Callie Dorothy Yeager, circa 1930
Each of these pieces I wrote some time ago, about my grandmothers, each sometime prior to their respective passings. I knew, with each one, their time was drawing near. I’m sure they knew it, too.
As I had done at each of my Grandfather’s funerals years ago, I wanted to speak to – and on behalf of – our family and friends at my Grandmother’s funerals, and try to express how we all felt about them, how we remembered them, how we loved them.
This is the first piece, written for my mother and siblings about my maternal grandmother, Callie Dorothy Yeager, or simply, Mama Dot. She was just over 99 years young when she died. She and my Grandfather, Edwin Yeager, known to “us kids” as Papa Ed, were married for 63 years.
Perhaps you who read this can relate, and fondly daydream about your own Grandparents a bit as you read.
Right Now’n a Minute
The broom makes that distinct and familiar swish on the concrete. She has sprayed the walk and sweeps it clean. She moves along to observe the ivy bed – there is more to do, of course. He’s across the street, talking to Ralph.
When she’s done, she heads inside to make BLT’s and cottage cheese salad – a half of a canned pear lying on top of the creamy white mound – and iced tea. Then she moves the louvers on the window above the sink out of the way and opens the window.
“Papa Ed, lunch’ll be ready, right now’n a minute.”
Or we would ask, “Mama Dot, when’s supper gonna be ready?”
“Right now’n a minute” was her reply, without fail. And we knew – you might as well go sit down. It’s been done for a while. If we stall, she’ll just command, “You kids get in here and sit down. Dinner’ll be ready, right now’n a minute.” So you might as well go sit down.
Ty and I would sit on the dark front porch enclosed in glass jalousies on three sides, the perfect spot to watch the cars come and go in the night. We would name the brand – and model if we could – by the taillights. The sixties were easier. The dramatic lines of the late 50’s and early 60’s, like the rocket ship-inspired rear fender fins, made it easy.
“Chevy.”
“Which one?”
“’62 Impala.”
“Pretty good.”
Then silence again. Until the next one.
“Some kinda Chrysler.”
“Yup.”
Silence.
“Cadillac, ’66 or ‘67”.
“Pretty good.”
Then Mama Dot pops her head through the doorway. “You boys come get ready for bed. It’ll be time, right now’n a minute.”
“OK.” Then we play this game for a few minutes more. But we know what it really means. So we finish and go.
This phrase of hers was almost always tied to a meal, though it was handily applied to most every situation in life. And while it might have sounded as if it were left open to interpretation, we really knew exactly. It meant now.
She was thrilled to see any one of us come through the door. “Why, land sakes! Is that Kathi? Where have you been?”
Kathi eggs her on. “Oh, I just came to get my mail.”
“You better not!” Mama Dot warns in jest.
Or Mariette is getting ready to leave after a long afternoon of visiting and doing laundry, which, of course culminates in supper, before heading back to the dorm to study. Mama Dot is folding her clothes in the basement. Mariette can hear the sound of her slippers on the steps, and as she comes up, she says, “I’ll be done with the folding, right now’n a minute. Run, give Papa Ed a kiss before you go.” Mariette’s already there.
Many weekends Ty would come in the back, straight from Bloomington, and say, “Well, hello there, Callie!”
“Why, Ty, where’d you come from?” Her smile never waivers, and neither does his. He has her family name – and her heart.
Many times she would wrap her arms around my neck, and clasping her hands together behind my head she would accuse me in a sly tone: “You don’t love me!”
“Oh, Mama Dot! You know you’re my best girlfriend.” And it was true. And she knew it.
The phone would ring, and it would be any one of their life-long friends, calling just to chat. They’d talk for a while, then she’d say, “Olive, I’ve got to go. The kids are gonna be here, right now’n a minute.”
She was filled with joy and contentment with the arrival of Jayne, as though this altered situation of having her one greatest prize in life before her finally made everything good and right. And I guess it did. That’s all it really took to make their world complete.
She lived these last some 13 years without Papa Ed, and though she missed him daily, she was generally content with her world – as much as we could tell, or as much as she would tell. She seemed to live in a state of patient waiting, as if in a final stage, just for a while longer. She was cheery and peaceful, always agreeable and pleasant. She was neighborly and interested in the people around her. We called and wrote and visited, and Mom kept her up to date with the latest pictures and news. She didn’t dwell on Papa Ed, but she waited patiently in devoted anticipation.
Right now’n a minute.
I’ll be there right now’n a minute.
The sun rises slowly in the east.
Through the kitchen window, and through the maples
it sends streams of golden white fingers
to warm a soft and happy face.
It’s early, and her ritual has begun at the window.
It’s early, and the cool morning air whisping through the trees.
The robin’s song and an occasional car going by
are the only sounds outside.
She’ll have breakfast ready, right now’n a minute.
Right now’n a minute, the day will awake.
And her hours will be filled with work and love.
Right now’n a minute, the rest of the world will join her,
though she’s far ahead.
She’s thinking now of the rest of her day,
her joys and tasks commingled.
She knows and loves her place in this world
It is in her husband, and daughter, and grandchildren.
They are her work and her love.
As I speak gently to her, “I’ll see you very soon. I love you. We all love you very much.”
I can almost hear her answer.
Your work is nearly finished.
You’ll be done, right now’n a minute.
The evening of her days has come.
The warming, glowing sun is setting.
She closes the windows and shutters;
the sound and light fade softly and ever so gently.
Her years have been filled, her life has been filled.
Her waiting is nearly done.
She stays for a while longer,
just a little while longer, to hold her daughter’s hand.
Words of love fill her ears.
Dear voices and faces fill her world.
She’ll be there, right now’n a minute.
Perhaps in her mind’s eye, she saw Papa Ed waiting,
and her new day beginning.
With a new morning sunlight streaming,
perhaps she spoke her familiar words once more.
“Right now’n a minute. I’ll be there right now’n a minute.”
Remembering Mama Dot For Mom, Kathi, Ty, and Mariette
– Michael / August 25, 2004
Michael E Conner
Sitting here, too late to be working (though that’s what I’m supposed to be doing) I read your beautiful story of Mama Dot who I was fortunate to meet once. Or, it’s very possible I never met her – just heard these and similar warm stories of her and the breeze coming in the window and the laundry and the summer tea. Thanks for the reflection – it’s all that’s good and right in the world. I opened the window to let the night air in and feel the memory.
Of course I remember all that you have written. Tears stream down my face in reflection. I truly hope that everyone has the opportunity to have a “Mamma
Dot” to cross their path. A very principled woman,who passed that quality on to each of us. Giving was her nature and joy.
Callie Tyler Yeager is loved and remembered today as she is every day.
Your daughter—Jayne
I too remember the joy that was and is Mamma Dot. I remember how Luther and Elizabeth so enjoyed going to North Terre Haute for a visit with her and Uncle Ed, and let me tag along sometimes too.
My fondest memory of Mamma Dot is how she was always interested and intent to hear what everyone had been up to since the last visit. She had a way of making everyone feel special and truly welcome. Her joy was passing that gift along to everyone she met.
Thanks for sharing this informative and poignant piece, Michael. I could resonate with so much of what you remembered and wrote about your grandmother–even though I never knew her. I also had never heard her expression “now’n a minute” before, but that doesn’t matter. Your piece took me back to recalling favored expressions of my own grandmothers and other relatives–“Let this be a lesson to you”; “You don’t know what’s good”; “Shoot a button”; “Land o’ Goshen”; “I remember it like it was yesterday”–and they just go on and on. I wonder what expressions WE will be remembered for by our children and grandchildren? 🙂
Enjoyed reading this very much. It is so “our grandmothers” and “mothers”. You have certainly captured the time and ways of that generation and slower pace of life. And we were so much more contented as kids and grandkids. Loved it.