‘Twas the most humid, sultry day of the summer. Thunderstorms predicted for evening. Okay. Instead of the spacious patio, we’ll eat inside. It’s Maple House’s turn, the smallest house. Doesn’t matter. Probably not a lot of people will show up; after all, two of our podmates can’t even attend. Okay. It’ll do, I think to myself.
But wait: Granny Bee has decided to do her presentation, “Story of My Life as a Queen Bee.” I had hoped she would, ever since she arrived, on the 20th of July, but not feeling well at the time. By this past Monday, Betty felt better, just in time for the two of us to take our two-day jaunt to nearby places in rural Indiana.
Betty and I met at an early Crones Counsel gathering, back in the ’90s. In that group, she’s justly famous, due to her presentations as Granny Bee during the Crone Follies, our memorable, and often raunchy Saturday Eve display of crone talent. Granny’s most famous presentation was, not surprisingly, her “pole dance,” for which she brought her own pole . . .
So I told Betty that if she came to visit — and “yes, please do come!” — she would have to sing for her supper, giving this intergenerational community experiment a slight taste of what goes on during Crones Counsels.
So she hauled her costume and props up from Atlanta, including her wig with blue hair and rollers.
But it wasn’t until yesterday, only hours before our weekly dinner, that she told me she would do the presentation after all.
And it wasn’t until the dinner hour began that we realized the group size would be at least as large as usual. In that tiny space! Oh well, we’ll make do . . .
At the table . . .
At the coffee table. . .
In the kitchen . . .
With the two orphan baby possums Aaron took out of his pocket . . .
Meanwhile, back to Betty . . .
I was worried that she wouldn’t have room enough to do her thing. She wasn’t worried. Okay.
Beforehand, as the approximately twenty people circled up in the small space before dinner, I mentioned the special presentation we would all be subjected to after dinner, warning: if you don’t want to stay for it, you’ll have to leave beforehand, because she doesn’t want to be interrupted.
Just as people were starting to get their desserts, Betty disappeared into another room to put on her costume. I called out to the noisy group — “only ten more minutes!”
Nine minutes later —”one minute more!”
Granny Bee appeared, in costume, and began. Suddenly, her audience sat silent, entranced, and stayed that way until the end, about fifteen minutes later, except for often shocked, embarrassed laughter, especially at her remark, “At one point I must have had 150,000 sperm in me!”
For the entire presentation, she stood next to Aaron —who also had no idea what would be coming, except for knowing that she knew he keeps 30 bee hives — and asked him periodically if what she was saying about the queen bee’s life was correct! “Yes,’ he kept saying, laughing.
Here she goes:
It didn’t take long before we exploded into laughter. (That’s me, knees up.)
At the end of her story, even though she said she had finally transformed from Queen Bee into Old Human Woman . . . she still had a bit of Bee in her (said as she took off her house dress to reveal her bee suit)!
Here she is, afterwards, sans costume, people still laughing and clapping.
This morning, before she departed for Atlanta, she told me she sees Green Acres Village as “an incubator for creativity.” Nice. True! And she played a big part, during her time here. Thanks Betty Bee!
