Giant tubs
of peanut butter. I’m trying to memorialize my grandmother, Kathy Holloman, (“Kitten”
to some, “Rose” to my Grandad, “Mammy” to her grandkids. She didn’t have a
middle name, so all the pet names made up for that) and all I can think about
are these giant, food-service size tubs of peanut that she and my Grandad would
bring me when I was in college at WKU. I was a theatre major and they never
missed a I play in which I was cast (even a play called “Pvt. Wars” where I had
to show my naked ass on stage. She said I was too skinny). Mammy, being a
grandmother, always worried that I wasn’t eating. Of course, I wasn’t. I was a
college student. I spent my money on cigarettes and beer and the occasional cup
of coffee and slice of pie at Murray’s diner. So, whenever they came to Bowling
Green, they would bring me a giant tub of peanut butter so I “didn’t go hungry.”
To this day, when I need comfort, I will get a jar of peanut butter and eat it
with a spoon. Mammy’s house became a popular destination for some of my college
friends, because food. Dear lord, THE FOOD. An average weekend home from school
would find a couple of pizzas, burgers, BBQ, bacon and eggs, banana pudding,
coconut cake, and any number of sides and all of it prepared because, “I didn’t
know what y’all would be in the mood for.” It’s at this point where things
might get disjointed, because that’s how my mind is right now as I write this.
Mammy’s oldest son, Bobby Holloman, my Dad, died at the age of 24 in 1975. I
was five and my sister, Brandy, was eighteen months old. As a result, we were
very close to Mammy. We would spend just about every weekend with her and
Grandad. We went on a few vacations with them to Mammoth Cave or to spend a few
days in a cottage at Kentucky Lake. One time, we were headed to St. Louis for a
trip and I was torn, because there was a movie playing at the Capitol Cinema in
Princeton that I really wanted to see. We were about 50 or so miles down the
road when I pronounced that this movie was more important to me than St. Louis.
Grandad turned the car around, we drove back to Princeton and went to the
movies that night. I don’t remember what movie it was. It may have been Star
Wars. Mammy played board games with me. She and Grandad taught me how to play
Poker, Rummy, Black Jack, and Rook. When I was older, I lived with them off and
on, when things would get tough. The woman loved Christmas. Nothing made her
happier than a house full of family. I get a lot of my sense of humor from
Grandad and it was honed and practiced on Mammy. There were many head shakes
and eye rolls thrown at me and Grandad over the years. She was old school and
would not leave the house unless her hair was done and she was made up. She
loved to shop. There were times when we would ask how she was feeling and would
tell us she wasn’t feeling that great and we would tell her that’s too bad,
because we were going to go shopping and she would immediately respond with, “Well,
let me get ready.” She lived long enough to see me get married, which was
something I had been assuring her for years would never happen. She loved her
grandkids. As long as she was able, she was at every play, show, recital,
graduation, and court date. That last one was a joke. It’s going to be very
weird on this planet without her on it, too. I lost my maternal grandmother,
Mammaw, about eight months ago. This Christmas will be the first without both
of my grandmothers. Considering that I’m 46, it’s remarkable that I got this
many years with them both. I won the grandma lottery. We buried Mammy
yesterday. She was laid to rest right next to my Dad. Everyone who knew her
will miss her. She was 87. If she had lived just a little bit longer, she and
Grandad would have been married 68 years. He and the rest of us were lucky to
have her for so long.
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