Dispatches from the DOWN HOME DIVAS

 

#2 Struggles . . . and Saving Graces
Berea College Pinnacle, February 1, 2012

Y’all, sometimes it’s hard to be a Down Home Diva.
With everything we manage to survive on a daily basis, it’s a natural wonder we ever get a column like this written! That’s right, we’re referring to the “little things” that just sit on our last nerve, which between the both of us is starting to look a little thin. That massive, inhuman line for validation in Lincoln Hall, that string of parking tickets plastered on the windshield, that hearing for our pending visitation issue in five minutes, THE MORNING IN GENERAL, and all these heterosexual males that just can’t get it together – they can make the life of a Down Home Diva quite the struggle sometimes!

But in the midst of this storm, there are a few sweet things that carry us through – the loud (that means tacky) handmade pillowcase Sam received in the mail from his fabulous aunt Carla (it was just perfect), a nip of wine straight from Gays Creek, “made with love in Geraldine’s kitchen,” a prayer from Loretta Reynolds, that little note that Sam received, professing that his boss loved him “better’n soupbeans and cornbread.”

Let’s expand on that list of things that just drive us up the damn wall. Mountaintop removal. Lack of a fairness ordinance in Berea. That time of night when deep fried options are unavailable at Crossroads Café. It’s enough to make a sister sick. Often, the things that make it to the top of our “list” are what we like to call “boy problems,” the Down Home Divas’ rocky path toward true love. Mark your calendars for next week’s dispatch – a double date with the Divas. Tammy Wynette was sure not kidding when she sang, “sometimes it’s hard to be a woman,” and we love some “Stand By Your Man.” But we’d really rather not. Some of these fellers we’ve hung around ain’t worth wiping off a shoe, let alone putting up with on the daily. But, “when the tingle becomes a chill,” a Diva’s gotta do what a Diva’s gotta do – compromise her standards. And compromise ‘em BIG.

What wears us out even more is the administrative side of life – the meetings that lack attendance and a clear outcome? If workin’ nine to five is “all takin’ and no givin’ ” then nine to NINE sure as hell doesn’t come much easier. If the phone rings one more time, we are just gonna tear the highlights out of our hair. And, for the love of God, another FARMVILLE REQUEST! As if we have the time. It doesn’t help that it’s also about eighty degrees in every building on campus. If they never manage to find the thermostat and clear this mess up, the Loyal Jones Appalachian Center is gonna turn into the “mascara running down my face dear Lord could it get any hotter in here I’m sweating like a whore in churchhouse why is this not taken care of!” Center. We’re gonna have to write the local funeral home for a case of fans. A hundred with the Last Supper on the back, please.

But, when the night falls on the ridge, there are a few saving graces. Our mothers, D-Bird and the Valerie, have taught us how to put our feet up and unwind like a professional Down Home Diva. Warmed over coffee, a couch, and the latest Downton Abbey can smooth over the scars of even the most frustrating day. Days like those can bring the Kleenex from the purse to wipe back a stray tear, or to take a little unidentified lipstick off a Dinner Bell coffee cup. Did we mention that coffee is often the first and the last step? That is, if we make it. If there’s anything we hate, it’s a weak damn cup of coffee. We make it to where it can just about wither a spoon - writer’s coffee. Ethan’s mamaw Geraldine has been known to call an atrocious cup of coffee, “stump water.”

The Appalachian treasures from our upbringing carry us through, but so do our smartphones. So does the Facebook. There’s more to these two country girls than you’d think. Ethan’s just as likely to be singing Rihanna’s “S&M” at the top of his lungs as Sam is to be belting Dolly’s “Potential New Boyfriend.” We might have to go downtown and seek the inspiration of Mama Wan Pen, or step over to the food service and visit with Miss Dee Dee, the strong mountain woman who you may know from the sandwich line. For those of you who are familiar, she is the Gertie Nevels of Berea College food services. We could be flatfooting in the room at two a.m. (sorry all y’all underneath – sounds like we threw a sack of hammers down the steps) or taking off to a poetry reading in Lexington, where we might just run across a boy if we take a notion! There is such a thing as a leopard print housecoat.

Sam’s mamaw Dorothy Mae Vernon Gleaves, known to him as Dottie (that’s right, bow down) was nothing less than a matriarch and she taught him how the morning ought to start. She’d come down the steps, in her teal floral embroidered sweatshirt, nursing a headache from yesterday’s five o’ clock festivities (sound familiar?) and take a seat at the kitchen table, a streak or two on the walnut from her elbow’s touch all those years. When Sam’s granddaddy Jimmy hollers down the steps about the whereabouts of “his breakfast,” she’ll take a drag on her Pall Mall and a sip of coffee and holler out, “JIMMY! . . . I’m sick of it!” Words to live by . . .