Early Childhood Education

Nana was laid up with a bad case of the shingles that summer and after the first three weeks, the only thing more extreme than her suffering was her mood. She was pale and shaky, not able to stand the lightest touch of clothing and in a temper so black, we daren't even to pass by her room. Between the pain and the frustration of not being able to run her household, she was often reduced to rages and and angry tears. I'd never seen her cry before and it was a shocking sight. I found myself almost feeling sorry for my mother who could only hover helplessly and wring her hands before giving up entirely and calling in Pearl and Vi to bring order to the chaos.

The aunts descended on us like two smooth running buzz saws. In a single morning, the wash was done and hung, meals were prepared and neatly stored in the old refrigerator and the entire house had been thoroughly swept, dusted, polished, and aired out. A list of daily chores was tacked to the back door. Miz Clara arrived later that afternoon with her trusty basket of herbs and homemade remedies - and a new bottle of Calamine lotion - and over my grandmother's fierce objections, got her painted up and into fresh bedclothes and a clean nightgown.

“It ain't no use fightin' over this, Alice,” she said firmly, “I reckon I kin outshout you any day of the week and twice on Sunday so hush up and git some sleep. I ain't interested in listenin' to yer hollerin' nohow. Doc McDonald's in Westport birthin' a baby and he ain't gon' be here til after dark.”

“Don't want no damn fool doctor!” my grandmother snapped, “Don't want you here neither! Git and leave me be!”

“Mebbe you jist need the bedpan,” Miz Clara offered with a less than innocent smile and that was the moment she won. A dead silence fell between the two women, a silence so complete I could hear them both breathing. The curtains at the bedroom window rustled softly in the sweet, summer air. A dog barked somewhere in the distance and I thought I could hear the faint engine noise of the ferry pulling in.

“Clara.” My grandmother's voice, weak but stubbornly clear, “If you take one step toward me with that wretched, godawful thing, I swear I will throw it at you.”

“You'll let the doc in?” Clara persisted, “You'll do as you're told until this passes? You'll let people help and stop being such a.........”

“YES!” Nana howled, “FOR CHRIST'S SAKE, YES!”

“Good!” Miz Clara beamed, shaking out a couple of 222's from their familiar, brown vial and pouring a glass of apple juice, “Now take these and see if you can't sleep a bit until the doc gets here. I do believe we've had enough persnickity for one day.”

It was nearly full dark when Doc McDonald's red pick up truck turned down the driveway and pulled in next to the old Lincoln. Nana was sulky and ill tempered but true to her word, she consented to being examined and even reluctantly agreed to take the medicine he left.

“Bedrest, antibiotics, and calamine lotion, my dear,” he told her briskly, “This is as nasty a case as I've seen in a dog's age but you'll come through it in another couple of weeks, I imagine.”

For my mother, peeking around the corner from the kitchen, the timeframe was too much. The color drained from her face and I watched her clutch white knuckled at the door frame for support.

“A couple of weeks?” my grandmother echoed listlessly and Doc patted her hand encouragingly.

“For it to run it's course, yes'm,” he nodded, “But I reckon you'll be up and around in a few

days. Just don't overdo. I'll look in on you again in a week or so.”

Much to everyone's relief, Nana was up - albeit in her nightclothes and bathrobe and only for short periods of time - and giving orders just two days later. Being corset-less and makeup-less, she refused to see anyone except Clara and contented herself by watching over us like a hungry hawk with a checklist. It was, I realized without really understanding why, oddly comforting and I've often thought this was an early lesson about order and routine and and that old devil, control. Even when they're wrong, it's hard to let go of the lessons of childhood.