World Beginnings

Bobbie Morgan Livingston was my first cousin and one of my few idols.  My father died when I was ten and we moved from Seattle to a small town of 300 in Mississippi. I was an angry, defiant child in every way and when I was upset I ran away. My dad’s family was a lifesaver for my mother and her five unruly children; there was always room at their tables and hearts. In those days it didn’t take much to set me off running down the farm roads trying to reach the woods to escape the pain. Bobbie’s mom, my Aunt Annie Mae, would call to her to “go catch her and bring her back!” Bobbie and I both were married numerous times, ok, more than two and less than five, which provided endless gossip and speculation at family gatherings. We used to joke that we would put the names and dates of our marriages on the back of our tombstones so that everyone could keep it straight. At the yearly Memorial Service at the family cemetery, we would sit together and we could see distant relatives...

In Robert Fulgham's book,  All I Ever Needed to Know I Learned in Kindergarten , one of his lighthearted essays states that we can learn everything about someone by using their bathroom while visiting. Within that personal sanctuary,  secrets are exposed,  from prescription medications, gas relief products, hemorrhoid cream, shampoo preference, and the condition of their nightwear. Secluded in our bathrooms are the most private part of our lives, and Fulgham concludes the essay by saying that guests are no longer allowed to use his private toilet. Over the summer, my sister and I went to several large estate sales in Memphis, and Fulgham's words came back to me with a sad reality. One of the homes was an immaculate two-story mansion filled with antiques and showroom-quality furniture.  The upscale street was jammed with every type of vehicle: luxury SUVs, U-Hauls, and beaters, symbolic of those crowding the house. Immigrants, used furniture dealers, casual shoppers, ...