The children kept making a fuss, getting all up under Granny Sluder’s feet.  There she was in the kitchen, trying to get supper on the table, and the whole bunch of them were running around, screamin’ and hollerin’ like nothing you ever heard!  And, Granny was at her wit’s end when the thought came to her.

            “Now, you youngins better quietn down, and if you’ins do, I’ll tell you a little story.”

            Now if all them Sluder grandchildren knew anything about their Granny it was this: One, Granny Sluder sure knew how to tell a story.  And two, If you didn’t mind her the first time she asked, you were better off dead.

            Well, those youngins got quiet real quick and gathered around the kitchen table, eyes and ears wide open, just hungerin for another one of Granny Sluder’s tales. 

Granny carefully kept one hand stirring the pot of pinto beans and one eye on the skillet of cornbread cooking in the oven, while pondering on how she was gonna start this one.

            “Oh gracious, do I dare tell you this one?” Granny Sluder asked, with a mischievous but contemplative look on her face.  The kind of look only Granny Sluder could pull off.

            “Oh Granny, please.” “Come on Granny.” “You know we’ll all be good now, we ain’t gonna act up no more,” sang the chorus of little voices around the great big oak table. 

            “Well,” Granny began, somewhat apprehensively, “this story happened, laws me, what must’ve been ages ago.  And it started with a little girl who had a big ‘ole silly dream in her head…”

            “Her name was Purdy, and boy, was she sure was a right purdy little thing at that.  All her life she’d been dreaming of getting out of her little mountain town and living in the big city.  More than anything else in this world, Purdy wanted to be one of them fashion models.  She wanted to travel to London, Paris, and Rome, twinklin’ from head to toe in diamonds and pearls, sequins and lace.  Why, her first words were none other than, “Dahhhling,” I swear my life on it.” 

            The children snickered at this.  But you could see every one of them grandkids was completely mesmerized by Granny Sluder’s story.  So, she continued.

            “Now, Purdy could not wait, I mean, could not WAIT, to leave her tiny ‘ole, hillbilly mountain town to make it someday in New York City—”

            “NEW YORK CITY!?!?” The kids exclaimed, incredulously.

            “Well, that’s what I said, ain’t it?” Granny continued.  “Now, back to the story.  As Purdy grew into a ma-chur and determined, mind you, little lady, there was something about her that worried her grannies and aunts and momma something terrible.  Purdy had the most beautiful face, and height that reached the heavens, but she was as tiny as a minute!  Now, I know, that’s perfect measurements for a model-in-training, but Purdy’s grannies and aunts and momma were just not gonna stand for claiming raisin’ such a puny looking girl!  The only problem was Purdy would not eat to save her life.  ‘6’3”, 98 pounds is what all the fashion magazines say I need to be in order to be a model, momma,’ Purdy would whine.” 

            “Well, her grannies and aunts and momma just wouldn’t stand for such talk. 

‘Purdy,’ her momma would say, ‘you’re nothin’ but skin and bones, and I’m telling you right now, I’m gonna make you do something about it if it kills me!’

            ‘Well, go ahead and try,’ Purdy would reply, ‘but you might as well find yourself a burial plot, cause I just ain’t gonna eat, momma.’

            “Well, her momma tried first.  She cooked up a feast like you wouldn’t believe.  She fried the chicken just so the outsides were a tad bit crispy, and the insides were juicing with flavor.  She whipped up the creamiest mashed potatoes you ever saw, and topped them off with the thickest, most flavorful gravy there ever was.  She fried up some crispy okra, buttered a few ears of corn, and for dessert, adorned the table with a giant-triple-layered-whipped-cream-oozing Strawberry Shortcake!”

            ‘Now, if this doesn’t tempt my youngin,' Purdy’s momma thought, ‘then ain’t nothin’ gonna.’

            “Momma called Purdy down to the kitchen.  She heard the tiny pitter patter of Purdy’s model walk gently gliding down the staircase.” 

            ‘Purdy honey,’ her momma said sweetly, ‘look what I made just for you.’

            ‘Thanks momma,’ Purdy replied, ‘but I think I’ll stick to some sugar-free jello, and ice water this evenin’.’

            “Purdy’s momma was crushed.  But worst of all, she was mad.”

            ‘You mean I slaved away at this dinner of perfection, and all I get is you wanting some sugar-free, no-tasting mess of giggly stuff and some ICE WATER?!?  I give up Purdy; there ain’t nothin’ I can do for you nomore.’

            “Well, you know, in small towns news travels fast, and before you knew it, all Purdy’s aunts and grannies came to try to lift Momma’s spirits a little.”

            ‘Don’t tear yourself up over this,’ they said, over and over, tryin’ to calm her down.  ‘She just wasn’t in the mood for that kind of cookin’ this evening.’

            ‘I just don’t know what else to do,’ Momma cried.

            ‘Let us try our cookin’ expertise,’ the aunts all chimed in together.  ‘Just wait ‘til we all work together.  We’ll fix a feast that even Purdy can’t resist.’

            ‘Try your best,’ Momma wailed, ‘But you’ll see, oh laws-a-me you’ll see.’

            “The next day, the aunts devised plans for a supper fit for the king…King Elvis himself!  They slaved away at the stovetop, making the milkiest chicken-n-dumplin’s you ever put in your mouth.  They fried all kinds of squash and tomatoes and potatoes and zucchini.  The aunts stewed fresh cabbage, black-eyed peas, and corn-OFF-the cob (‘ain’t no youngin that likes it ON-the cob anymore these days’ they preached back and forth).  Why, them aunts even made a fresh batch of molasses cookies, to just the right crispiness.  Dipped in a tall glass of fresh milk, those cookies were about as close to heaven as you could get!  When the cookin’ was done, they called Ms. Skin-n-Bones over to dinner.”

            ‘Purdy,’ Aunt Edith whispered into the phone, layin’ it on THICK, mind you, ‘all us aunties have a surprise for you over at my house.  Come on over, honey.’

            “A few minutes later, Purdy arrived on Aunt Edith’s doorstep, a Cosmopolitan magazine in one hand, a pair of designer gold high heels in the other.”

            ‘Aunt Edith, whatever could you all want with me at six in the evenin’,’ Purdy said.

            ‘Come on in, hon,’ Aunt Edith coaxed, ‘just come on in.’

            “Aunt Edith led Purdy into the kitchen, where all the aunts stood, just waitin’ for Purdy to devour the evenin’ supper.  Purdy looked at the table full of home-cookin’, then looked at the aunts all eager for her approval, and finally mustered up the courage to say, ‘I’m sorry aunties, I’m just not hungry this evenin’.  Maybe another night.’”

            “And with that, Purdy turned around, and model-walked out of Aunt Edith’s kitchen back home to her collage-covered bedroom, leaving the aunts just staring after her, mouths wide open.”

            ‘Well, I DECLARE,” Aunt Georgie exclaimed, “I’ve never seen a youngin like her!  I’m sorry, but, if I were her momma, I’d jack her hide up until she couldn’t stop eating.’

            “The other aunts agreed.  They had ‘bout had enough of Purdy’s attitude, her model walk, and her too-tight blue jeans.” 

            “Purdy, on the other hand, may have had an inklin’ as to all the schemin’ going on with her momma and aunts and grannies, and maybe it bothered her a little, but it didn't matter.  All that was on her mind was her fashion magazines, her designer clothes, and her lifetime savings that was gonna send her to New York City.”

            “About a week later, after hearing Momma’s and the aunts’ stories, the grannies felt it was high time they took matters into their own hands.”

            ‘Ain’t no cooking like Granny’s cookin’,’ Granny Storie said to Granny Hollar. 

            ‘You dog-gone right,’ Granny Hollar hollered right back.  ‘Lena,’ Granny Hollar said to Granny Storie, ‘I think it’s time we make a feast that puts all our own youngins feasts to shame.’ 

            “So, the grannies got to work.  They cooked and cooked like you wouldn’t believe, for three whole days!  They whipped out all their secret recipes: Lena’s secret casseroles, and Artie’s special sauces.  They roasted whole turkeys, and simmered special chicken barbeques.  The grannies adorned every single dish with only the freshest garden vegetables.  They whipped up homemade buttermilk biscuits that were as light and fluffy as the air itself, smothered them in butter and strawberry jam.  And for dessert, they slaved over the biggest pot of Blueberry Bunglar you ever saw!”

            ‘Now this is a feast to die for,’ Granny Hollar said to Granny Storie.  ‘There just ain’t no cooking like grannies’!’'

            “So, when Purdy made her regular rounds to visit Granny Hollar and Granny Storie every day, the grannies were waitin’ on the door step for her.” 

            ‘Well, lands sakes alive, look who’s here, Lena,’ Granny Hollar said to Granny Storie.  ‘Come on in, child, and take a load off.  Rest your feet a little while.’

            “When Purdy sashayed through the door, she could not believe her eyes.  Finally, she lost it.  ‘Grannies!  I didn’t think you’d try too.  You were my last hope.  I thought if anyone knew how much I wanted to be a fashion model in New York City, it would be you two.  And now, you’ve just gone schemin’ like the rest of them.  I can’t take this no more…I’m LEAVIN’!’

            “And with that, Purdy slammed the screen door, and model-walked as fast as she could to her imaginary run-way in the woods to cry.” 

            ‘I can’t believe it,’ she sobbed.  ‘No one understands my dreams of being a fashion model.  I guess I’m just gonna have to ‘work it on my own.’’

            “It was during times like these, when Purdy felt the loneliest, depressed, and downtrodden that she turned to her sanctuary of strength.  She swayed her way over to the church, that beautiful, reverent white building, with the sparklin’ stained glass windows that reminded her of the world’s most beautiful evening gown when they let the sun shine through just so.  She opened the doors to the sanctuary, walked down the aisle past the rows of wooden pews, straight to the stained glass cross that hid the baptistery, and kneeled before the altar.” 

            ‘Dear God,’ Purdy whispered, ‘I know I ain’t really been honoring my elders like I should, and I know I’ve only been thinking about myself these last, well, fifteen years; but, God, you know better’n anyone in this whole wide world how much I want to be a fashion model up in New York City.  Heck, I’ve been praying to you every night about the day I get to leave this dinky town.  But, Lord, I guess all this schemin’ you been sending me these last few weeks has been a sign.  And Lord, if it’s your will for me to be a beautiful, famously marvelous, glittery fashion model in New York City, well…let’s just say I’m gonna leave it in your hands now.  If only you could just send me a sign, God.  Amen.’

            “Purdy picked herself up from off the altar and wandered down the back staircase to leave the church from the back door.  That’s when she smelled it.  It was the most delicious, mouthwatering, stomach-craving smell that had ever passed through her nostrils.  The smell coaxed the tiny Ms. Purdy towards the church fellowship hall, where she pushed down the door to see what was temptin’ her so.  And there before her, spread out like a miraculous sign, like a gift from the heavens above…was a feast.  Not just any feast, mind you, it was a Wednesday night Church Supper.  Purdy looked around.  The place was empty.” 

            ‘Now, who in this world could have made something so absolutely delicious, and then just abandoned it like that,’ Purdy thought. 

“And then it hit her.  This was no human error, no accident; this was a gift from God.  It was her sign.” 

            “There before her was every single type of food you could imagine.  Taters, and Maters, and chicken and gravy, and dumplings and roast beef and sliced cucumbers, and seventeen casseroles and biscuits and roles and muffins and butter, and stuffed peppers and stuffed mushrooms, and fried catfish, and pretty much fried everything, and corn ON-the-cob and corn-OFF-the-cob too.  And every kind of dessert you could think of: fresh apple pie, and scotch-chocolate cake, and moon pies, and bundt cakes, and chocolate covered strawberries, and crumb cakes, and milk shakes, and homemade ice cream, and of course, buckets and buckets of Blueberry Bunglar.” 

            “Purdy didn’t waste any time.  She went back for seconds, and thirds, and fourths, until that entire fellowship hall counter was empty.  Then she slumped down in her chair, and fell sound asleep.”

            “They found her the next morning.  Momma and the aunts and grannies were all kissing her something fierce, and screamin’ and hollerin’ and praisin’ Jesus that their little baby was alright.  When they finally got calmed down, Purdy spoke.”

            ‘Momma, and aunties, and Granny Hollar and Granny Storie, I had a little talk with Jesus last night.’ (Momma’s and aunties’ and the grannies’ eyes were just brimming with tears) ‘And I asked him to send me a sign.  Now, I know all you'ins been schemin’ to get me to eat, and I know I’ve been telling ya’ll all about my fashion model dreams, and what it’s gonna take me to get there.  Well, last night, I layed it all in the Lord’s hands.  And you know what he did??  He sent me a heavenly feast.  And Momma, and aunties and Granny Hollar and Granny Storie, you know what I did?  I ate ‘til I was filled with the Holy Spirit, and I’m gonna tell you right now, that was some good Heavenly cookin’.  So, what I guess I’m trying to say is, God was telling me, that sometimes we want things that aren’t for the best.  Our dreams sometimes change, but our roots, by goodness, our roots ain’t never gonna change.  Gotta live with them, and gotta learn to love ‘em.’

            “Well, needless to say, momma, and the aunts and the grannies were all tickled to death by Purdy’s little revelation.  They was all jumping up and down, praisin’ Jesus that their little baby was here to stay.”

            Granny Sluder looked over her bunch of youngin’s, their mouths still wide open, their souls now full. 

            “So, what ever happened to Purdy, Granny Sluder?” tiny little Betsy asked.