MotherAunt and SisterCousin

Some of my favorite memories involve my aunts. Connie and Judy are my mother's sisters and have been a constant presence in my life. They used to babysit me, take me along on their dates, dress me up like a doll, etc. Note to Aunt Connie and Aunt Judy: Feel free to buy me pretty dresses any time.) The first time I got on a plane was to visit my Aunt Cess and her family. (Note to Aunt Cess: I still love to visit you and my cousins.) I still have frequent conversations with all of them.

The ladies posing in front of the tree are/were another generation of my mother's side of this wacky family. I can say that because I am also wacky. Front and center in this circa 1988 photo is Zelma (Bobbie,) my grandmother great aunt. Like many families, it was not uncommon for more than one sister to participate in rearing another's child/children. Grandma (on the left) gave birth to my mother and her sisters but Bobbie raised them.

Aunt Ann (next to Grandma) is the baby. She's always had the legs of a woman half her age. She and Uncle Harry have always lived nearby -- sometimes just down the street. Aunt Ann's daughters were my idols when I was in grade school. I didn't want to be like them -- I actually wanted to be them. Since I couldn't accomplish that, I would copy their mannerisms, their clothes, etc. I get to see them this weekend and I can't wait. No one laughs or makes me laugh like my Aunt Ann.

Aunt Jo (other side of Bobbie) died several years ago. I can't say I knew her well but she and my grandmother were thick as thieves. They might have been thieves for all I know; they walked a little bit on the wild side. Like my grandmother, Aunt Jo had some assistance from a sister in raising some of her children.

Aunt Hazel and Uncle Bob's (far right) youngest child is about my age. I used to go over for sleepovers with her. Aunt Hazel declared me, "Best Eater." Her children all had issues with vegetables or phobias about one food touching another on the plate. I was taught to eat whatever was put in front of me, especially at someone else's house. I'll have to let Aunt Hazel know that I still am a pretty good eater. It helps that all of the women of this generation are/were amazing cooks. Most, if not all, of their daughters are too.

Aunt Wanda and Aunt Grace died before the photo above was taken but I still have vivid memories of them too.

From a family of 13 children, (most of them pictured in the photo above taken in 1934) a large and blended family has emerged. I see parts of personalities that remained true their entire lives. Bobbie is sitting in a proper and ladylike way on the porch. She remained a pillar of strength and ladylike kindness her entire life. Grandma is sitting alone at the other end of the porch on the swing. She often removed herself from people and situations.

Each generation since then has become a little more fragmented but many of us are closer than ever. Can you imagine the two people sitting on that porch swing in the 1934 photo (my great grandparents) being told that in a few short generations, their offspring would travel by plane or communicate regularly through computers and cell phones. What if someone had told them that I would learn of my cousin's new job through a text message? While posing with their children, imagine if someone had told them that in 2009, their great granddaughter would take 10 seconds to scan this photo and write about their legacy.

Some people have mothers who they find out later is really grandmother. Some people have sistercousins and brothercousins. Some people go far into adulthood before finding out that mother is really auntmother. Our family has some of those mixed relationships. For the most part we don't hide it; we embrace it. There's enough love to go around and then some.

Picking Up Men

Politeness and the teensiest bit of charm can open a lot of doors. I wish more people understood that.

My niece majored in theater so after we toured the husband's office, we decided to visit some of the theaters in town. They were all closed -- setting up for evening performances, etc. We talked our way into every one. One person went to the trouble of turning on all the lights so she could see the venue in its full glory.

It's May and in our city that means an obsession with the Indianapolis Motor Speedway. She mentioned that her father is a racing fan. Time was a little tight so I didn't see the point in paying to park, buying tickets, etc. to watch 5 minutes of practice. We thought we'd just run by the IMS and she could hear the racing engines and see the facility.

When I worked in the corporate world, I spent the entire month of May at the Speedway so I know my way around a bit.

We talked our way into a parking space. We talked our way through multiple people who wanted to see our tickets, our suite pass or credentials. We almost hit a dead end but through some luck and some fast talking, a very nice gentleman showed her the track from several vantage points. He even opened an empty suite for us so she could see the view from the balcony. (It doesn't hurt that she has a charming accent and legs like a gazelle.)

Her mother jokingly said, "Don't pick up any Yankee men." Hell, that's what we did all day. We weren't looking for dates; we were looking for access.

After a dinner where we ran into several other people I know, we headed off to one more stop. It was a private party but we crashed it so the niece could hear the husband's band. I warned her that we wouldn't know anyone. Turns out, we knew at least half the people there. We were once again surrounded by men.

We picked up one more man. He followed us home. We felt pretty safe since he lives here.

Who, What, When, Where, Why and How

This is the incantation drilled into every journalist and most writers' heads. We don't have to think about it. It's so automatic that I would compare it to childhood manners. Someone gives you a compliment -- you say "thank you." We think, Who, What, When, Where, Why and How.

Of course, I drill the daughter, the baby and the husband with the same approach. It's not always welcome. I miss the days when they were younger and a captive audience. I miss the days when I could outrun them.

So, I'll give you a few questions. If you answer, it might provide some perspective. Aren't we all making life choices every day?

Who do you most admire?
Who do you miss?
Who do you trust?

What are you afraid of? What keeps you in that fear?
What's your favorite childhood memory?

When the chips are down, who do you count on?
When did you consider yourself a teenager/grown-up/middle-aged person?

Where is your favorite place? (I would also ask why.)
Where do you go for private time and quiet space?

Why did you marry your spouse?
Why do you belong to a particular religious affiliation?
Why do you choose some friends over others?
Why did you choose one career path over another?

How could life get better for you? Is this within your control?

Ask yourself. Ask your spouse. I hope you ask your children.

By Name

When the baby was young, I was very big on drilling into him that he should call people by name. If memory serves, I spent quite a bit of time harping on the importance of looking someone in the eye and saying, "Hello Mr. or Mrs. Jones." In my most desperate times, I remember saying, "They bothered to learn your name; you can use some brain cells to remember theirs." It's probably not the kindest approach to instilling manners but it worked for me.

I like it when people remember my name. My grocer, my dry cleaners, my pharmacist all call me by name. And of course, I know theirs. It's a nod of respect during a business transaction. It's also a touch of friendliness in a sometimes cold world.

Today I took the obituary and Hangdog's photo to the mortuary. I walked in and three people greeted me by name. They are wonderful people but I do wish we hadn't given them so much business lately that they know my name.

No Ma'am and Yes Sir

I haven't figured out if I'm more Yankee or Southern. I have a foot in both camps.

We've had two nephews visit recently. They're both well-mannered. Every sentence begins or ends with "Sir or Ma'am." If they miss something, instead of saying, "Pardon me?" they say, "Ma'am?" The oldies just scream, "What?!"

A lot of women get irritated if they are called Ma'am. It makes them feel old. In the south, it's the norm and I find it charming.

The baby doesn't say "Sir or Ma'am" very often. (If he does, it's tongue in cheek.) He does use last names, i.e Mrs. Lee or Mr. England. Many of these people have decided that he is now an adult and can call them by their first names. He can't do it.

I was sitting outside with my nephew last night and my neighbor came through the gate. He said, "Would that be Miss Pam?" I said, "Yes sir, it is."

I guess the southern side wins.