Tag: memories

Being an Aunt

I had a lot of aunts growing up. Only my father’s sister and a sister-in-law on his side, but my mother had five sisters, as well as six brothers who all had wives (sometimes more than one each, though not simultaneously). I liked all my aunts, but I wasn’t very close to any of them as I got older, mostly because we didn’t see them often.

So my friend Lynne shared her two aunts with me. We had a blast with them. We forced them to act in our home movies (Forced? They loved mugging for the cameras!), cussed our way through games of cards and Monopoly and Yahtzee, and hounded them to make us their specialties in the kitchen (Lil’s fries and her chocolate pound cake; Audrey’s hushpuppies). I had loved Lynne’s mother as a second mother, and when she died, her sisters treated me as another of their nieces. When Tim and I wrote the aunts in THREE FORTUNES, very often it was my memories of Lynne’s aunts that I drew from.

I’m crazy about my nieces and nephews. I never had children, so I’m thrilled to have been part of their growing up. (I’m TOTALLY unbiased when I say that my sister and brother produced smart, funny, beautiful kids.) And because of Tom, I am an aunt to a second family of amazing children. Lynne’s son is, to me, another of my nephews. Even though I was fortunate enough to grow up within a good family that I love, I also learned from Lynne’s relatives that our biological family is not necessarily the only one we’ll ever have. And for people not as lucky as I am, created families may provide a wealth of love and support they wouldn’t otherwise know.

Aunt Audrey is ill, perhaps critically. Normally, I’d be jumping in the car with Lynne and going back to Alabama to take my place among my surrogate family and share this time together. Because of other commitments, I can’t. But I’ll be there in spirit with these incredible people who’ve been there for most of my life.

Safe journey, Lynne, and take my love with you to our family.

Give that girl a medal

As a youngster, I was usually only a good student when I had a good teacher. If a teacher was either (a) an asshole in general, or (b) an insult-to-my-intelligence asshole, I was a terrible student. For this reason, my academic performance was sketchy. This didn’t please my parents. But then, we are put on earth to grow into teenagers and vex our keepers in every way possible, so I was just doing my job.

Because of my fluctuating grades, I didn’t get tapped for honor society. There were no sashes or gold cords accessorizing my cap and gown. I wasn’t in the top ten students. I wasn’t even in the top twenty students of my graduating class, and there were only around seventy of us, so that should convey how lackluster a student I was.

But…I could turn in a killer essay or paper or article on any subject that was thrown at me, so I actually finished my senior year of high school on a good note. Not only did I make all “A”s every six weeks (my parents thought an alien entity had taken over my body; it was just a math-free, good-teacher year), but I won the English and Journalism awards on Senior Awards Day. Trust me, I was proud of the pendants that came with winning. They rewarded something I valued and worked at: writing.

Several years later, my apartment was robbed when I was in graduate school. Those pendants were stolen along with other things that had no monetary value but enormous sentimental value. This week, I had reason to go into a shop that sells trophies, awards, and such, and I thought about my stolen medals. On a whim, I googled.

This is identical to mine and should be arriving next week. I talked to the seller on the phone. He lives in Washington State, and I only wish he had more things I could buy because he was SO COOL. When he found out why I wanted it, he said he loves hearing stories like that because it means the stuff he’s selling is going where it’s meant to be.

For the record, the pendant still has its original packaging. So he probably didn’t steal it from some other pathetic underachiever who wants a tangible reminder of what it was like to hear her name called on that spring day a LOT of years ago.

Now…if I can just find the matching pendant for the English award…

Thanks Mrs. Bryan and Mrs. Jones. The two of you did wonders for my self-esteem those last two years, and on that day in particular.

Waxing Rhapsodic

For several days now, Gershwin’s “Rhapsody in Blue” has been a constant refrain playing through my head. In hopes of ridding myself of this earworm–even though it’s a good one–here’s one of my few posts that actually reveals personal information about my past. I’m sure I’ll only leave it up for a day or two before I become horrified and make it private and inaccessible.

One thing about Tom and me having no kids… There’s no captive audience for our longass boring stories. And you are free, too–you can save yourself by not reading:

George Gershwin and Me

Bears, oh my

Have I put this photo in my LJ before? No matter. I’ve been inspired by a brilliant writer, Mark Harris, who just sent Tim and me a copy of the children’s book Corduroy, which Mark calls “the most compelling love story ever.” He’s right.

The photo below is Dr. Neil. Dr. Neil is the brown and…er…dirty bear. He was a gift to me when I was three years old and in the hospital. He came from my Uncle Gerald, who was the first person who ever called me “a writer.”

Uncle Gerald was a writer. He was a frequent contributor to a newspaper column. He wrote essays and poems. He wrote wonderful letters. He encouraged me to write letters to him, pored over them for any evidence that I had talent with words, and encouraged me in every way possible. NEVER doubt the positive effect and influence your praise can have on a child, because Uncle Gerald changed and shaped my life. Along with my parents, he taught me to call myself a writer long before I had the right. (So, Mark, if you’re reading this? Any encouragement you feel you’ve gotten from me? There’s a direct line back to Uncle Gerald.)

Uncle Gerald died when I was sixteen. But he’s alive to me every time I write. I owe him so much. And when I look at Dr. Neil, I smile at the memory of this man who, even with three children of his own and dozens more nieces and nephews, took the time to show one little girl that he loved her and wanted her to get well.

In this photo, Dr. Neil has a friend on his lap. That friend is Oscar, the battered, barely there bear of my San Diego friend Steve (the one who visited us last fall). But Oscar’s story is Steve’s to tell.


Dr. Neil, named for the man who got me well, and Dr. Neil’s friend Oscar.

And then…

…there are the books that didn’t change my life but which I loved so much that I read them over and over and over when I was growing up. Some of them are still my comfort books.

Charlotte Brontë
Jane Eyre

Jane Austen
Pride and Prejudice

Elswyth Thane
Dawn’s Early Light
Yankee Stranger
Ever After
The Light Heart
Kissing Cousins
This Was Tomorrow
Homing

Daphne du Maurier
Rebecca
My Cousin Rachel

Mary Stewart
Madam, Will You Talk
Wildfire at Midnight
Thunder on the Right
Nine Coaches Waiting
My Brother Michael
The Ivy Tree
The Moon-Spinners
This Rough Magic
Airs Above the Ground
The Gabriel Hounds
Touch Not the Cat

Georgette Heyer
any of her regency romances

Francis and Richard Lockridge
any of their murder mysteries

Agatha Christie
any of her murder mysteries

Mignon Eberhart
any of her murder mysteries

Mary O’Hara
My Friend Flicka
Thunderhead
Green Grass of Wyoming

Mark Twain
Tom Sawyer

Louisa May Alcott
Little Women
Little Men

Taylor Caldwell
Melissa

Margaret Mitchell
Gone With The Wind

E. Phillips Oppenheim
The Great Impersonation

Edna Ferber
Saratoga Trunk

Phyllis A. Whitney
The Winter People

Victoria Holt
Mistress of Mellyn
Bride of Pendorric

the lessons of dogs


Spotts and Leroy

A friend of mine in Indiana rescued a puppy from the 1997 Ohio River flood. Leroy had a lot of health problems over the years, some of them related to his flood adventure, but he was a dog of great spirit. One of his joys was getting big plastic detergent jugs when they were emptied. Leroy thought an empty detergent jug was the greatest toy imaginable.

Spotts was Leroy’s friend. When Leroy had heartworms and had to be confined, the two dogs would lie back to back at night, with only a fence separating them. Spotts also used to doctor Leroy’s eyes when he had problems with them.

After Spotts died, Leroy still found much to celebrate. This is one of the truths dogs teach us. To mourn what we lose is normal and necessary, but it is also good and right to relish every moment of life, even in grief. To keep enjoying whatever is our “greatest toy imaginable.” To continue to love and be loved.

Leroy died this year just before his ninth birthday. Like many people who have rescued and shared the love of good dogs, my friend and her family opened their home to two more rescues in April.

Here are Donkey Murphy (male) and Shrekie Fiona (female). I know they’re going to love their new home. Leroy would approve. He might even think these two furbabies are almost as good as empty detergent jugs.


Donkey and Shrekie

Of course, June 8 was a very special day around The Compound last year. It was on this night that Tim and I took a walk and “the big goofy yellow lab” walked up to us and decided that Tim was “the greatest toy imaginable.” River, who like Leroy had many health problems, gave us seven months of pure joy.


Tim and River

Although that magical, wonderful River is gone now, Guinness, Margot, and Rex are happy to nudge their way into Tim’s space and remind us that love and friendship are the greatest renewable resources of all.