Cigarette smoke is a pervasive thing. It creeps into one's very being-one's very fibers of life-and clothes. After visiting with Geraldine at her home even for a few hours, we would come away reeking of smoke. Matt's and Sara Jane's eyes would go blood-streaked. Bags of whatever from Geraldine's would smell of cigarette smoke even days after we got home with them. I used up Mama's last bit of Food Lion face moisturizer the fall after she left us, and to the very last drop, even IT smelled of cigarette smoke. How did that smell get in a closed plastic bottle that was kept in the bathroom?

Shortly after Mama left us to be with Daddy, Maxine, Lisa and I, plus others, looked through boxes of pictures that Mama had-some of them inherited from Grandma Lena. We "studied" them, identified those we could, made packets to give away to others, and still there were pictures in a box. And letters and things Geraldine kept--treasured.

Six years plus after she left us, I fetched that box from the attic with the intention of finishing the project by going through the final box of pictures that I took from 3604 Deep Creek Blvd. I put the box on our dining room table. I opened this box and expected to smell cigarette smoke-I wanted to smell that familiar waft of stale smoke. But all I could smell was old apples. I musta had these pictures on the table for the better part of a week, sniffing them from time to time, to see if my smeller was functioning yet. Old apples, still. I mean, I put my nose right down in them! And I kept thinking--"how could Ma's cigarette smoke turn into the smell of old apples?" It just didn't make any sense. I was disappointed that what I had considered eternal wasn't.

It was just an old apple in our fruit basket.

I remember one day in 1977 (or,it could have been 78), I stopped by the house on Deep Creek Blvd. It was a work day for me, but I was traveling from one teaching location to another. I would like to say I "stopped to see Mama" and I did, but, you know Geraldine, I also looked forward to being fed and served a cuppacawfee. This particular day, I walked in, Geraldine "hupped to" and started fixing me a sandwich. I was standing beside her at the kitchen counter while she wielded her long danger knife--the one, when Buck sharpened it, one of us would always cut our finger on. I was yammering on when I noticed that she was shaky and having trouble doing the cutting. I asked her "What's wrong, Mama?" Her voice got all trembly as she said, "I don't know, Fara." Anyway-long memory short- Mrs. Whitehurst was fetched; Mrs. Whitehurst, in turn, called Dr. Powell; Dr. Powell made a house call and diagnosed Mama as having Bell's Palsy. Dr. Powell left; Mrs. Whitehurst "made" Geraldine get comfy in her night clothes and she went home, too. As I converted one of the three living room couches into a day bed with one of Geraldine's flowered sheets--so she could relax (ho!)--I caught a glimpse of Mama tucking York Peppermint Patties into MY purse--for the road.

"I quit smoking"

Mama and I are in Portsmouth General Hospital the Sunday afternoon of the morning that she fell and broke her hip. A young student nurse is collecting Mama's medical history--again--I think this time must be for practice as another sage nurse is overseeing the proceedings. The young nurse consults her list and asks one in a boring series of questions, "Do you smoke?" Quick as a whip and with the straightest of faces, Geraldine says, "I quit!"...Then she cut her eyes to her right to really look at the two professionals, gave her best Lena look(devlish,daring with eyes kinda squinted up)....."this morning."

Hug Regrets

When Lisa and Jay were separated and Lisa, Patrick, Megan, and Travis were living with Geraldine, I went to visit and to hear all the skinny on Lisa's situation. Lisa sat in the chair at the end of the table-the one closest to the TV and to the door to what became primarily a playroom for the grandkids and, often times a guest bedroom. Mama sat in her usual spot,elbow propped on the thick hot pot holder, smoking and drinking coffee and listening intently to something I was sure she'd already heard at least once. I was backed up against the sink. Lisa went on about her woes and her plan to "fix" same. At some point, Lisa left to check on kids or something and Mama got up from her spot, came directly to me and head butted me in the sternum. At that exact moment, Lisa came back into the kitchen; Geraldine turned around, returned to her spot and sat down. Lisa asked me later, "What WAS that!?" Geraldine had "asked" for a great, big, bear, super-sized hug--not something she did that often. By the time this realization came, I was too late to respond.

The Swimming Pool on Bellevue Street

Those who know Geraldine,aka OW, know she had a weak stomach and a very strong gag reflex to go with it. Many were the times she cleaned whatever disgusting substances from whatever surface, gagging all the time. I remember she particularly liked my habit of puking behind the bed, against the wall, instead of "out in the open."

Now, summers in Danville were hot. Every year, while we were small enough to fit it, Mama drug out the plastic swimming pool and assembled it in our backyard, filled it,maintained it, repeatedly put those plastic "bars" to hold the liner on the round metal frame part back on it as they would pop off unexpectedly as the pool activity increased, and painstakingly took it down in the fall, cleaned it, and stored it for the next year. When young Matt and young Sara Jane "needed" a swimming pool, we went to Revco Drug Store and, from their seasonal aisle, bought a "quick set pool." Open the box, flip out the plastic pool--all in one piece--fill it and "wal-lah"--swim time. No fuss, no bother. Empty it at the end of the swim, turn it over in the yard and go inside. I thought of Geraldine and couldn't wait for her to buy the new improved version of swimming pool for her yard. Which she did and the grandchildren enjoyed it muchly. Matt and Sara Jane got older and bigger and as they did, so did our pools. We eventually graduated to the 15' diameter, 48" deep above-ground pool from WalMart Super Center. "For Best results" dictated that we remove all grass from the area under the pool and cover the area with a bunch of sand, that had been smoothed and leveled(?).

Gosh, I didn't remember Geraldine doing any of this for OUR pools. Well, we did the best we could with the surface preparation, but at the end of the summer when we let the water whoosh across the yard and began the process of cleaning and storing this pool for the next year....THAT SMELL...THAT SMELL that only comes from the underbelly of a pool (and maybe the ass-end of a cow) hit me and nearly knocked me over-even after all our precautions against this "rottening"-as Douglas would've said. Remember THAT SMELL!?!?!? I never realized, until I became a parent, and helped put up and take down a swimming pool for our children and their friends, what a self-less sacrifice she made for us all those summers.

The Room

The two outside steps leading up to the wooden porch, painted glossy gray, are red brick.Two white plastic chairs and a table to match are flanked by potted plants, ones that hang and bloom and ones that sit and bloom. There are two plaques to greet you: one hanging to the left of the door that says, "Come in, sit down, relax, converse. Our house doesn't always look like this...sometimes it's even worse." The second hangs on the wooden door and says, "My house was clean last week; sorry you missed it."

The storm door leading into the room (and indeed the house) is the kind that catches your heel, just as you think you are safe, if you don't step in quickly. But, your attention to your injured heel is quickly taken by the bombarding smells...roast beef, still oven warm, pinto beans with ham and potatoes simmering on the back burner, fresh vidalia onion and tomato from the salad she's preparing. The chlorine from the tap water. The cigarette smoke.

You step in on a multi-colored, tiled floor-mottled orange, brown, yellow--slightly gritty to bare feet and worthy of dirting ones socks quick as a whip. The walls are yellow--old, darkened, nicotined yellow, the cabinet drawers, doors and the trim around doorways are a brighter orange since they have been washed from time to time over the years, having been painted with semi-gloss. The ceiling is not white as most ceilings are; it, too, is yellowish-brown. A newly installed ceiling fan and light has blades of light tan that "just match the ceiling." Immediately to your left is the refrigerator with large plastic frames holding pictures of the grandchildren. On the front of this refrigerator are assorted magnets:pictures, poems, sayings, monkeys, pigs, a rose for mother. The top of the refrigerator holds an undersized electronic air cleaner, dust and video tapes. The counter with a double porcelain sink runs the length of the wall on the left, cabinets underneath; there are double cabinets in the corners, on either side of the window which is normally open just a little even in winter. But there is no space to work, to put a cutting board, to stir up a bowl of brownie mix.

A microwave sits perched in the leftmost corner and around it is a clutter of fruit baskets, jars of M&Ms, Hershey nuggets or kisses, York peppermint patties. The other side of the counter holds the coffee maker and the filters in a little plastic bowl stuffed in between the coffee maker and the four slice toaster. The jumble continues to and goes around the other corner: a plastic plant container holding large kitchen utensils, a wooden holder for knives, a plastic beverage container which dispenses straws when tumped upside over. The sink itself is white, has a great sprayer and very hot water comes from the tap. The dish drainer straddling the sink on the left serves as temporary storage for several saucepan lids and a variety of things that are otherwise "homless." Flanking the window over the sink, there are corner shelves to hold pretty things: an owl cookie jar, that has never held cookies, an ancient ceramic sewing aid in the form of the "King of Beasts" that wears "glasses"( the handles of a pair of inverted snubnosed scissors) and has bejeweled straight pins pushed snugly inside his "crown", an "I'm Glad We Are Sisters" plaque, blood pressure meds, vitamins, and ibuprofen. There is a small space between the counter and the comparatively new, self-cleaning oven from Sears. That space is crammed to hold the plastic kitchen trash can with the always grimy swinging top. The rusty dustpan and whisk broom are there, too. There's another cabinet over the oven with an area that is open without doors and holds peanuts, salt and pepper shakers,snacks, snack crackers, treats that have already been sampled. To either side of this cabinet are open crannies that are anything but open and just the right height for our children to bang their heads on.

There's a door to the right of the oven that passes into the dining and living rooms. Continuing along the other long side of the room, there's a rectangular table that seats four, pushed long-side against the wall, with chairs on either end and two on the side. Not really to be eaten on, this table(unless it's just a snack or unless there's but one or two eaters).On this table, you will find an ashtray(full to varying degrees depending on the time of day) with an unfinished (and proclaimed self-extinguishing) cigarette propped in one of the holding indentions, a couple of different kinds of packs of cigarettes, a disposable lighter, an insulated Paper Mill Channel coffee mug, a folded paper towel, a soft pad for propping a left elbow on, two remote controls(one for tv and one for vcr), a newspaper,mail, assorted sale ads. There's a high intensity swing arm lamp attached to the back side of the table for when one really needs to see. Between the table and television, there is a door leading to a small hallway with pantry on the left and beyond that, a bedroom. The television/vcr arrangement is small and neat enough to hide behind the door as you walk in; but, is very present in its almost always ON state.

Note from Maxine: As I wrote this I felt like I was back in Geraldine's kitchen having cawfee!!!