Natalie Whatley

Hands down, the best part about this column is you: the readers.  Through this spot I’ve met some fascinating people I would’ve never known otherwise. Some shot me an e-mail, others walked right up when I was out and about and introduced themselves, a few “eyed” me trying to figure out why I looked familiar and had a “light-bulb” moment when I told them. But there’s another who made me break down in tears week before last when she mailed me a handkerchief. How did she know I was going to need it?

If there ever was a cheerleader for the team of Sun columnists, it’s Ms. Gladys Adcox of Highlands. A brief investigation led me to find she’s been in the business of corresponding with newspaper writers for a good while –maybe even the span of my lifetime. A spry 93-years-young, she says she does it to keep her mind sharp. Well, I can only hope to be half as sharp here in my prime. 

Ms. Adcox phoned me the morning my snake story ran. (For inquiring minds: I’m still not over it, but my public warning to Jeff worked. No black eyes as of this writing.) She had a snake story of her own and wanted to send me a copy of Baytown Sun columnist Buck Young’s account from some time ago.

See, a copperhead made his way through a hole in her bedroom screen. Not standing for it, she armed herself with a butcher knife and went in to show him who was in charge. Upon gathering her wits (she’s a stronger woman than me) she thought better of getting close enough to use her weapon. Instead of having what we Southerners refer to as a conniption, she told Mr. Copperhead to turn around and leave the way he came in. And he did!

While I delighted in reading that story and another she wrote for The Sun about her pet rooster, it was some other things that brought on the waterworks. It all started when her three pieces of mail arrived. I was in a hurry to get somewhere, grabbed the mail from the box and was stunned by the handwriting on the envelopes. I’d seen it many times before. Tucking that thought away, I placed the unopened mail in the laundry room, and off I went.

Since ads and bills make up 99.99% of what the postman delivers each day, any piece of handwritten mail is a real treat in my book. It wasn’t even my birthday! I couldn’t wait to get back home.

Upon returning, I carefully opened each one. (By the way, Gladys is my kind of girl; the exterior of the envelopes were “sealed” with American flag stickers and beautiful butterflies. Someone else used to do that, too.)  In addition to the stories, she sent a “Granny Adcox” ruler (for measuring snakes – if they’re longer than the ruler I’m going to run), three handwritten notes on pretty, personalized stationery, and a handkerchief with a beautiful blue rose embroidered on it.

The handwriting: my late grandmother’s almost exactly. The contents: gifts money can’t buy. Alzheimer’s took my Maw Maw King’s mind long before her body; years prior, she loved to correspond via mail. She sent all sorts of little things she came across in her house . . . small items that wouldn’t mean a thing to anyone else, but were treasures to me.  

 I called Ms. Adcox to thank her. Her kindness reminded me that in this hurry-up world we live in today, it’s still possible to receive some special deliveries. “You’re welcome, darlin’!” “Darlin’” without the “g”, just like Maw Maw used to call me. The voice was different, the inflection the same.  Happy tears streamed down my face. I had a new friend who brought back some wonderful old memories. She said the handkerchief was just a little something to remember her by. How could I ever forget?

Thank you, Ms. Gladys Adcox . . . for everything.

© 2009 Natalie Whatley