Mama Loves Dancing
Margery McCurdy Plummer
There are many features that I once enjoyed in the Nashville Tennessean that don’t exist anymore. The down turn in the economy made that necessary, but hopefully things will pick up and the paper will look something like the readable paper it was.

One feature that I particularly enjoyed wasn’t used often and involved the plot of a story being given with the reader (participant) required to complete the story with an exact number of words and a few specified words being used.

In this case, the part printed in the paper ended with paragraph five. The specific words to be used by the participant, or contestant, were: lean, necklace, bevy, festoon, and spectacle.

The contestant who completed the story in the most interesting way would win a cash award. I didn’t win, but I was pleased that my effort pretty well matched the plot of the winner.

Mama Loves Dancing

One night a few nights before the wedding, I heard Papaw telling Grammy that Mama should have waited longer than a year before hitching up with some new man. They sat in their chairs in the T.V. room rocking and talking. I was in the bathroom, but I wasn’t in the tub. I had my ear pressed right up against the door, listening.

“I’m telling you, Frannie,” Papaw said. “I don’t know what the dad-gummed hurry is with her. Our son hasn’t been in the grave a year yet.”

I heard the squeak of the floor as Grammy rocked. She didn’t speak. She never did much, out loud anyway.

“You think she’s marrying that fancy dude for his money?” Papaw asked.

Grammy snorted. I wanted to snort too, but then they’d have know I was eavesdropping, and Grammy hated that.

“I think she’s making a spectacle of herself, that’s what I think”, Papaw said.

I burned up at that. I knew what a spectable was, even at ten years old, and I knew Mama wasn’t making a spectacle of herself in the way Papaw was thinking.

I loved my Daddy as much as Papaw and Grammy did, and I knew my mother loved him more than anything. She was lonesome, and it was O.K. for her to go out with a good man.

His name is Arvie Hinson, and he works at the Quality Shoe Store on the square in White Haven where we all live. Arvie is one more shoe salesman. It doesn’t make him rich, but Mama sure doesn’t go out with Arvie for his looks, either. He’s not handsome like my daddy was. Arvie has a lean look about him. He has little eyes and a sharp nose, and his hair is thin. In a word, Arvie is scrawny looking, but he always dresses in style in suits and shirts done at the laundry, bright ties and wing-tip shoes.

Arvie isn’t showy, but I’ve noticed that some of the best dancers on TV are not all that good looking, and dancing is what Mama and Arvie really like to do. Some couples like to go to movies and some to ball games and some just go out and “park”.

Mama and Arvie have probably danced a hundred miles around the dance floor at the Harvest Moon Ball Room, and that sounds like more fun than any of the aforementioned activites.

“It just don’t seem right to me.” I heard Papaw say while I was still listening from the bathroom, “making a spectacle of herself and dancing at that!”

“Be quiet, Jud!” Grammy said “Leave it alone. Let the girl have some pleasure. She’s not hurting anyone.” I think that Grammy had heard enough, because she used a stronger tone that I had ever heard her use with Papaw.

Just then I heard the front door open and heard my mother’s voice. Mama always looked pretty. Tonight she wore her necklace with crystal beads and matching earrings. I came from the bathroom and gave Mama a hug. I stayed with Grammy and Papaw while Mama worked at the Bizy Bee Cafe as cashier. We all ate supper together.

Grammy always had supper ready when Mama got there. It gave Mama a chance to rest before she took me home for us to get ready for the next day. Our supper at Grammy’s and Papaw’s was always good. Grammy was a good cook, and I liked eating there.

The dining room was small, but I’ll always remember it. There were flowers on the table and after supper, I enjoyed looking around the room at the China cabinet and at shelves filled with a bevy of tiny porcelain figurines.

After supper we went into the TV room to talk for a while. “Arvie and I are planning to be married this Saturday.” Mama said. “I knew it would be soon, and we’re happy for you” Grammy said. She looked at me and smiled. Papaw wasn’t talking, but at least he didn’t look grumpy.

“We’ll be married at the little Congregational Church with just close friends and family, with a small reception afterwards at the Harvest Moon Ball Room.” She glanced almost shyly at Papaw. He came close to a little smile.

“I’ll take care of the refreshments,” Grammy offered quickly, “with a decorated wedding cake and punch.” I was getting excited. “I’d do the decorations,” I volunteered, and already in my mind’s eye, I could see the flowers from Grammy’s little flower garden that I would use for decorating and a festoon of satin streamers draped from one end of the room to the other.

I have a great imagination, and as we left Grammy’s and Pawpa’s house, I could already see the pretty little church and the wedding and the reception, and I allowed myself the thought that later that evening, Mama and Arvie would take a few turns around the dance floor at the Harvest Moon Ball Room.