My Aunt Jean

I pulled the car straight toward the oncoming traffic, pressed down on the accelerator and maneuvered past the concrete median as I completed my possibly illegal and certainly risky u-turn. As I gunned the engine and slid comfortably in between two of the vehicles fighting for position in a narrow lane, I glanced at my passenger who responded : Jeepers !! That was Aunt Jean. She had every right to release all the profanity she had ever learned or at the very least question my driving. But not Aunt Jean. She would never scold me. She was my champion.

I watched her bake biscuits and chicken and dumplings and roast. I watched her toss salads and listened to her tell stories and sometimes the stories would become tossed and she would forget what she was looking for in the cabinet and true to her form, she would just laugh. Eventually you would have to participate in the food preparation if you wanted to dine before the next morning. She was slow and steady with an emphasis on the slow. She was never in any sort of hurry. She might say she was in a rush but her body language was evidence to the contrary. You would find yourself glancing at the clock and wondering if we should just skip the meal we were currently working on and move on to the next one. But you had to just take it at her schedule and because it was Aunt Jean, you really did not mind at all. Time spent with her was always a joy. She was my reminder to slow down.

Whenever something significant happened in my life, I reached for the phone to call her. Her voice always expressed delight at the call and at whatever story we shared. I know without a doubt that had I been accused or convicted of any crime or poor decision or bad judgment,she would have declared my innocence. Nothing and no one could have persuaded her otherwise. She would be entertained in whatever I did. Aunt Jean would revel in my escapades.  She was my defender and confidante.

Her hugs and the sound of her voice sustained me. Her unconditional love gave me strength. Her laugh brought everything back into perspective. She was an attentive listener and a good coversationalist. When I was younger, her lap provided protection and security. When I was older, we had to only make eye contact to know immediately what the other was thinking or feeling. She could restore order in my world. She was my touchstone.

Aunt Jean was game for anything that I wanted to do. She would accompany me to a bookstore and sit contentedly just watching me browse through the stacks of books. It was important to her that I was happy. She was thrilled if we drove to an orange grove or patronized a local pizza parlor. We had fun grocery shopping and checking in at the neighborhood fruit stand. We had fun lounging on the couch and having late-night talks. Whether we drove to the beach or took a nostalgic visit to an old arcade, we would get a kick out of our time together.If a football game was important to me, then it became equally important to her. I adored her. She adored me.

While driving four quite elderly and not very healthy aunts and uncles to the seaside, the car had a blow-out. The tire's blow-out was about to be followed by my own breakdown but Aunt Jean made me laugh. The two uncles took their feeble bodies to the back of the car and demanded that I pop the trunk. They then announced their intentions to change the tire. One of the uncles was on oxygen and had only recently been released from a hospital. The other uncle was a small fragile aging man who did not appear to be in the running for jacking up a car. So Aunt Jean first talked the testosterone-fueled uncles out of their denial and back into the car. She then encouraged me to speed-dial for assistance. After our rescuer arrived we were informed that the hubcap was missing and had probably popped off on the highway and I was prompted to look for it. I had no sooner embarked on my roadside adventure than I was joined by Aunt Jean, walking step for step, side by side with me. She was always by my side.

I am not nor have I ever been a morning person. Inevitably Aunt Jean would comment that I should sleep in because we had nothing specific planned for the coming day. Then at some ungodly pre-dawn hour, my bedroom door would creak open and she would whisper: Doll, I'm making breakfast. Are you going to get up ? Have you ever seen baseball players curse into their gloves ?  I would just sort of bite the pillow and whimper silently. But I was defenseless. How can you not respond to someone who is ready to visit with you? I will never forget the twinkle in her eye whenever I arrived at her home. So of course I got up. Some of those early morning visits are a little foggy but by God, I was there. She was my alarm clock.

I wish I could call Aunt Jean today. I would wish her a happy birthday. Or better yet, I would drive to see her and give her a heartfelt embrace. I would arise whenever she wanted me to and I would probably drive with greater caution. She was my Aunt Jean.

Lions and Tigers and Bears, Oh My !

Video clips of horrified haunted house visitors always emerge at this time of year. Halloween inspires practical jokers to plan and implement devious methods of terrifying loved ones. Incredibly vulnerable people are jolted by an unknown predator lurking in their washing machine or under their comforter. Unsuspecting individuals round a corner to meet some ghoulish character in their face. Personally, I neither enjoy nor do I tolerate being scared. I tend to react as if I am a lifelong Tourettes Syndrome carrier. There will be no high pitch screams or fainting. There will be excessive profanity. So why then do I so enjoy watching other people being scared? In this case, I must confess to finding pleasure in other martyrs' pain.

I find myself laughing out loud and I feel guilty about it. Nonetheless I laugh uncontrollably at the sight of people becoming unhinged. These folks are the ones running into walls and screaming for mercy. They are tearing through the cornfields pleading for an escape. ( But seriously, who arrives at a cornfield in the night during the fall expecting a positive outcome) ?

Now consider that I am a woman who has never fully recovered from viewing the horror classic House of  Wax with Vincent Price . The later appearance of Carolyn Jones on the television series, The Addams Family was my only convincing evidence that she was, in fact, acting and not truly waxed. And before you go there I was fine with The Munsters and The Addams Family. I was however not fine with Night Gallery which my older sister insisted on me watching with her. I was also not great with Dark Shadows which my best friend considered great television. No you did not see me in the theatre for The Twilight Series or anything involving vampires.

There is a current television show on the SYFY network called Scare Tactics hosted by Tracy Morgan. Again I am laughing at people being emotionally injured by elaborate pranks. These poor souls are paralyzed with fear. I am very sorry and I am still laughing. I must be missing some sort of jokester compassion gene.

I have never seen Silence Of The Lambs and I never hope to see it. I like lambs. Sheep as a group have never offended me in any way. Why should I wish them harm ? I do not even like the teasers for this film. I once unknowingly viewed Poltergeist with some friends. I thought it was a German spy film. I did. The film began and I was so very confused and then I was so very unhappy. Then my cohorts discovered my fears post-viewing. So they plotted and gathered an old clown from an attic and placed it in the bedroom where I was a guest. Correct. These people were trusted friends. Then to be even more humorous they moved the damn clown. ( See? The cursing has already begun). No I did not look under that bed. In horror flicks, no one survives looking under the bed. Just walk away. Then run away and do not look back.

And for the love of everything holy, do not run upstairs or into a dead-end street or lock yourself in a car. Scary things chase you. Scary things are not afraid of heights. Scary things live in cornfields. You drive up to the haunted house in the cornfield laughing and smiling. Then things start to happen. Who is smiling now? The same goes for a haunted forest. It gives a whole new meaning to petrified forest.

The Haunted Forest warning sign in The Wizard of Oz reads I'd turn back if I were you. The Cowardly Lion attempts to obey but his friends convince him to continue. Those two steps forward brought flying monkeys into his life. He had enough problems without aerial monkeys. But when he screamed because he thought someone pulled his tail and it turned out to be him, I laughed.  Dear God, what is wrong with me ?  It was funny though.

I have confessed my guilty pleasure and yet I do not feel cured. So enjoy yourselves. Walk unwittingly straight into clear doom. Arrive at the cornfields and houses and forests with a newfound courage that unlike last year, you will NOT be scared this time. Have fun you human sacrifices. Bug out your eyes like Looney Tunes characters. Shreik as loud as you possibly can. Run as fast as you can while being chased by a zombie. Go in there and make me proud. More importantly, make me laugh.

Night-Blooming Cereus

This past weekend was filled with social networking. The internet was not involved. The splendid outdoors overflowing with fall foliage was not a screen saver. Friends had actual conversations with other friends. Eye contact was made with friends, a bull and a buffalo. We played chicken with actual chickens. Embraces were shared (with the friends not the chickens). We sat on porches. We sat around tables and ate and drank together. We felt the same breeze and walked on the same leaves and dodged the same falling acorns. They were not virtual acorns. They were oak nuts and if they made contact with your head,you felt it. Loving glances were exchanged and they too were felt. Glasses were raised and stories were told. Some feelings of love and acceptance and history and comfort and gratitude are expressed silently. They were felt and they were felt deeply. We solved global issues while sipping bourbon and devouring banana bread. We watched horses and cows and cats and dogs amble around the pasture. We watched birds perch on the feeders and dart off to nearby branches. Our olfactory systems engaged with pigs and thankfully a eucalyptus tree. We had the opportunity to experience that joyful moment of reunion when you see the face of a loved one at the airport. It has always been a blessing made even more powerful post 9-11. We re-lived past shared vacations and gatherings. Fears and concerns were confessed along with joys and successes. There were many laugh-out-loud moments. The clinking of glasses and smiles on these faces seem so familiar. These are the friends with whom you have shared so many pivotal moments in your life. You have been together at happy and sad occasions and leaned on each other with the consistent support of a  lifelong friendship. They have seen you cry and made you laugh and seen you laugh until you cried. You want them by your side at weddings and vacations and sports victories and holidays and celebrations. You need them by your side when medical emergencies blindside you or difficult decisions need to be made. Phone calls in the middle of the night are always placed to these friends and they always answer. They are the same people you call for validation and encouragement when you have bent a fender or tied up a door-to-door religious zealot. They are there for you when your team wins and more importantly when it loses. They are there to pick you up and perk you up when the acorns feel more like meteors. These friends are the night-blooming cereus* figures in your life. They are always beautiful but their most spectacular blooms arrive in the dark of night. Just when you thought they couldn't possibly illuminate your life any more.


* The night-blooming cereus is a flowering cacti plant that blooms at night

Roll Up Your Sleeves

I'm in line waiting for a flu shot at the drug store. I begin to examine items on the nearest shelves surrounding me. Do you remember that quiz asking which six items you would want to survive on a deserted island? I immediately thought of that. I found: a DNA paternity test, a breath alcohol tester,wound closure strips, Bleedarrest, Toy Story bandaids, a Barbie sparkling princess, sunscreen, reading glasses, eye drops, margarita mix, a Star Wars light saber, bruise relief, a baseball splint, mouthwash, a handheld shower, latex gloves, Beggin Strips, an Angry Birds board game, antacids, Staphaseptic, a Play Doh fun factory, lice treatment, Winnie the Pooh tattoos, adult diapers and ivy block. Add the tequila for the mix, Corona, limes and Coca Cola and I am ready for the next episode of Survivor. Seriously. Only in America could I find these items in one optical scan. The flu shot? Check. The pharmacist* said that everyone over the age of six months should have one. Roll up your sleeves. This blog is nothing if not a community service.

*Also the recommendation of the U.S. Center for Disease Prevention and Control