Death is in the room as one is coming to life. Always. For a few painful seconds, things could go either way.
Take my Mamaw. Willa Mae Wells.
She was born up a Kentucky holler in the nineteen-teens. No doctor present. No hospital to be found. No exceptional medical measures available.
The truth. When is it pleasant? Fun to hear? Especially from the One Who Knows You Like No Other.
"You've not been writing, Andra."
I show up here. Every dang day. With something.......amazing. Okay, mostly middling.
"Andra, I don't know how this happened......"
The last time MTM said that, he snuggled up to me in bed. Offered to give me a massage. Brought me an adult beverage as a nightcap.
What resulted was this post........
Because sometimes, a picture says everything.
Them’s my buns.
Seasoned readers of the Cootchie will remember that MTM is a City Official. An urban designer. Responsible for the biggest development project in downtown Charleston's recent history.
You probably forgot all that when I reported several months ago that they dug up bones on the construction site. Bones that turned into 37 graves. From sometime before 1720. (Which, in America, is old. These people could've been some of YOUR ancestors, just off the boat in the New World.)