Those 70ish Girls

If I knew you were coming…

I unpacked all of my things and slipped the suitcases under the bed. When I was growing up, my mother had often chastised me for shoving things beneath the bed. “That’s what God made closets for,” said.

I was tired to the bone. I flopped down on the window seat where I had flung my handbag. The one with the sour cream and cheese chips in it. Surely, they didn’t really mean the bag held 3 1/2 servings. Whatever! I finished them off and ate the little pack of airline peanuts that was in there as well. All that salt made me thirsty, so I made my way downstairs to get a glass of water. Considering how sleepy I felt, I was glad I had declined Tara’s invitation to dinner. I changed into my pjs and crawled into bed. The sheets smelled like they had just been pulled off the closeline after drying in a fresh spring breeze. The down comforter was not too heavy and not too light. Feeling as if I was in heaven, I drifted off to sleep.

I slept soundly. I wasn’t even fully awake, the next morning when I was aroused by the aroma of fresh coffee brewing. Who could possibly be here this early. A quick glance at the clock told me it was 6:00 a.m.

Next, I heard a sweet voice singing a cheerful song. “If I knew you were coming, I’d have baked a cake,”

Was Tara already here? I grabbed my robe and rushed down the stairs, stopping short as I reached the door to the kitchen. I saw a diminuitive figure toiling over the stove as she sang. The little lady was none other than Aunt Marti.

“Oh, come on in, dear,” she said. “Sit down, and I’ll pour you a cup of coffee. I’ll get you some fresh orange juice to drink while I finish making you some bacon and fried cornmeal mush. I remember how you like it… with real butter and lots of Log Cabin syrup on it.

“Aunt Marti!” When did you get here. I thought you were gravely ill. When did you get out of the hospital? Sit down! You shouldn’t be doing all of this.”

“Nonsense, DeeDee,” she said as she poured cream into my coffee, which I would have preferred black. “I’m as right as rain. A cab brought me home from the hospital. I knew it was time to go home, so here I am.

Aunt Marti was in the middle of her explanation when I heard my phone (which I had put in the pocket of my robe), ring. It was Tara.

“Tara! I said without waiting for her to say anything. “Was this the right time for Aunt Marti to go home?”

“Yes,” Tara replied. “She passed away during the night. The nurse said her last words were, “It’s time for me to go home.”

I listened to what Tara said and then turned to look at Aunt Marti. She was gone, and there was no sign of the fried cornmeal mush, bacon, coffee and juice that she had prepared.

“Hello,” Tara said. “Dee, are you there?”