The Annual Family Reunion

So this weekend is the annual family reunion in Indiana. Many of you know of this as the weekend with the Crazy Great-Aunt, the family's closest thing to a 'black sheep.' Well, some black sheep get arrested or marry people half their age. Ours hugs you to her rapidly-sagging-but-still-hefty bosom, shouts in your ear because she refuses to wear her hearing-aid, and wants to know WHEN you're going to write that biography of her dearly-departed mother, and WHAT you think of the war in Iraq and the president, and WHAT you think of her latest rant to the newspaper (she's saved a copy and its usually religious in nature and rambling in style) and WHY somebody is doing something that is not God's work (take your pick on who the 'somebody' is).

Every year I promise myself I'm going to be nicer to her. And then ten minutes in, she's asked me one of those questions, usually at top volume, and I find myself gritting my teeth.

It's worse at mealtimes. She fills her mouth full of food and THEN wants to talk to you. My repeated admonitions of "Chew. Swallow. Then Speak" are treated with a hearty laugh (I've learned to protect my plate) and continued conversation, again usually at top volume. She wants to engage me in political discussions, and she pesters my aunt with questions about 'Izzy' which is what she calls my niece ('Izzy' to me is Mike and Jenn's cat). I hate to think what she's going to do when she realizes my brother and his girlfriend bought a house together. There could be more 'God' in the conversation that any of us would be comfortable with, even the Big Guy Upstairs.

This is the woman who once called me a traitor because I had a British flag hanging in my bedroom. She has raised a succession of dogs that are so poorly trained, I imagine not even Cesar Milan (The Dog Whisperer of National Geographic fame) would know what to do with her.

And yet we go to the reunion, knowing full well we'll have to do the cleaning the day before so the outside chairs are free of cobwebs and the inside chairs free of dust and dog hair (the dog is now kenneled after one unfortunate year in which a dog, now passed on, bit both me and my uncle). We'll scrub dirt and mold, check expiration dates on the mustard and ketchup in the fridge, find they're from last year, and force my aunt to go to the grocery store, where she will buy that mustard and ketchup using a check. Never mind the total is three bucks. A check it is. She once tried to buy a $1.50 sarsparilla at a city celebration with a check, much to my mother's horror. She had to intervene with the cash.

The kids (that being me, my brother and my two cousins, really 'kids' no longer) always find things to do, even to this day, when we ought to 'know better'. One year we scrubbed the bird baths with what turned out to be the vegetable brushes. Another year we kidnapped the macrame frog in the bathroom and held it for 'ransom', leaving clues throughout the yard for my aunt to follow. I had had to leave before that game was afoot, so, in the face of my aunt's considerably funny wrath, the other three blamed it all on me. Then there was the year (not long ago) where we found ourselves buying 'bling' from the grocery store quarter machines (instead of gumballs, you got dollar signs on a string) and we went back, turned our hats backwards, and paraded around with our plastic bling prominently displayed. I have the pictures to prove it. Another year we gave my aunt marker tattoos - I think they washed off but I'm not entirely sure how long it took.

And with one bathroom shared between eight or nine of us staying at the house, my aunt disappears in there for a long stretch at a time while the rest of us do the potty dance in the living room, or drive up to the CVS for their bathroom and the diversion of the magazine aisle.

But she's family, and we go with the best of intentions. How those intentions turn out is always the fun part. Stay tuned for that update later.