Some Things Never Change

I started college in my thirties. (That was thirty plus years ago.) I did everything backwards in those days. I got pregnant, then got married, then finished high school. I had four children at home and in school when I decided that soap operas and housework were just not for me. My mind screamed to learn, to create, and to "become." Even before collegiate English essay writing, I had written. This is one of my first attempts at storytelling, entitled MY COUNTRY AUNT:

When I was a child, I used to beg to look into the "picture box" where all the old treasured memories lasted in a disarray of black and white. There I could watch my grandmother as she raised my mother, uncles, and aunts. (I even got a chance to meet and get acquainted with my grandfather and an uncle who were now resting in a better life far beyond.) I watched as they grew up. I felt the glory in their high school days; my mother becoming a cheerleader and homecoming queen, one uncle being a "star" football player, one aunt becoming valedictorian of her graduating class. And I was equally as proud to find one very triumphant basketball player star, my Aunt Sis. I had to giggle when I saw that picture. There she was, standing toothpick legged and ready for the action to begin in her basketball uniform! We had often teased her about her skinny legs. They wouldn't have been quite so funny if they hadn't held up a bosom that could match that of Dolly Parton's.

I saw my uncles going off to that war where soldiers actually returned as heroes, if they returned at all. They were so handsome in their uniforms. One in the Army, one in the Marines, and one in the Navy.

There were pictures of my "smart" aunt, all dressed up and heading for a business career as quickly as she could. And there were pictures of my mother in her American Airlines stewardess uniform.

Aunt Sis never finished high school, and to this day spells words just like they sound...Ben Franklin style. But there is nothing dull witted about her. She has always had uncommonly good common sense. And that kind of sense is vitally important in a cinch. And you can bet, when one of our clan is faced with a "cinch," we often rely on her "smarts."

There was another picture I came across. It was a side of Aunt Sis that I had never taken notice of before. Aunt Sis, the woman. She was around twenty in that glossy black and white and those dancing, beautiful blue eyes were undeniable. They were still dancing some forty years later, too. I was struck by what I saw in that vision. She was an absolute natural beauty...not the Hollywood type, but fresh off the farm, stunning in her simplicity. And she never tried to be anything but simple. She was country and never wanted to live beyond that ideal. She could have been a lot of things, but she chose to be a poor man's wife and found a world of happiness from it.

Her life was never an easy one. Those days were hard enough at best, anyway...during and after World War II. She and her husband struggled together at different vocations, scratching to make a living. Although she trained to be a hairdresser, she preferred working alongside her spouse. They tried dairy farming, truck farming, gas stations, chicken houses, and my favorite...the cafe business. They worked hard and built not only a home, but other houses to sell, and sent their only daughter to college. They had been successful in their teamwork, and while making their living, found joy in just living."

One of my favorite things in life is sitting around the kitchen table with the "folks," drinking coffee, and telling old stories. That is why I loved the cafe business...they have a million stories from there and they all seem to come alive. Aunt Sis hated that business, though. As a child, I remember her starching and ironing her uniforms and apron to go and manage the business up the hill from their house. The cafe was the "Country Maid." I spent summers with her there in the sixties.

Uncle Bill has some stories to tell about Aunt Sis, too. He recalls when they first got married, that Aunt Sis was such a good girl he would call her "Miss Jesus." I haven't heard that nickname in quite awhile, so I suppose that age has mellowed her some. He could also remember that she has worn the same perfume over the years, "Ben Gay." See, I told you they worked hard!

Aunt Sis would let those stories about her slide, but she could always muster up a comeback if she wanted to. I remember once when Uncle Bill casually and lovingly told her he "ought to kick her butt" about something, she gave him a smile and said she wasn't too worried about that happening because he couldn't get his leg up that far. Uncle Bill does have quite the belly!

Aunt Sis has had two major operations this year. I was so afraid of losing her. I knew that old photographs wouldn't ever take her place. I needed that wit, and loyalty, and common sense that I admired so much and come to depend upon over the years. I want to hear her sing and yodel again. I want to sit around the table and drink coffee with her. I want to see love reflected from those dancing blue eyes. I want to hold those hard-working beautiful hands. I want to share in her simple, quiet, good life for a long, long time to come yet. But I most of all want to share in that inner beauty of her being...the warmth and compassion she has for others.

I would also like to hear her telling people exactly how it is, no if, ands, or buts. She has straightened me out more than once, and I love her for it. Someone once said, "you can take the girl out of the country, but you can't take the country out of the girl." I say, Thank God!!

As I stated before, this story was written some thirty plus years ago. I am now the matriarch of my family. As I re-read my own story, I relived it. I so miss my aunt and all the others. I was able to share this with her and she had loved it. For that, I am grateful, even though my words would never bring justice to her essence.

I am currently working on the storybook of my mother's entire family, of which this will be a part. Hopefully, my grandchildren and their children will be able to know their family through photos and stories.

I write mostly about my family and my life. My style hasn't changed much. I'm more aware of grammatical mistakes, but still make tons of them, I'm sure. I just punch from the heart. Writing to me is my therapy. I suppose it always has been.