A Christmas season miracle

The next morning was Sunday and once again I arose to get ready for church. The funny thing about church was that each Sunday was a repeat of the week before. We had to get our room clean, beds made, then dress in our Sunday clothes. I really, truly hated getting dressed in Sunday clothes. The thing I hated the most was wearing a girdle and stockings. Panty hose were out of the question as they were relatively new, and very expensive. Hose were so uncomfortable, and the girdle was torture. But, in the south, as Dolly Parton said in Steel Magnolias, "no good girl would ever leave the house without lycra on her thighs". So, after donning my full slip, (made of white cotton of course) I stepped into the girdle. Grabbing the top elastic firmly, I would shimmy, shake and wiggle until the girdle came to the top of my thighs. Then the fun began. For some reason, our girdles were supposed to keep us from jiggling when we walked. These girdles were about 6 sizes too small in order to achieve this goal. Thinking back, if we walked or ran or biked everywhere we went, what kind of jiggling would be going on anyway? I wish my thighs were as firm today! But, it was a social horror if a girl did not wear a girdle and stockings with a dress in those days, so, we wore a girdle and stockings to church. After pulling the girdle to the top of my thighs, I had to readjust my grip. Now, along with shimmying, shaking and wiggling, I had to hop up and down and suck in my stomach. That lycra was a miracle fabric alright, it was as strong as steel and really did the job it was intended to do. Once I had that girdle up to my waist, I would let go of my hurculean grip and with a mighty snap, it would begin to shape me into a proper young lady. Flopping on the bed for a moment of respite, I reached for the stockings to put on. Sitting on the side of the bed, I took one stocking and began to gather it into a garter shape to smooth over my leg from toe to thigh. You had to be so very careful doing this as these stockings would pull a run at any given moment and then a monmumental decision had to be made. If the run were on the foot of the stocking, you could stop it with clear nail polish. Shoes usually hid the defect. But, if the run were on your calf you had to turn the stocking so that the run would be as unnoticable as possible. Hopefully you could wear the stocking with the run to the inside of your leg, but this too depended on the width of the run. A wide run just resulted in a ruined stocking, but at least if you had several pair of stockings in the same color, you could match with a new stocking. Carefully, I would smooth the stocking up over my leg, past my ankle, past my calves, over my knees and up to the top of my thighs. So far, so good. Now for the real torture. The stockings were help up by a gripper on the inside of the leg of the girdle. With luck, you could fasten the stocking on the first try. I was never very lucky. The gripper was made of a rubber head with a metal ring that gripped the rubber head after the stocking was attached. Usually, it was attached right to the girdle, but sometimes there was a short length of elastic connecting the gripper to the girdle. One gripper went to the back of the leg and one went to the front. The gripper in the front was easy to attach as you could see what you were doing, but the one in the back was a study in frustration. If you didn't get the stocking firmly between the rubber head and the metal ring, at the most inopportune moment you would feel a snap and the back of your hose would start to sag. Of course this would pinch the back of your leg, causing a squeak of surprise to erupt. You had to be so very careful sitting down too, as too much pressure on the gripper would result in the inevitable snap and squeak. Yes, a girdle and stockings were the bane of Sunday dress.
As usual, the plate would be passed and if it did not have enough money in it, they would pass it again. This Sunday, it only went around twice, I guess the members were feeling the Christmas spirit. After that, we sat through the sermon that would be repeated until the new year about the Christmas story. My brother George was silently cutting up, trying to draw attention to me. He knew the Matron was looking for anyone who was not perfectly behaved. My little brother Kenny fell asleep on my lap and my legs went to sleep. As hard as I tried, it was near impossible to be perfect in church when George was trying to give me a wet willy (he would wet his forefinger and stuff it in my ear) or pick his nose and try to rub it on my skirt, or dribble saliva up and down out of his mouth almost hitting my shoes and then sucking it back up again. I wanted to strangle him, punch him in the mouth, poke his eyes, anything to make him behave. But he was just having fun- and anyway, Christmas was near. No matter how bad you think things are, Christmas time always makes it better. At this time of year, we would sing Christmas carols each week. What a relief that was after singing a list of just a few hymns every other week of the year. I don't know if the pianist didn't know any other songs, or if she just liked that limited list.
On this particular Sunday, I noticed that George was not as annoying as usual. He just didn't have that aggravating spark, and didn't really try to get under my skin. He actually was sitting rather quietly, and as the service continued, I became a bit concerned. I decided that I would ask the matron if I could spend some time with George after Sunday dinner. This was a big deal, as I never wanted to speak to that battle ax about anything. After the service, we rode home on the bus and I planned the speech that I would present to the nazi. When we got back to the cottage, I went straight to my room, changed my clothes and made it first into the kitchen to help with dinner. Of course this got the matron's attention and she began to watch my every move. I was especially careful with the biscuits as I knew that those were her favorite. I made sure that they were golden brown and dripping with butter. I even covered the plate piled high with the fragrant biscuits with a clean dishtowel in order to keep them warm. Placing the plate of biscuits in front of the matrons chair, I turned to go back into the kitchen. I bumped straight into her. Time froze. Once again I was hypnotized by the undulating motion of her bottom lip as she sucked it in and out of her mouth. The steel gray hair was coiffed and sprayed; I could smell the hairspray. The pearl buttons of her Sunday dress seemed to mock me as they gleamed, as if they were telling me that it was all over for me. Yes, there she stood, hands on hips, feet planted firmly, back ramrod straight and bosum erect. The bottom lip moved as the matron said, "Okay Missy, what's going on? How come you are being so helpful? What have you done?" My mouth dried up and I could not speak. I felt a slight tremor pass through my stomach and my heart began to race. I probably looked like a deer in the headlights. But I remembered that I wanted to spend time with George, and there was nothing wrong with that. I gathered my courage and said,"I was just trying to make sure your biscuits were nice and warm for you. That's all. Oh, but by the way, while we are talking, I was wondering if I could spend a little time with my brother this afternoon. I don't think he is feeling well, and I am kind of worried about him". I swear, her face softened a minute bit. The lip stopped it's movement. She reached out and put her hand on top of mine. "Sure, go on ahead."she said, "See your brother. Good of you to be concerned about him. Oh, and thanks for the biscuits, you have really got good at making biscuits." For a moment, I thought I was in the twilight zone. Did I imagine it, or was she being nice to me? What was going to happen next? I took advantage of the moment and blurted out," We made cookies yesterday, and I saved you some!" (actually, I had saved me some, but now it was too late!) She turned again and looked at me saying, "You did? I love Christmas cookies." Then with a thoughtful look on her face, she said, "I heard you made fudge too". For the first time since I had come to the home 5 months before, I relaxed in the presence of the matron. I shyly replied, " Uh, yes, I did and you are welcome to some. I'll get it for you after dinner". Well, shoot. Those cookies had really done their job! Bringing cheer and joy and now even thawing out the matron! I just prayed that no one had snitched my stash- those cookies and fudge were going to the matron no matter what! This was the beginning of an uneasy truce between the matron and me, a true Christmas season miracle if ever there was one! More about George tomorrow. love, nanasee