You Ain't No 'Lectric Elephant

My grandmother, Mama's mother, was a one-woman force of nature. She was up every day at about 5:30. It seemed like half of those days, she had a pound cake baked and cooling on the counter by the time the rest of the house resurrected itself in time for breakfast. She ran the family farm from the business end, negotiating prices, handling cash, balancing the books. She kept my grandfather's business records--he was a salesman for Lipton Tea--and even designed a tracking sheet for him that became the in-house standard. She kept an immaculate house, played bridge, and made homemade candy. A seventh-generation Florida native, she knew the vital importance of a fresh bath at 5 pm, and every time I smell Estée Lauder's Private Collection, I think of her.

When she lived in Atlanta, during the busiest of the salesman years, she had a maid named Alice. Alice, another one-woman force of nature, understood more about balance than my wide and busy grandmother. After watching her work herself into a frenzy one day, Alice calmly fixed one of her looks on her and pronounced, "Now, slow down, Miz Bero. You know you ain't no 'lectric elephant."

I could use an Alice. Not for the housekeeping help (although I wouldn't turn it down!), but for the advice. I could use a voice of sanity telling me, "Now, slow down, mimi. You know you ain't no 'lectric elephant." What with the teaching and the mothering and the cleaning and the dog-walking and the cooking and cleaning and God knows what else isn't getting done, I can run myself flat on my back. And then I realize I haven't gotten to the fun stuff, like writing. Or taking a nap. Or planting some flowers in my front bed.

Slow down. Pull the plug. Steady as she goes. No need to be anyone's elephant, 'lectric or otherwise.