I cannot sleep. The reason I cannot sleep is the steroids I am taking for the sinus that is impacted with infection. They make me sweat. They make me itch. They make my face red. I am quite alluring, and yet, Mr. Lincoln is still able to restrain himself. He is a model of self-control.
Last night, as I lay not sleeping, my thoughts were bouncing around my perfect brain (I took a test...it is perfect...the doctor said so...so there, all you skeptics) like the ball in a pinball machine. Many of those bings hit on memories of my father's family. Perhaps, they were precipitated by the intention of blogging about my Aunt Frank at some point. When I wrote about my cousin, "Bennie," I was reminded by my friend, Nancy, that he was the self-proclaimed King of the Tookie People. As I was not invited to his coronation, I had forgotten that fact about him. I do not know where the Tookie People live, but I can only assume that several years ago they moved to Dover to be with their monarch.
That memory led me to thoughts of "Bennie's" mother's funeral. It was a graveside service at the National Cemetery in Madison. There were only about 10 people there including the priest who was conducting the service. My sister, with whom I should never attend somber occasions, and I were standing behind my cousin, Bennie, and Aunt Frank who were seated. Aunt Frank took great pride in her appearance, and was in sensed when her hair began to turn white. Her younger sister has beautiful white hair. Aunt Frank often said that her sister should color her hair like she did. Her hair was an interesting shade of mauve. At the funeral as we stood behind her and Bennie my sister pointed out that they had identical bald spots on the backs of their heads. We pondered if Bennie was a love-child of Aunt Frank's that we did not know about. That started our giggling, and it continued as the priest called the deceased by her proper name, which my sister and I were fairly certain we had never known. A breeze kicked up and blew the pall off the casket. Giggles continued. Seriously, we do not have even a modicum of decorum when it comes to solemn occasions. As the service ended, a panel van drove up to the podium where the service was held. We thought that odd. It became more odd (and funnier) as men left the van, picked up the casket, threw it into the back with 1/3 of the casket hanging out, and then drove off. I have heard of grave robbers, but this was ridiculous. We learned the van belonged to the cemetery and they use that instead of a hearse to transport the body to the burial spot. Hmmmmmm, interesting.
Aunt Frank always had her nails done. Bright red was her favorite color. When it was time for a manicure, she would let me peel the polish off her nails. Thus was born the joy of covering my palms with Elmer's glue, letting it dry, and then peeling it off. I always think of her when I do that. Yes, I still do that from time to time. It is very calming.
She always had Chiclets in her purse and was very kind to share. She always drove big cars. When she was younger, she had a lead foot. It runs in the family. When she got older, she was sloooooooow moving. As she aged, getting out of her car became more difficult. When she went to the drugstore, which was on a very busy street, she would pull up onto the sidewalk at the front and sit on her horn until someone came out to help her. She parked in her front yard about 6 inches from her front steps. If she could have driven up on the porch, I am sure she would have. Once my sister had a friend over who was sitting and looking out the picture window. My sister was in the back of the house when her friend began to shriek that someone was about to hit the house with her car. It was just Aunt Frank.
Aunt Frank married for the first time when she was 52 years old. He did not survive long. She loved a good funeral. We used to say if she knew someone named Jones, and there was an obituary for someone named Jones, she would be at the funeral. She never really had a job as far as I know, but she would have made an awesome professional mourner. When she died, my sister and I went together to the visitation. Aunt Frank's younger sister was standing by the open casket as we walked in. We hugged her and told her how sorry we were. This was her 7th sibling to bury. She graciously accepted our sympathies and then said, "I think she looks lovely, don't you. Frank would have loved brighter lipstick, but I thought this was more appropriate for the occasion." Irreverence runs rampant in this family.
It is pretty much a miracle that I have any self-esteem at all being raised with the extended family that I have. My uncle Doug, Daddy's older brother, had a daughter my age named Gail. She is the one who had the Christmas chicken named Shicky Shick. He and his wife doted on her. That's okay. My dad doted on me too. Once at another cousin's wedding, Gail came up to her mother (in front of me) and asked if I was a "chosen child." She was adopted. My Aunt Ruth replied, "no, Aunt Mary and Uncle Hot (my dad) just had to take what they got." Wow!
They used to always invite me to Gail's birthday parties. They lived across town. I usually got carsick riding there. It just wasn't my favorite thing to do. But, one year, I had the perfect gift, and so I was pretty pumped about going to the party. It was a pirate ship that actually floated. It had movable pirates and everything. I wanted one so badly. So, picture this...lots of little girls, none of whom I know besides my cousin, gathered around as Gail unwraps her present. I have that little pitter patter as I wait enthusiastically for her to open this most wonderful gift. She opens it, flings it across the room and yells, "give it to a boy." That did not work out quite as I had hoped. The next year, I took a dainty little bracelet. I vomited three times on the way there. I assume it was part carsickness and part nerves. After the gift opening, then everyone began to show off their gymnastic skills. I had none. It was great fun. The next year, and every one after that I just happened to be otherwise engaged when that birthday rolled around.
Another one of Dad's brothers had an accident sawing a limb off a tree. He was in Vanderbilt Emergency. Daddy called and asked if I could meet him there, as he had bummed a ride from a co-worker to get to the hospital. It was pouring rain as I drove to meet him. When I arrived, Gail's father was appalled that I had driven there in such weather. In one sentence he was able to malign my dad's parenting, let me know that Gail was the pretty, smart one, but that I must be the sensible one to be able to successfully drive there. Yep, every 16 year old girl wants to be the sensible one. It must have been so, because earlier that year when my mother gave birth to my little sister, my dad and I were leaving church. One of the Christian sisters standing in the parking lot asked my dad if the new baby was a girl or a boy. He told her a girl. She replied, "Oh, that's a pity. You have such beautiful boys." Hello, Sister, you may think I'm as ugly as a fence post, but I am not deaf. It's a miracle I ever let my raggedy old sensible self be seen in public.
So, for today, I wish you a good night's rest, a disabled pinball machine, survivable walks down Memory Lane, and
blessings
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