yeah, because I’m the weird one….

2 07 2010


One of my Crazy Cousins on my momma’s dad’s side  (let’s call this one Crazy Cousin. As in the Original. Hey! We’ll call her OCC!), sent me an image of an obituary from one of my mom’s mother’s crazy sisters. Well, Mema’s other sister was quite a demure lady. This particular one was hell on wheels. In the best way possible. We’ll call her Great-Go-To-Hell-Hat-Aunt, or G2H. The fourth sibling was the baby brother – Great Uncle Army Colonel man. Funny, but an over achiever. (Stories for another day.)

Still with me?

It sparked some memories– what’s funny to me, is that somehow it’s ME that’s the weird one?

Some things I shared with O.C.C.:

Aunt G2H was a hoot. You may not have ever met her but a handful of times, but I bet you probably remember Uncle Colonel (Mema’s baby brother)—he’d come visit mother every now and then, and go fishing on the farm. The point of telling you that is: Aunt G2H looked remarkably like Uncle Colonel in a dress.

Aunt G2H’s self-appointed job was to go to the public courts every day. Every. Day. Her mission was to make sure that people with public defenders were getting a fair shake. I’m sure she was hell on wheels about THAT.

One memory: Mema and I went to Indiana to visit her when I was about 6. Wintertime. Snow everywhere. Very proud of my orange parka with blue stripes around the arms (oye vey– circa 1978, gimme a break), but was still freezing my tail off. Farrell’s Ice Cream was pretty popular in most malls at about that time—we ended up there for lunch one day on the visit, and the servers come around the corner, banging a humongous marching band bass drum, singing Happy Birthday to someone named Tiffany, some weird ice cream conglomeration with a candle, the whole works. Well lo and behold if they didn’t end up right at our table, directing all that right at me. Meanwhile Aunt G2H is doing her best to act surprised (Yeah RIGHT), and Mema is twisting her head like a tennis match: to them, to G2H, to me, to them….

I never did know why she told them my name was Tiffany though. I guess to ensure it was a surprise. And my birthday? Yeah, NOT in the wintertime.

And that doesn’t even count her go-to-hell hats she used to crochet. Red ones. Sometimes with beer cans cut up, hole-punched, and imbedded. Her sense of irony and snark was fully developed.

And did I ever mention she knitted my Lovey a penis warmer when we got married? The design was a cylinder (slide on), with a sack at the bottom for the balls, plus a removable “lid”  that was tethered on (so I guess you didn’t lose it when you removed the lid to pee). I have NO idea where that dang thing is—I should have my knitter friend whip up a replacement.

Gee, did I mention she was a hoot?

Yep. Those are my peoples. No wonder I’m weird.




3 responses

3 07 2010

Once again, I am positive that we are related. Hahahahaha!

4 07 2010

Really thought I was surely the only one with relatives who crochet “peter warmers” ~ of course your kin has mine beat because I don’t think mine attached the cap, thus leaving it susceptible to loss (honestly, really LOL-ing)

Can you imagine D receiving one of those at his 1st Christmas visit with me!?!?!?! Recall how much more reserved he was ~ that would’ve been like 1987.

11 07 2010

I would’ve KILLED to see that…. 🙂

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