Lessons from the River House

            Daddy, my uncle, my cousins’ dad, and a couple of man-friends built the River House.  On the road toward their sanctuary, their equivalent to a woman’s spa-retreat, there were multiple opportunities to get the “Hooptie” stuck and wench out. My memories of the River House are fond in some regards, and nightmares in others. 
             Daddy and the “boys” built a one room River House with a screened front porch facing the upper branch of the Ouachita River, off the road to Sparkman, AR.  They loved that escape into rugged manhood, where they caught fish or shot squirrels for food and provided their own liquid refreshment.  Boys became men at the River House.  There, men scratched openly, belched for the Guinness Book of World Records, pooted in competition, and cussed with abandon.  With no women present, men fell into their ancient habits, those that were forged when civilization did not exist.
             At the River House, I learned to shoot a 22-rifle. I’m a great shot for beer cans and turtles perched on a log. My visits to the River House, though, can only last a few hours because I refuse to tinkle while sitting on a log.  It is because of visits to the River House in the early days that I trained my bladder to expand, expand, expand some more. I hold to a simple rule today- Always check the location of the nearest ladies room.
            My grandmother rarely visited the River House, but one Sunday afternoon, she wanted to take a little drive to see “the boys.” My grandmother was the communion-cloth caretaker of the First United Methodist Church, 4^th pew from the front matriarch of our family.  It was this grand lady who wanted to “go see her son, her son-in-law, her nephew, and friends” at the River House.

                Mother tried everything to keep the visit from happening, but was unsuccessful.  As we crossed the River Bridge, a wooden plank, side-less span, she slowed the car to a crawl and lay down on the horn. I asked her why she was honking so long and loud. Her reply, “Just to let them know we’re coming.” I learned later the Long and Loud meant Hide the Booze and pull up the ladder, Mildred is on the prowl.
                Years later, Daddy and Gordon (my uncle) bought the River House from the other boys and added on a side porch and a small bathroom.  A set of steps with a banister and a ceiling fan for the screened porch plus a window unit to cool the singular room were added. It was those improvements that mother insisted upon so that she would consider spending the night or having a cook-out there.  My brother loved the River House for he and Daddy spent days and nights there hunting, fishing, and being men. Mother could be a fabulous hostess there as Daddy cooked steaks, entertaining couples with her signature grace and ease, though it was never her first choice.
                What did the River House have to do with my girly childhood? 
                 I learned tinkle etiquette, defense from attacking turtles or beer cans, horn-blowing signals, and what a wife’s love for her husband can overcome.

Rule #1: Refrain from Drinking the Bread Pudding

         The Co-ed's Code, the college-girl's answer book for all question on appearance and behavior was a natural fit with the Southern Lady Rule Book, the Camden edition, authored by my mother and her bridge club friends. It is certain that those ladies had input in the wildly popular Handbook on Southern Graces entitled Why Princess Margaret Will Never Be A Kappa Kappa Gamma!

I willingly share these Top 5 SLRB (Camden ed.) examples with you.

1.      Be sure to acknowledge appearance augmentation such as obviously fresh hair color, face lift, boob/nose job, and fake eyelashes. They’ve spent plenty of good money for the look, so let them know you appreciate their efforts. “Darling, where ever did you get those fabulous press-on lashes?”

2.      Always inquire as to the health of relatives.  “How is Aunt Ophelia after her most recent fall from the Casino bar stool?”-or-  “I did not realize Cousin Tipsy had returned from the Clinic already.  How is she feeling, Dear?”

3.      Eat like a bird. Remember Mammy’s admonition to Scarlett. Be sure to go halves on a sandwich or dessert, ask for a take-home box, even if you only use it for a second roll and the other half of the dessert.  Forget about the starving children in China – leave a morsel or two on your plate. (Though tempting, don't drink the whiskey sauce puddled around the

       bread pudding.)

4.      Thank God for good fashion sense. When you see a Rhinestone Cowgirl outfit on a

       60+ granny who thinks she's 40 years younger, be sure to Thank God you took it

       to Goodwill last weekend.

5.      Do not buy a dress that also comes in 3XL. Though imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, it does not make up for the humiliation as you swish around in your cute little dress and the hefty-bag duplicate shows up at the next church social.

 

Ladies' Dorm Companion: Long Live the Co-ed's Code

          My mother trained me in all aspects of etiquette, but I received additional  training in college from The Co-ed’s Code, authored by the AWS (Association of Women Students) under the leadership and direction of Dean Bernice Smith, Dean of Women.  This little booklet was small enough to tuck into a co-ed’s bra, to be produced at a moment’s notice to check the rules and regs required for lady-like behavior, should said "lady" be in doubt.  An example of appropriate female behavior could be, “If in doubt, turn your back to your professor, boyfriend’s father, sorority house-mother, or college dean when pulling your asthma inhaler from your bra.”  Additionally, if a lady has imbibed too much, “always stand down-wind from Dean Smith and President Russell, ….or drink Scope.”
          The most memorable instructions, however, in the Co-ed’s Code related to dress, appearances, and behavior.

Rule 1 from Co-Ed’s Code:  Ladies are not seen in public in shorts….but ladies can be seen in a perverted get-up of gym shorts or swimming suits covered by a flasher-style raincoat, in any and all weather. Other lady-like/modesty rules include this one - Ladies should always throw clean granny-style panties to fraternity men during a “Panty-Raid.”

Rule 2 from Co-Ed’s Code:  Ladies do not walk holding a cigarette.  Instead, ladies draw a lingering drag, blow smoke rings, set the cigarette down in an appropriate ashtray, walk to the next seating area in the Student Union and ask friends to pass the cigarette, hand by hand by hand by hand until it is received between fingertips sporting manicured and polished nails.  Use generous splashes of Chanel No. 5 to cover the tobacco odor.

Rule 3 from Co-Ed’s Code:  Ladies do not form bread-lines at teas.  This rule is to avoid the appearance of having propensity to stand in a commodities line or an employment line. Ladies visit with each other, keeping an eye peeled for an opening at the tea table.  When an appropriate entry space is available, ladies should sashay to the table and load up multiple plates with all the remaining finger sandwiches and chocolate cake.  Ladies should grab a cup of punch and plenty of napkins to use instead of sleeves. Napkins with stains may be thrown away more easily than a blouse or jacket.

           I found my copy of The Coed's Code when going through items for the Burn Pile in order to reduce the number of boxes stored in the basement bedroom.  I could not bring myself to burn it, though I wished to do so many times during my college years. I internalized those 3 rules and added them to my Southern Lady Rule Book, the Camden edition, authored by my mother. You can read those 10 entries in my next post.  Each is written with the same level of respect that you sense in reading the 3 rules explained above.

Hospitable Housekeeping: A Most Worthy Goal

                 One of my most very favoritest statements regarding the art of “hospitable housekeeping” is this: “I really feel comfortable coming to your house. It’s so nice to know that if I pick up something, I’ll know exactly where to put it back down!”

          I Hate Housework.  I do it.  Occasionally.  I don’t like to do it unless I am able to tell a difference.  If I am going to give a whole morning to nothing but dusting, vacuuming, swiffering, and cleaning the kitchen, and the shower, the tub, the ….bathroom…., well I want everyone to be certain they can tell that I have given significant time to cleanliness.  Aside from my ratty looking outfit, my hair in disarray, and foul mood, I’d like someone to be able to say without a doubt that something is different here! 

If you use Windex on the bathroom mirror too often, you won’t get that, “Well, would you look at that.  Who Knew!” feeling of accomplishment!

                 Perhaps we all should have help with housework.  It dates back to ancient time when Cinderella had the blue birds helping with the laundry. Snow White had the forest creatures and the funky dwarfs to assist, and everybody was in a most cheerful mood, whistling, dancing and singing, hoping for that someday when the prince would take them away from all this! Well, I have my prince, but the birdies and bunnies outside my kitchen window do not seem to be housework inclined.
                 I rather subscribe to dear departed Erma Bombeck’s philosophy.  If you leave the clutter alone long enough, your family will think that the sock BELONGS on the mantel!  I suggest that men who are over 6’ take a vow not to look on top of the refrigerator and certainly not to glance at the ceiling fan blades.  If necessary, they should not wear glasses in the house except to watch TV or read.  No one else can see those pesky cobwebs in the corner of the laundry room.  I certainly can’t.  I’m not in there enough!
                      Let’s all take a solemn oath and toast Erma with this pledge:  “If it doesn’t multiply, smell, catch fire, or block the refrigerator door, let it be. No one else cares.  Why should you!”