My Inner Aunt
I have, fortunately, other personas within besides the dreaded "inner editor" I mentioned last time.
There is, for example, my inner aunt. She's cheerful and upbeat and optimistic. She always buys great gifts that are sure to please because she knows exactly what you want. She's always willing to listen without offering to tell you what you should do because, let's face it, she's not your mother. She's got wonderful stories to tell that make you wish you'd known her when she was doing wild and crazy things. She makes your life a better place.
I try to be that kind of aunt. I don't get much of a chance, to be honest, because The Siblings live in California, so the Niece and Nephews did, too. Now two of the Nephews have seen the light and have moved to Idaho with their wives and families, which doesn't make them much more accessible, but does bode well for their future happiness and well-being.
But I digress.
Aunts. Inner aunts are, I think, the result of having such a variety of wonderful "outer" aunts -- real ones, that is, not virtual ones inside me. My grandfather had nine sisters. They were an astonishing bunch of women.
There was the farmer's wife who raised her brothers and sisters before she married and had her own brood. She was strong and capable and nothing ever seemed to be too tough for her to accomplish. There was the minister's wife who made Goody Two Shoes look like A Wild Child. There were the lawyer with the silver hip flask and Opinions About Everything, the schoolteacher, the Can't-Hold-A-Job-And-Wouldn't-Want-To-If-She-Could, the flirt, the other flirt, the pie baker who worked in a lumber yard and has never been found on any census anywhere, the professional student, and Poor Mary, whom no one ever talked about (except to say, "Poor Mary," in whispers).
They were alternately upheld as pillars of virtue or as cautionary tales. Good girls and Bad girls. Whichever way my Inner Aunt wanted to go, she certainly had a role model who'd gone before.
Which brings me to Aunt Billie. My mother's older sister passed away last year at the age of 89. She never seemed 89. She always seemed about 19. Vivacious, bubbly, funny, that was Billie. She would have been a hard act to follow, which I'm sure my mother could tell you more about than I could. Doubtless she gave her parents plenty of sleepless nights when she was young and crazy about a boy named Billy Green. Billy had a car, which most boys his age didn't in Butte, Montana in the 30s. He and Billie -- and his car -- went everywhere. One of their favorite places was the Red Rooster on 'the flat' where they used to be able to buy Hershey Bar sandwiches.
"Hershey Bar sandwiches?" I remember saying incredulously. "In bread?"
"Yep. Grilled. The chocolate melted." She got this wonderful far-away look on her face and grinned. "With almonds. Best sandwiches I ever ate."
I think you must have had to be there. Or maybe you just had to be with Billy.
No one loved life like Aunt Billie did. No one had more fun. She moved in with my cousin about seven years ago and less than a month later so did one of his daughters and her three young children. It was, he says, a mad house. Aunt Billie loved it. She relished the noise, the confusion, the kids. She relished life, even when it was slipping away from her.
She read all my books, right up until she couldn't read anymore. And I think she made my cousin read her the last McGillivray book because her vision was going. (I can just imagine him reading the sex scenes to his mother).
"That's it then," she said to me after Molly's book. "The three of them?"
And I said yes, I was starting on a new series beginning with Elias.
"Oh, well, that's all right then," she said. "I wasn't going to go without finishing the last one."
She didn't. She finished them all. I told my cousin I should have kept writing them forever and we'd still have her with us.
But she's probably got her vision back now. And she has probably read Elias and Theo (even before he's been published). And maybe with luck she'll have some influence on Spence. She would love the fact that he's a Presents hero from Butte.
"No place better on earth," she would have said.
Certainly not for her.
I finished the revisions on Elias's book right before she passed away. It was a no-brainer to dedicate it to her. She was a terrific person, a spectacular aunt. There will never be another like her. Almost everything my inner aunt is, it owes to her.
There is, for example, my inner aunt. She's cheerful and upbeat and optimistic. She always buys great gifts that are sure to please because she knows exactly what you want. She's always willing to listen without offering to tell you what you should do because, let's face it, she's not your mother. She's got wonderful stories to tell that make you wish you'd known her when she was doing wild and crazy things. She makes your life a better place.
I try to be that kind of aunt. I don't get much of a chance, to be honest, because The Siblings live in California, so the Niece and Nephews did, too. Now two of the Nephews have seen the light and have moved to Idaho with their wives and families, which doesn't make them much more accessible, but does bode well for their future happiness and well-being.
But I digress.
Aunts. Inner aunts are, I think, the result of having such a variety of wonderful "outer" aunts -- real ones, that is, not virtual ones inside me. My grandfather had nine sisters. They were an astonishing bunch of women.
There was the farmer's wife who raised her brothers and sisters before she married and had her own brood. She was strong and capable and nothing ever seemed to be too tough for her to accomplish. There was the minister's wife who made Goody Two Shoes look like A Wild Child. There were the lawyer with the silver hip flask and Opinions About Everything, the schoolteacher, the Can't-Hold-A-Job-And-Wouldn't-Want-To-If-She-Could, the flirt, the other flirt, the pie baker who worked in a lumber yard and has never been found on any census anywhere, the professional student, and Poor Mary, whom no one ever talked about (except to say, "Poor Mary," in whispers).
They were alternately upheld as pillars of virtue or as cautionary tales. Good girls and Bad girls. Whichever way my Inner Aunt wanted to go, she certainly had a role model who'd gone before.
Which brings me to Aunt Billie. My mother's older sister passed away last year at the age of 89. She never seemed 89. She always seemed about 19. Vivacious, bubbly, funny, that was Billie. She would have been a hard act to follow, which I'm sure my mother could tell you more about than I could. Doubtless she gave her parents plenty of sleepless nights when she was young and crazy about a boy named Billy Green. Billy had a car, which most boys his age didn't in Butte, Montana in the 30s. He and Billie -- and his car -- went everywhere. One of their favorite places was the Red Rooster on 'the flat' where they used to be able to buy Hershey Bar sandwiches.
"Hershey Bar sandwiches?" I remember saying incredulously. "In bread?"
"Yep. Grilled. The chocolate melted." She got this wonderful far-away look on her face and grinned. "With almonds. Best sandwiches I ever ate."
I think you must have had to be there. Or maybe you just had to be with Billy.
No one loved life like Aunt Billie did. No one had more fun. She moved in with my cousin about seven years ago and less than a month later so did one of his daughters and her three young children. It was, he says, a mad house. Aunt Billie loved it. She relished the noise, the confusion, the kids. She relished life, even when it was slipping away from her.
She read all my books, right up until she couldn't read anymore. And I think she made my cousin read her the last McGillivray book because her vision was going. (I can just imagine him reading the sex scenes to his mother).
"That's it then," she said to me after Molly's book. "The three of them?"
And I said yes, I was starting on a new series beginning with Elias.
"Oh, well, that's all right then," she said. "I wasn't going to go without finishing the last one."
She didn't. She finished them all. I told my cousin I should have kept writing them forever and we'd still have her with us.
But she's probably got her vision back now. And she has probably read Elias and Theo (even before he's been published). And maybe with luck she'll have some influence on Spence. She would love the fact that he's a Presents hero from Butte.
"No place better on earth," she would have said.
Certainly not for her.
I finished the revisions on Elias's book right before she passed away. It was a no-brainer to dedicate it to her. She was a terrific person, a spectacular aunt. There will never be another like her. Almost everything my inner aunt is, it owes to her.
posted by Anne McAllister at 1:35 PM
3 Comments:
Anne, thanks for sharing about Aunt Bille. My father's sister, Aunt Thurl was the same as your Aunt Billie. Hard shoes to fill?
Just finished The Antonides Marriage Deal and absolutely loved it! It was like watching a Kathryn Hepburn / Spencer Tracy movie. The tension and sparks.....yummy!
I'm hopefull you continue on with a series about these two wonderful Greek families.
Hi Marilyn,
Thanks for asking about Aunt Billie. I told my cousin after I wrote it that it didn't even really do her justice. Nothing would. We were blessed to have had her. And it sounds like you were blessed with an equally spectacular aunt of your own.
Thanks for the kind words about The Antonides Marriage Deal! So glad you enjoyed it! Yes, Theo, Tallie's brother, is up next --- and there may be more. Spence, not a relative, but a friend, appears in Theo's book.
Cheers,
Anne
Yes, thanks for sharing about your Aunt. I read the dedication and was wondering....
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