Tuesday, December 8, 2009

Cute Little Camille

We just had to get greedy and stay up too late talking. Camille could barely be beautiful, much less lilting, after so little sleep. None-the-less, I dragged her to Coker Creek Gallery, Seven Sister’s Honey Acres, and Mamie’s house. I had intended to take her up the Cherohala Skyway, but my mountain mama Mamie suggested that it was time to put my baby sis down for a nap before her long drive home. Much as I hated to miss a minute of Camille’s company, I deferred to Mamie’s mothering sense. I never had any mothering sense, so I thought it was a good idea to take advice from a master mom.

Before we left Mamie’s we packed up some of her fresh eggs for Camille to take home. We also checked out Mamie’s guest quarters for my brother Bill’s holiday visit with his daughter and toddler grandson. Lastly, Mamie presented me with a beautifully done log cabin quilt. She said that she noticed that Richard and I had big beds at our house, so she wanted us to have the quilt she’d bought from a friend.

I re-stoked the fire and answered my emails while Camille crashed. I was excited that, after less than an hour, she was refreshed enough to take a ride to Bald River Falls with me and join me for lunch on the Tellico River at Kat’s Deli.

Camille and I weren’t close as children, neither in years nor in interests. With her being six years my junior, I considered her a baby. And the fact that she was so attached to Mama just added fuel to this fire. She was a solemn, thoughtful child, not easily amused by the antics of her older siblings. In fact, she seemed downright suspicious of us. (The fact that our sister Denice and I used to bring Camiile to tears by convincing her that I was dead probably didn’t help the trust level of our relationship.) The more we clowned for her benefit, the less amused she appeared. I decided that she was not only a baby, she was a boring baby.

Now, here we were, as middle-aged mamas with grown-up kids, sledding down the hills of the holler and generally acting like fresh-faced fools. We’ve been accused forever of being much alike, but we could never see it. Now that her aging has compelled her to go blonde, as I have always been (mostly with the help of Miss Clairol), we are beginning to celebrate the similarities. Her sense of adventure greatly exceeds mine, as does her education and common sense. We are both wild about the arts, as so many of our siblings were artists. And, most importantly, we both love a good laugh.

Camille’s husband, David, is a talented painter, cook, and musician. I’m attempting to get Camille involved in my publishing and art promotions business. I don’t want her to quit her day job, but it would be wonderful to have a business excuse to have the pleasure of Camille’s company on a regular basis -- if we can survive the excitement.