed channels- all three of them. Unfortunately, if you clicked too fast, you might turn off the TV and need to start over. On a pretty day, we could even scoot across the street to Aunt Doodah and Aunt Weezie’s porch, too. Everyone should have relatives like Doodah and Weezie.

Yet, it was at Robyn and Bob’s house where real fun happened. We lived this southern childhood recipe of happiness and heartache complete with a side of sweet tea and dollop of Watergate salad. This includes...
-Scheming for sleepovers with cousins.
-Running wild in nearby corn fields as wet stalks obscured sunshine.
-Climbing fences, playing hide-n-seek in linen closets, sneaking food from a kitchen counter.
-Getting as far from the house as possible – but close enough to hear when someone called for us.
-Sliding super-fast down a staircase.
-Whispering secrets and laughing.

Being at Bob and Robyn’s meant being with Aunt Marcia and experiencing afternoons filled with lessons. I recall baking lessons because her cakes, pies, mints, and goodies tasted extra-delicious. There were piano lessons because her gift of music was very special. Her life lessons about love and loss were poignant and unforgettable.

Aunt Marcia loved hard and she loved long. She was unapologetic with her opinions. When she was happy, we rejoiced with her. When she was sad, we loved her through it. When she was mad, we tried to get out of the way.

Actually, we do that with all the Hargrove women.
I am a Hargrove woman.

My strongest memory of my mom’s younger sister, Aunt Marcia, is from the morning of the funeral of our beloved Uncle Doc. As she sat at a vanity, she took meticulous care of her appearance because that is how Uncle Doc loved to see her- all fixed up with no dark colors. She lived thirty-five years with her broken heart and bright colors, remembering this man we all dearly loved and still desperately miss.

Our last conversation was about recipes. Aunt Marcia was determined to share with me what she had mastered in her life- the collection of all ingredients- sweet, sour, light, hard, rich, bitter, or even extra salty.

I can learn lessons from any person if I pay attention. Why is it I always wish I had paid more attention? I have a box of her simpler recipes in my kitchen and can admit that I safely use them from time to time. She made them easy for me.

I love Aunt Marcia like I love every part of my Vienna childhood. I believe when a person dies, someone should cry for them. For three days, I have cried for her, Robyn, Bob, my mom, and Aunt Dinah. That might be the secret ingredient that finishes off any family dish- a dash of tears for the people who have loved you and shaped your life. Tears are ok today but joy comes in the morning.

Hebrews 4:16 tells us, Let us go with complete trust to the throne of God. We will receive His loving kindness and have His loving favor to help us whenever we need it. Jesus offers us what we can’t have on this earth-
perfect peace from our worries
forgiveness for our wrong choices and words
and eternal life in heaven.

I believe that last Friday afternoon, Aunt Marcia was welcomed into heaven and received a box of new recipes filled with His perfect ingredients of
rest
redemption
and freedom that comes when you lay your burdens down at the feet of Jesus.

Robyn and Bob- you will always have me, Amy, Laurie, and Adam. We love you with all the strength of our Vienna roots and Hargrove passion.

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