A Real Nice Lady.

Carole and I have been friends since seventh grade. This is the story I wish I could've told at her Mom's memorial service...

Mrs. Young was the type of person who could make anything grow. She could take a dead twig, and before you knew it, she'd have a full on jungle. Maybe it was her way of nurturing everything. She had a voice that evoked memories of molasses and moonshine: deep, and thick and sweet.

She'd look at Carole and me, as we were involved in some utter nonsense, wrecking her calm home, and say,
"Now. Anne. Marie. That is just. Complete. Silliness."
And she'd smile and sit back and watch with this twinkle in her eyes that told us that, yeah, we were idiots, but she loved observing the idiocracy.

Mrs. Young loved to send Carole out on these errands. She'd always need hard-to-find objects. Most times I'd be running around with Carole on these missions. The best part of these scavenger hunts was the fact that we'd always get what she wanted, but there would always be *something* else we'd would bring back. If she sent us out for birdseed, we'd come back from the store with the birdseed and a pair of cockatiels. (True story. Carole thought her Mom needed company after her father died. The birds' original owners couldn't stand how dirty and noisy they were, and gave them to us for free. Right then and there. Cage, food and all, because we went into the store and showed interest in them.) If she sent us out for some milk and bread, we'd come back with the fixings for from-scratch brownies and completely obliterate her kitchen during the baking process.

It was on one of these missions, not too long ago, that my Favorite Errand BringBack happened. Carole and I were sent out to find tulip bulbs mid-March. Now, everybody knows that hardware stores carry bulbs in the Fall, so they can be planted, overwinter, then emerge in the Spring. It WAS practically Spring. So we headed out to every garden center and hardware store within driving distance. Not only did we find tulip bulbs, we got them on sale for 15 for a dollar. Mrs Young wanted about a dozen; we scored about 200 bulbs of all shapes and sizes. Hell, nobody knew what we had in those bags. Least of all Carole and me. It would be a surprise for all of us when they came up. There was no "if they came up." I told you. Mrs. Young could grow anything.

On the way back to the farmhouse, Carole and I were laughing and joking about our good fortune; finding such a bargain on bulbs when I passed by a big pile set out for the trash. I real quick squeeched my brakes, nearly throwing Carole through the windshield, and definitely making her drop her cigarette onto my dashboard, and made the most reckless uturn ever attempted in my car. Because I had seen something so great on that trashpile.

After Carole finished cursing me to the moon and back, (I swear, that girl could give a truck-driver sailor lessons. She taught me every foul word I know. I use them proudly in her honor.) she saw why I had made such a stunning move. There on that trashpile was The Silver Tuna. The one thing we had never brought back to her Mom. It was perfection.

It was mostly dead. It was past neglected. It was really ugly. It was a seven-foot banana tree with one green leaf, and some super-disgusting dirt in the bottom of a too-small terracotta pot. It needed us. It needed Mrs. Young.

So Carole and I got out of the car. She's looking in all directions in case somebody she knows is watching her pick the trash. I assessed the situation, and decided that it wouldn't fit in my car. Unless we put the top down. So down goes the convertible top. Then the two of us try unsuccessfully to heft the behemoth into my back seat. It took us four tries, mainly because we kept laughing and couldn't stop to lift. Fiinally, we get this *thing* into place, and begin our trip back to the farmhouse. Remember how I said it was March, right? Well, it was one of those cold, damp mistyrainy end-of-winter days, and here we are, driving up route 29 with the top down, the heater going full blast and a dead banana tree hanging out of the back seat. It was priceless.

But not as priceless as presenting our great treasure to Mrs Young. We come dragging this giant dead thing into her living room, and Mrs. Young just smiled, shook her head, and said,"Complete. Silliness. You two."

You know what? That was about two years ago. Within a month of having this tree, it looked like she had bought it from Ott's. She had it pretty and green, and lush. Within a year, it had small, green bananas growing from under its leaves. She took that mostly dead plain old ugly stalk and brought it back to life.

I'd seen her do it many times. Take something yucky, old and beaten up, and with some of her attention, bring it into her home and give it new life.

Rosalie Sims Young was born in West Virginia, the daughter of a college president and his wife. She was highly educated, went on to become a college professor herself. She worked for the Library of Congress before moving to Pennsylvania. This is a remarkable feat for any person, but for a black woman, at that time, it was extraordinary. She was loved by so many, but especially her son and daughter, her grandchildren and her many friends.

So, let's raise our glasses to Rosalie Sims Young. Mrs. Young, I know wherever you are, that you've been brought Home, and you have New Life.

*clink*