My buddies (especially Mr. Burt Moody) call her "Miss Phyllis" in a typical southern way. She was, in many ways, mother to myself and all my childhood friends. She hauled us around before we could drive and she was always around with pound cake and cookies at the most opportune moments.
Mom showed up over at my place this morning to let me know she was headed out and to find out if I was free to tag along.
You see, recently, she opened a new bank account and wanted me to have access to it in case "something happened". As a compromise I suggested that she put me on the checking account and to get a check-card in my name and have her carry around in HER purse so that if "something happened" that I could use it for whatever she needed... Thus, all the responsibility and none of the awkwardness of me having access to her money.
So, this morning we went to the bank to get the check-card finalized and then we decided when hadn't been to wal-mart recently enough... I bought a present for
Welll... what's a trip to the store without lunch?
Like lightning we struck the Mall food-court, leaving no survivors... two chicken sandwiches died for our ravenous and un-natural (ok, entirely natural) hungers...
No trip to the mall is complete without a jaunt to the Candle Store. After an olfactory sampling of the merchandise, two more presents for Shell went into the bag and the strange and surreal call of the book store could be heard.
As I stalked the fiction section, Mom perused the "Atlanta" section with a gentility found only in "Women of a certain age". She lamented the loss of Lewis (Louis is a Yankee's name) Grizzard and praised the talent of Celestine Sibley and the book "Dear Store" (about the old Rich's building mom worked at in her youth)...
As we left, our booty secured, she smiled and squeezed my arm and told me she loved me. In that moment, the years melted away and I was 10 again... Shopping with Miss Phyllis
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