Ronda Rich

Syndicated Columnist

I never knew my friend’s Aunt Elsie. Still, the valuable lesson she taught me will never be forgotten.

Miss Elsie died a while back in her tiny Alabama town, having lived to be 81. Her grandest adventure happened over 30 years ago when she had gone to see a cousin in Memphis. They visited Graceland, had tea at the Peabody Hotel and shopped at the city’s finest store. Passing by the lingerie department, Aunt Elsie saw something that took her breath away – a long, flowing white peignoir set trimmed in matching lace and ribbons. It looked like something that Grace Kelly would have worn in a movie.

Though it was completely out of character for this prim piano teacher who taught daily for over 50 years, she bought the peignoir set and hugged it gently to her chest as she left the store. It would become her favorite treasure.

Miss Elsie was, according to her niece, a good Methodist woman who taught Sunday school and regularly baked cakes of goodwill, then distributed them with promptness to those ailing or grieving.

She put up with no nonsense and therefore conducted herself with the kind of discipline and discretion that she demanded from those around her. This included many church pastors who found themselves summoned far too often for coffee then asked to explain precisely what a certain sermon had meant and then challenged to defend it down to the letter of the scriptures.

She was a plain, salt-of-the-earth woman who preferred sensible shoes, support stockings and flannel gowns. But that fancy negligee caught her eye and, in a moment of unexplained weakness, she bought it. For the rest of her life, she adored that gown, which she stored lovingly in a cedar chest at the foot of her bed.

“I’m saving this,” she explained. “In the event that I ever have to go to the hospital, I’ll have me something pretty to cheer me up.” Widowed at a young age, she confided blushingly to her sister once, “Well, you never know when another husband might come along. Then, I’ll have it for my honeymoon.”

But she never wore it. Never took the tags off. There was never another honeymoon or even a trip to the hospital. She died suddenly, just keeling over in her garden while attending to the perennials. She had spent the last 30 years saving the chiffon loveliness for a “special occasion” that never came. When she died, her daughter realized that her mama had one last chance to wear her beloved peignoir set.

That’s how Aunt Elsie, the practical Methodist, came to be buried in a white chiffon gown and robe fit for a Hollywood queen, stunning the other Methodists, as well as the stalwart Baptists who came for the viewing. Somehow, I suspect that wasn’t the special occasion she had been waiting for. Time just got away from her.

In the South, we still believe in Sunday best clothes and company’s- coming-to-dinner china and linens. We save our best for others and shrug off the importance of ourselves. Mama was always like that but a couple of years before she died, she surprised us when we kids showed up for Thursday night supper. The table was laid with her treasured bone-colored china and best flatware.

“Who’s comin’ to supper?” I asked curiously.

“Just y’all.” “You put out the good china for us?”

“I don’t get much company. I need to use whenever possible.”

How true. It isn’t possible to wear out china. Don’t be like Miss Elsie and wait until it’s too late to enjoy the fruits of your labor or the bounty of your inheritance. Don’t wait for a special occasion.

You also can be like Mama was and mix the best with the rest. She set a beautiful table that night but she couldn’t blow all of her practicality into the wind in one puff.

Personally, I didn’t mind the paper napkins at all.

Ronda Rich is the best-selling author of The Stella Bankwell mystery series. Please visit www.rondarich. com to sign up for her free newsletter.