Apples and Cheese, Darlin’

Pay-per-view wrestling prices were no joke back in the ’90s, especially for a 9-year-old.

“Dad, can I have $35 to watch WrestleMania?” I asked. “Thirty-five dollars to watch wrestling? Are you kidding me!?”

That was a hard no from Pops. So, I called my Mamaw (my grandmother).

“Mamaw, can I have $35 to watch WrestleMania?” I asked. “What is that, darlin’?” she replied. I told her it was this awesome wrestling event being shown on TV, but I had to pay to watch it.

“I can’t give you $35, darlin’,” she said. “But I have some chores around here that need to be done, and I’d be happy to pay someone to do them.”

There was a tone in her voice that let me know I was the one who could do those chores. My guess was that they pay for the labor would be $35.

I put the phone down and ran into the living room where my pops was lounging and watching TV. “Dad! I need you to take me to Mamaws. NOW!” I sprinted back to the phone, “Mamaw? Dad is bringing me over to your house now. I’ll see you soon.”

My dad laughed and said something to the effect of, “Anything for that, Trippy.”

Dad and I got in the car and started making our way from Fairhope to Lake Forest. The familiar sound of sports radio immediately filled the car, and I rolled my eyes. I never fully appreciated, or understood, listening to sports on the radio until I was older — but that’s a story for another time.

As the car wound through the neighborhood of dense trees and winding hills, I knew we were almost there when I saw the hole in the side of the red-dirt hill. 

The hole is right by the stop sign on the street where Mamaw lived. It wasn’t a special hole by any means. The Alabama weather had almost eroded the entire hill it was on on. 

But I knew that was where some kids died.

Growing up, Mamaw told me a group of kids had been digging a tunnel on the hill when it collapsed on them. The ones inside didn’t make it. They died, she said. Of course, this wasn’t true. But she knew I wanted to explore it, and a story about kids dying was a pretty strong deterrent.

I wonder why I never wanted to go spelunking?

Mamaw was standing on her porch waiting for us when we pulled up. Against the carport wall was an assortment of items, including a leaf blower, a rake, a blue mop bucket with rags and dish detergent inside, and a little cooler with a bottle of white grape juice, some sliced apples, and sharp cheddar cheese.

I got out of the car and ran to give her a big hug. My dad was still sitting in the car, listening to whatever sporting event was on. Mamaw motioned for him to come in before hollering, “Get your butt inside, G.B.!”

While Dad slowly made his way to the porch, Mamaw gave a speech on the chores that needed to be done.

“I haven’t been able to get my car washed in almost two weeks,” she said, hands on her hips with an expression of disbelief that it had been that long. The car didn’t seem dirty to me. It was parked in her exposed driveway, surrounded by tall pine trees, so the only dirty things were a few pine needles.

It’s important to know that my Mamaw was the most moving-around-can’t-stay-still woman I ever knew.

She woke up every morning at 5 a.m. and walked around her hilly neighborhood with a little baseball bat in case a dog ran up on her. Then she would go to the gym by her house. Then she would come home and clean, even if she had cleaned the day before.

Vacuuming, ironing clothes, washing sheets, cooking — she’d take a break to watch her soaps, but even then she’d wind up doing something.

I mention all this to let you know that the car most definitely had been washed in the past two weeks. If I’m honest, she probably washed it the day before. There’s no way in hell she was just sitting in her house looking at a “dirty” car.

“Now, you see all these leaves and pine,” she said, pointing to the pine needles and leaves that covered her driveway. “Scottie (my uncle) can’t make it until later this week to blow the driveway off. And Tripp, all this garbage is driving me crazy!”

Keeping her driveway clean was pointless. 

This was because anytime the wind blew, the damn thing was covered in pine needles and leaves. She could have blown it off herself before pops and I got there and it would have been covered up 15  minutes later if a light wind rustled the pine trees above.

But she made it sound like this was something that needed to be done, and I was the only one who could do it.

By the time she finished explaining everything, my dad had finally made his way to the porch. She eyed him over. “Son, come here,” she said, pulling his face close so she could inspect it. “When was the last time you got your haircut and beard trimmed? Go on in the kitchen, and I’ll be in there after I finish telling Trippy what I need done.”

My dad smiled and headed inside.

You see, my Mamaw was a retired beautician/stylist. She cut my dad’s hair, my brother’s hair, my nephew’s hair, my hair — you get the picture. I swear I didn’t let anyone cut my hair until I moved away for college. Even then, whenever I’d come home from school, I’d tell her I needed a trim — even if I didn’t — so I’d get to spend some time with her.

So, my dad knew when we were headed to Mamaws that he was going to get freshened up without even having to ask.

“Okay. I am going to cut your dad’s hair in the house. You have all the stuff you need out here. I even packed you a little cooler for snacks,” she said with a big smile. “And if you get tired, come on in and take a break.”

I could see my dad through the window already seated in her kitchen. He was facing the TV, which he had already adjusted so he could seamlessly move from the radio version of the sporting event to the televised version.

Once she was inside, I got to work. I knew I had to do a good job because Mamaw had a standard. She was a perfectionist. A neat freak. She was the G.O.A.T of keeping shit clean.

When you came to her house, your shoes came off and you placed them either right next to the door or in a corner where they were out of the way so that someone wouldn’t “trip and break their neck.” When you finished your plate, you better be sure to wash it off and leave it in the sink — but don’t you DARE think about putting it in the dishwasher because Mamaw had a system. 

Only she knew the intricate techniques for loading her dishwasher the right way.

I will skip all the boring details about how I washed a car that I wasn’t even tall enough to reach above the windows, or I almost flew backward when I hit the leaf blower on full power to clear the carport. 

Just know that I tried really hard because I wanted that $35. But, also because I wanted Mamaw to have a clean car and clear carport.

I walked inside to get her so that she could come inspect my work. My dad was now on the couch in her den, watching sports and eating a cut-up apple and some slices of sharp cheddar cheese. 

My Mamaw was just sweeping up my dad’s hair in her kitchen.

When I close my eyes, I can see her sweeping hair. I watched her do it in the salon she worked in when I was really young, then at her house in Mobile, and at the house in Lake Forest. She held the broom with her hands stacked on top of one another and leaned over as she swept. Sometimes she would hum a song.

Her hands were worn from raising kids and grandkids, hard work, yard work, and everything in between.

She was so amazing.

When she finished sweeping, I took her by the hand and led her outside. I was so proud of the work I had done and was so excited to show her. 

As she made her from the porch to the carport she put both of her hands over her mouth like she was shocked. Her eyes got real big. “Oh my goodness,” she exclaimed with excitement. 

“The car looks so beautiful, and all those nasty pine needles are off the driveway. You did such a wonderful job, Trippy.”

She even made a point of walking up to her car and gawking at how clean it was (she would have had it a thousand times cleaner). Mamaw spared no expense to show you how much she appreciated something, and more importantly, how much she appreciated spending time with family. 

“Let’s go inside where my wallet is.”

As a 9-year-old, I felt so good about myself. It felt awesome to have helped my Mamaw. I’m sure my parents wish I had the same sentiment about doing chores around our house. Sorry, mom.

Mamaw grabbed her purse and pulled out her tan billfold wallet. It was worn and loved.

“I only have $40,” she said, rubbing two twenty-dollar bills together. I started to go ask dad if he had change, but she stopped me. “That was $40 worth of hard work, don’t you think?,” she asked me, shooting me a wink and smile. 

When it was time to go, the three of us walked to the car. “Where are you going to watch the wrastlin’ match, Trippy?” she asked. “I think I am going to have some friends over and watch it in the downstairs room on Dad’s TV.”

“Hot dog, that sounds like a good time,” she said, clapping her hands, laughing, and smiling all at once.

She gave dad and I each a big hug for our send off back to Fairhope. Every time she hugged you it has so much power and love in it. Whether we were going 2,000 miles or the short 15-minute drive home, the hugs were always the same.

“I love you,” she said to each of us after receiving our hugs.

As we drove off, she stood on the porch and watched. She waved, and I waved back. I rolled down the window and screamed, “Love you, Mamaw.” She screamed back, “I love you too, Trippy!” 

I kept waving as the card moved further away, and she kept waving back. I always used to watch her when we’d drive off.

I’d look back to see if she ever stopped waving or turned around to go inside when our car faded out of her sight. But she never did. As long as I was waving and our car was in her view, she watched us until we disappeared.

She never turned her back on the opportunity to see her family, even if it was an image of them driving away. She never turned her back on the people she loved.

Two weeks later, when the title screen for WrestleMania XII flashed across the screen, I was lying on the couch eating apple slices and sharp-cheddar cheese. “Anything else before the show starts, Trippy?” she asked. “No ma’am,” I said. “OK. I’ll just be in the living room if you need anything.”

There was no one like my Mamaw. My brain is packed full of all the amazing memories I have of her. 

Spending time with her. Laughing with her on a road trip to Arizona, or talking to her in a hotel room in Montgomery when we were running from a hurricane. Crying in her kitchen when I thought my brain was broken. “Don’t cry darlin’,” she’d say, “Or else I’m going to start crying.”

She was loyal and strong, unwavering in her faith and her belief that family was the most important thing on the planet. I loved her so much.

She was the best. I mean, when I met my best friend, Ron, in the sixth grade, one of the first things I wanted to do was let him hang out at Mamaw’s. And we did! We went over there and spent the night. She made us the world’s best scrambled egg and cheese sandwiches while we played PlayStation in the den. She loved Ron.

Anytime I went over there, without fail, she’d ask. “How’s Ron? How’s his momma and daddy? I love that Ron.”

Her cooking was LEGENDARY, too. Dirt cake, crunchy potato casserole — I could go on and on. Literally, I could take this story in 1,000 different directions because I have a thousand memories of her. 

For that, I am extremely grateful to the Universe for giving me the best Mamaw.

July 21, 2017, Text from Dad: Aunt Kay and Mamaw just got their postcards! You wouldn’t believe how excited they are! Aunt Kay at office! Mom (Mamaw) at house! She called me. Sure she has called her brothers and sisters.

I sent her a postcard from Scotland when I visited in 2017. The card had a bunch of sheep on the front and said, “Scottish Traffic Jam.” Dad said she laughed and laughed. I sent her another one when I was in Ireland of a picture I took of the Northern Irish landscape. She kept them both.

No surprise, though. She had an entire wall of her grandkids and great-grandkids accomplishments. Whether it was art someone had drawn for her, a clipping from a newspaper article with one of us in it, or any other things we gave her went on that wall. 

I bet it spanned 10-feet tall. It got to the point where she had to use a ladder, and eventually she tapped some things along the baseboards. When you have 7 grandchildren and 19 great-grandchildren I suppose space does fill up pretty quick.

My postcards got prime location on the fridge, though. No big deal.

August 28, 2024, Text from LaLa: Mamaw got her card. I just read it to her and just laughed.

I wrote another postcard this July when I was in Northern Ireland. We were visiting the Giant’s Causeway and I saw a card that had a little map on the front with cool markers of famous places in the area. 

I wrote the card while sitting in the cafe that was located in the visitors center.

On the card, I told her how it was tradition to send her a card when I was traveling aboard since I did seven years ago. 

I wrote how much I loved her laugh. Man, that laugh could cure the shittiest of days and make the best days even better. I wrote about how she was the best Mamaw. I told her how much I loved her.

When I finished, I put the card in the mail drop located in the parking lot of the Giant’s Causeway. I wanted it to be super authentic with a postage mark from the area. 

I mailed in on July 20th. It arrived at Mamaw’s on August 25th. I’m glad she got to read it. Thank you, LaLa.

I love you so much, Mamaw. Give Dad and Papaw the biggest hugs for me. Check in from time to time, ya hear?

I’ll be sure to eat some apples and cheese for WrestleMania XLI in April.