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see to it that they were raised. And raised right. Even if they did have to half raise themselves.
    Taught them how to carry themselves. How to keep that part of themselves that was just for themselves to themselves so nobody could take it and walk on it. Tried my best to make them free. As free as I could teach them to be and still be free myself.
    How many times did I tell Emily, my middle girl, to pull up that chin, tie up that chin. Look to the stars, I would tell them. Look to the stars. Don't let the whole town see you walking with your head down, like you got something to be ashamed of.
    Lord knows this damn little-assed town did try to make them think that. That they had something to be ashamed of. Me mostly. Umph. It's funny really. The one thing in life that they could always look to with pride, a mother who set an example of being her own woman, was the thing that everyone wanted them to be ashamed of.
    Well, one thing I can say for them, I don't think they were ever ashamed of me, or embarrassed by me. Never once.
    It sure is nice and quiet in here. The Parkinsons always did run a nice establishment. I had forgotten how lovely this old building is. Nice and quiet Just the way the house used to be at night when I liked it best. Course, 'cause I got my beauty sleep much of the day, I could enjoy the night the way most people couldn't.
    In the summer, it was too hot during the day to even think about stirring before four or five o'clock in the afternoon. By the time it got dark, I would have had a good long bath and taken care of myself, hair and stuff. And I would have gotten myself something to eat and looked at a little television. The girls or Ernest would have come home by dark and done whatever I needed doing. And I would have had a little company if I felt like it.
    Usually, there would be enough time for a little nap in the evening before I went out to do my gardening. That way I'd be nice and refreshed for my work. What with taking my own time and stopping to rest and admire my work and coming into the house for coffee and to eat something, before you know it, there'd be streaks of color in the sky. And I'd come in and look at movies on videocassettes or early-morning television. Then, lay back down before the girls get up for school.
    And in the winter, it was too depressing getting up earlier than afternoon. Seeing the sunlight outside and knowing it wouldn't even be strong enough to warm you if you was to walk out in it. Then, before you know it, the day would start to fade and it would be nighttime. But that didn't do any good because it would be too cold to do any gardening.
    But then, in the summertime, it would take so long to get dark enough for me to go outside and get my work done. Oh, well, like the old folks say, "If it ain't one thing, it's three.
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    I don't seem to be able to feel the daylight on my skin in here the way I used to, but I am adaptable. Shore am gonna miss my plants, though, my flowers the most, I think. I just planted vegetables that made pretty plants. Collards as big as a small child line the walk to the back door. There's a tangle of mint and lavender by a old painted swing, that has mixed and mated so much that their flowers are variegated shades of purple and lavender and it makes your mouth water to brush by it. My patches of old elephant ears were so big and velvety, almost khaki, they held two and three cups of water when it rained.
    In the full burst of spring and early summer, the place was a paradise.
    Besides my separate rose garden, I had bushes scattered all through the garden. Delicate ones, big showy ones, trailing, climbing, grown in hedges and bushes and over trellises. Tea to cabbage.
    I did so love to dig in the dirt. I was just a born gardener. I could taste the soil and tell whether it was acid or alkaline. When I woke up with dirt under my fingernails, it was some of the happiest moments for me.
    My garden is a beautiful thing. This time of year I have as