metanoia's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Aunt Deen & The Flintstones My aunt Deen called me last night. She just had her 101st birthday. That's right 1-0-1. Her mind is still sharp and her only complaint is that her eyesight has failed. She says she can not even tell the color of the socks she puts on. I had to laugh at the thought of her walking around with two colored socks on and told her so. She laughed and agreed it was probably a sight. I feel for her, though. I have sent her a couple of magnifying glasses and when I write her I use a large dark font. She says it is easier for her to see black on white. I wonder if I will ever be 101. I kind of doubt it. I hope I will be, though. She says it is hard to be the only one "left" of all her contemporary family members and friends. Her son lives with her - he must be in his 80's now. He is a grumpy old coot and I wonder how well he cares for Aunt Deen, or if she does most of the caring for... She was always thus. Caring for others, raising her grandchildren and her great grandchildren, always with one or the other in tow when she visited us. My memories of her visits come and go, but one will probably stay forever. My father did not enjoy Aunt Deen's visits. She was my mother's favorite aunt and there was only about 8 years difference between them. She seemed to give my mother an energy that she did not ordinarily have. Perhaps it was interacting with someone with whom she felt younger and like she was before she was saddled with husband and children. I don't know... This particular time Aunt Deen stayed with us several months. She would clean and cook, and in her cleaning would inadvertently put things away where my father could not find them. He was constantly walking around saying, "Deen, where did you put (fill in the blank)?" or "What happened to the (blank)?" or "Who broke the (blank)?" These last questions were just thrown out to anyone, but truly directed to Aunt Deen. Finally, one day dad said one of the above and Aunt Deen said, "Whatever it was, I didn't touch it. Whatever it was, I didn't do it. Whatever it was, I didn't see it." Hilarious. I laughed and laughed. That phrase is among my favorites - "Whatever it was, I didn't do it." In my mind it implied the person saying it doesn't do anything at all. The only time you could say this and be entirely accurate would be if you never did anything, ever. It still amuses me. If only I could stop time for about a week just to catch up and then restart it, I would be just fine. Oh, and if I got paid one extra time, I think I could get "caught up" with my bills. I don't think either one of these things is too much to ask, but I am beginning to doubt that either will happen. But, I still hope. I used to make rivers in the flower beds and carve landscapes and play like I was building towns and villages. A friend came over and brought her Flintstone village. It was SO COOL. It had little plastic rock looking houses and Fred and Wilma and just everything. They would be perfect for my village I was building in the flowerbed. So I stole them. And played with them and it was great. Until she told her mother who called my mother who confronted me. Shit. I thought I was being so sneaky, too. I guess she missed almost her entire playset. heh. I remember my mom was so mortified and hurt that I would steal. I only kinda felt bad about that because it was a way cool thing. We were never much friends after that. We saw each other sometimes because our moms were friends, but she never trusted me after I stole her toys. It really wasn't personal. I just wanted them. She sure as hell wouldn't have given them to me. It was my only option. Sorry. Not really very much though,except the part where it made my mom sad. My mom also did not appreciate my eroding the soil in her garden, exposing the roots of her bushes with the hose running constantly. But, I needed the flow. The river has to move. It is a river, for fuck sake. The exposed roots of the rose bush are caves! Catacombs! Water bill, hell. What about my villages when the water runs dry? After the Flintstone houses were evacuated, I had to use Monopoly houses and hotels. It made everything have to be on a smaller scale, but we work with what we got, n'est ce pas? Ah, good times. I guess I was a weird kid. My mother always told me, "Of all my children, I understand you the least." hmmmm OK. Me, too, mom. Me, the fuck too. 10:33 a.m. - 2003-08-06 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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