8A I DAWSON COUNTY NEWS I dawsonnews.com
Wednesday, August 29,2018
Mamas worry grows by orders of magnitude
The other day, I didn't text her the second I pulled into my
parking space at work and when I went in, I immediately
got in a conversation before getting to my desk. Within 20
minutes, she had called me four times, then my husband.
Never underestimate a
mother’s ability to worry.
A mama can worry and
see dangers that not only
exist but make up new
things to worry about.
Sometimes, a mama can
just overreact when there is
no reason, like mine usually
does.
I am 45 years old and I
have to make sure my moth
er knows where I am pretty
much most of the day.
If I don’t, she worries.
And when she worries, she
usually overreacts and that
leads to her taking some
drastic steps.
Like she did several years
ago.
I was maybe 26 years old
and living several hours
away from her.
My then-husband was out
of town, so I did what I nor
mally did when he was
gone for a weekend: made
plans with my best friend
and her mom.
We had a wild and crazy
night planned.
First, we went to Ruby
Tuesday’s for dinner, fol
lowed by going to the book
store at the mall.
We bought some trashy
romance novels and went
back to my friend’s bou
tique on the square to look
over our goodies.
While we sat on the
plushy loveseats, we decid
ed we were greatly remiss
in not getting dessert. My
SUDIE CROUCH
Columnist
best friend had a key to the
coffee shop next door - the
owner trusted her to check
on things if she was gone -
so we went in and got slices
of Triple Chocolate Cake
and Diet Cokes to negate
the calories, leaving cash
and a note on the counter.
Around 11 or so, we
decided to call it a night and
I headed home, arriving at
around 11:30 to a carport
sensor light on.
I nervously made my way
inside to find Pepper, the
evil beagle, freaking out in
her crate, letting me know
someone had probably been
near the patio doors.
I grabbed a knife out of
the butcher’s block for pro
tection. I’m not sure why;
those knives weren’t sharp
enough to cut butter.
But I had my knife and
decided to leave Pepper in
her crate for safety purposes
while I checked the house.
I picked up the phone in
case I needed to call 911. I
checked it to make sure I
had a dial tone. I did, and it
was beeping to let me know
I had a voice mail, too.
After I checked the house
and found it clear, I checked
the messages.
There were 49.
Forty-seven were from
Mama, increasing in her
worry and culminating in
her anger by the last one
where she heatedly declared
she was calling the police.
The other two were from
Granny and a dispatcher
with the county emergency
services.
Granny’s message said:
“Sug, this is your Granny.
Your mama is going crazy
with worry; she has smoked
four packs of cigarettes and
is gone to town to get more.
If you are home, please call
her. She just knows you’re
dead. Speaking of dead, I’m
pretty sure she’s trying to
a-kill me with second hand
smoke.”
The lady from 911 said:
“Sudie, your mother has
called here worried about
you. Not sure how she got
this number. But she is very
concerned. We have not had
any calls come in that fit
your description, address, or
your car, but we are sending
an officer out just to be sure.
And when you get this, if
you haven’t already, please
call your mom.”
The motion sensor had
turned on because a deputy
had been out at my house.
That made me relax some.
But to deal with the mat
ter at hand, I had to call
Mama.
Mama, who evidently just
knew I was dead, and was
not calling to spite her,
refused to speak to me when
I called.
“So, you ain’t dead,”
Granny said hearing my
voice.
“No.”
“Well, if you was closer
you may be. She would
probably choke the day
lights out of you. Where
were you?” Granny asked.
“I was with my friends -1
am twenty something years
old and married, I don’t
think I have to tell my moth
er where I am every second
of the day!”
Granny snorted. “Have
you met your mother? She
is already as nervous as a
cat in a room full of rocking
chairs and she gets worse
when she worries. I will tell
you are alive and well. But
for the love of all that is
holy - and if you love me at
all - call her when you
gonna be somewhere. She’s
gonna drive me batty.”
A few days later, I was in
court. Not because I had
done something, or Mama
had me arrested for running
away as an adult; no, I
worked in the judicial sys
tem at the time.
The judge looked over the
calendar to see if all the
attorneys were present and
then he glanced at me.
“Miss Sudie’s present,” he
commented. I nodded.
“One question, Miss
Sudie,” the judge began. I
looked up at the bench.
“Does your mother know
where you are? We know
where you are, but does
she?”
I gulped. “How..?”
The judge smiled, “We all
know, Miss Sudie. We all
know.”
Apparently, Mama called
more than emergency ser
vices; I am sure if the judge
was listed in the phone
book, she called him, too.
You’d think she would
not want to embarrass her
child but that does not stop
her at all. She thinks embar
rassing me is a good way to
ensure I do what she wants.
The other day, I didn’t
text her the second I pulled
into my parking space at
work and when I went in, I
immediately got in a con
versation before getting to
my desk.
Within 20 minutes, she
had called me four times,
then my husband. She had
called my child’s school to
see if he had been dropped
off. I knew the second I did
sit down I needed to text her
and let her know I was okay.
She was, of course, frantic
with worry. “I was about to
call the law,” she texted
back.
“You know, the more you
do that, the more it reinforc
es her behavior,” Lamar
commented later that eve
ning.
I know. But it beats hav
ing a deputy show up at my
door.
Sudie Crouch is an award winning humor
columnist and author of the recently e-pub-
lished novel, "The Dahlman Files: A Tony
Dahlman Paranormal Mystery."
Glad my mama didn’t have to deal with text messages
In the past year, a friend
of ours has chastised both
Tink and me for how much
we work and the spare
attention we pay to her.
The first time I received
my reprimand by text, I
was out-of-town, helping
to take care of a loved one
who was very sick and
needed my full attention.
For days, I slept no more
than four hours nightly,
rarely stopped and took
time to eat quickly one
meal a day. The text, as is
the way of these things,
happened to arrive at a par
ticularly low point when I
was close to tears due to
frustration and exhaustion.
I sighed. “Atticus Finch,
where are you when I need
you?” This was a reference
to the famed fictional char-
acter of To Kill A
Mockingbird who scolded
his daughter, Scout, when
she dared to criticize
someone.
“Don’t judge a man until
you’ve climbed into his
skin and walked around in
it,” he opined.
A year later, Tink was
pushing hard on a deadline
for a Hallmark movie
when he received the same
chastising text. These
kinds of words are guilt at
their strongest. He was sit
ting in a rocking chair on
the back porch of our
house where he had a view
RONDARICH
Columnist
of the pastures, the crisp
shade trees, the rock wall
and the dogs and cats who
scampered joyfully across
the backyard. To write
Hallmark, it helps if you
live it and we are blessed
that we do.
Across the creek, on the
front side of the
Rondarosa, I sat on the red
painted cement porch of
the house that Mama and
Daddy built. I was rocking
in a red and white glider
that Mama bought in 1961
and that our friend, Tom
Eller, had recently restored
perfectly. I was on dead
line with a magazine story
when Tink, withered by
the reprimand, forwarded
the text.
Deadlines for any work
ing person can be chal
lenging. For those of us
who write and must rely
on the hand of God and the
kindness of a muse to
inspire, deadlines can drive
you straight to the killing
field. We both can tell you
that sometimes the harder
we try to create, the quick
er the words retreat to a
hidden place and lock
themselves away.
The text sidetracked us
both. As I rocked gently in
the glider where I once
spent a summer reading
Gone With The Wind and
on which Mama and I sat
many a time and shelled
peas or strung green beans
from the garden, the spirit
of my parents came to
visit.
I thought of Daddy’s
rough, calloused hands and
how Mama, always in an
apron with pockets, would
tote her pan of dishwater
out every summer morning
and water her flowers with
it. It suddenly came to
mind that these hardwork
ing people only socialized
on Sunday but it was an all
day socializing. Sunday
school, church, Sunday
dinner with either friends
or family, and an afternoon
spent visiting loved one
and those who were grow
ing long in years.
Every prayer Daddy said
aloud included a humble
plea of “Lord, please bless
the workings of our
hands.”
I come from people who
worked hard, diligently,
mindfully. I come from
good people who loved
their neighbor and was
always there in a time of
need. I arise from a breed
of people who rather suffer
than celebrate because you
always tend to do what
you know best.
The image of Mama
sweeping her porch came
to mind. I could hear her
saying, as oft she did,
“Make hay while the sun
shines.”
From a long line of poor
farmers come I and I
always knew that rain was
the greatest enemy to a
farmer who needed to
gather his hay from the
field.
“Mama,” I said to the
image from yesterday’s
memories, “you’re sure
lucky that you didn’t have
text messages to distract
you.”
They’re worse than rain
when the hay is down.
Ronda Rich is the best-selling author of
Mark My Words: A Memoir of Mama.
Visitwww.rondarich.com.
