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The Familial Fourth
July 6, 2010 by NaysWay · Leave a Comment
Every Fourth of July, a batch of my second generation cousins get together and have a cookout. There is one of those particular cousins who is the cut-up of the bunch. Lately, he’s been sick and hasn’t made the trek from his home in Louisiana to our neck of the woods, and he is sorely missed. We do our best to carry on in his stead, but it’s just not the same. He’s really a loud-mouth, obnoxious, gregarious, raucous kind of fellow. We love him loads.
The last few years he hasn’t been here, attendance has been down. We hate to admit it, but this cousin not only comes to the party, he IS the party. Yet after a few of us got together to celebrate my grandmother’s recent birthday, we all sat around shaking our heads at the pitifulness of ourselves. How were we all family, living in respectable distances of one another, yet hardly ever seeing each other unless there was a huge milestone like an 89th birthday, or a death. For the sake of the younger generation – the generation of little people who barely know they’re related – we had to do better.
Since the Fourth is the time we also see multiple family sets while seeking out a little firework action in nearby neighborhoods, we didn’t stay long. But I think the bond was there.
Let’s just say this photo? T’was choreographed by one of mine.
I’ll let you guess which one.
FEAR No. 070 – Losing It All
June 28, 2010 by NaysWay · 3 Comments
When I was twelve or thirteen, my grandmother would drive me all over the suburbs of Cleveland it seemed. Every Summer, every weekend, without fail, we would hop in her car and she would drive. The destination almost always ended in a shopping excursion. I never remembered my grandmother driving on freeways. Something about them making her nervous, I think. But she could eat up a city street like no one’s business. My grandfather would tell me stories of how my grandmother could drive a mean stick-shift back in her day. I couldn’t wait to turn sixteen and be a fierce, independent woman driver like my grandmother.
Wrasslin’: The Rematch
June 4, 2010 by NaysWay · Leave a Comment
You all remember Janell, right?
Sucks at Rock Band.
Beats my children senseless when she comes to town.
Yeah. That broad.
She and her brother only come to town during major holidays. Not all of them. I believe they just spin around in front of a calendar and, whatever holiday their finger lands on, that’s when they come home. That one holiday.
I’m not bitter. They’re both grown, or at least think they are. Yet I never hesitate to remind them they have nieces who never, ever, ever, hardly ever see them.
I love guilt. Next to sarcasm, there really is nothing greater.
At least that’s what I’ve heard.
I’ve never partaken in any of that.
Partooken?
Wasn’t me.
So, this time, when the wayward siblings decided to bless us with their presence, I told “Auntie Janell” she had only two jobs while she was here. 1) Attend the softball game of her eldest niece.
And 2) Sufficiently wear out both their little britches.
I’d say Mission: Accomplished. Wouldn’t you?
FEAR No. 066 – Living In The Past
May 25, 2010 by NaysWay · 2 Comments
Two weeks ago, my grandmother turned 89. Given the survival rate of the elderly in our family, this is astounding. If you ask her, she might not agree with you.
My grandmother lived a social life. If she wasn’t involved in local politics, she headed the PTA. If she wasn’t doing that, she was running the treasury department of her church. If she wasn’t doing that, she was apart of someone’s organization somewhere. In her heyday, she ruled with an iron fist. Family members laugh that my grandfather, now deceased, was either really crazy, or really in love when he married her. If you’re Beyonce, that makes sense. But remember that part where I said my grandmother ruled with an iron fist? Children. Dogs. Friends. Co-workers. Fellow congregation. Spouse. No one was exempt from this fist. She was, and continues to be, a force to be reckoned with. God help those who’ve survived her aftermath.
Impromptu
April 14, 2010 by NaysWay · Leave a Comment
[For Part 1 of this installment, catch up here.]
So. Where are we?
If you said Buffalo, I’d say you were really good at reading road signs. Two points for you!
Is that where we ended up?
Survey says:
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Aw. I’m sorry. Rod, tell them what they go home with.
Hello Buffalo.
Goodbye Buffalo.
Oh, good. Another road sign. Let’s see. Can I make it out?
What’s that say? Scajacooji? Sock-it-to-me?
Sack-in-the-box? Cinco de Mayo?
And now I must go watch Night At The Museum 2.
Sleepy. Oh. So… *yawn* sleepy.
For the love of God, man, you’d better tell me now or sohelpme, we are turning this car around. My children are exhausted! Just look at them!
Well… look at my CHILD. That other one probably isn’t human anyway. Probably hopped up on sugar or something.
So. My husband. In all his infinite wisdom, all his last minuteness, all his impromptu-spur-of-the-moment-living that he did a lot when he was single but his wife, not so much, decided to take his family on a road trip.
To Niagara Falls.
And we were all so tired by this time, that when he finally told us (or when I finally figured it out), we were all so exhausted from the drive, and it was so, so, so late, that we didn’t care.
OK, so the SANE people didn’t care.
The last time BFam and I were in Niagara Falls, it was our first anniversary trip ever. We’d never had a honeymoon, too young and too broke to afford one. It was also before Canada required passports. Mooter was our only offspring and, after pawning her off to a relative for a few days, we made the trek. BFam had never been to Canada, never been to Niagara Falls. What I remember most about the trip was how unimpressed BFam was about the Falls. It kind of broke my heart for several reasons. For one, I loved Niagara Falls as a kid. Second, IT WAS OUR FRAKKIN’ HONEYMOON THAT NEVER WAS. Fortunately, BFam did make it up to me. We had fun in the surrounding areas of the Falls, did some sightseeing in neighboring cities, caught a movie, dined at a fancy restaurant. Overall, it was a great trip.
I also remember passing the New York section of the Falls, disgusted with how rundown and ghettofied it looked. (Yes. I made up that word. You can use it if you’d like.) “I don’t ever want to go there,” I remember telling BFam. But, with no passports or birth certificates to support us under the new regime, it looked like that was exactly where we were going.
This? This was going to be… um… interesting?
Stopping for the night would give everyone a chance to recharge their batteries. After the adrenaline had worn down from knowing where we were and where we were going, fatigue hit us pretty hard.
Tucked in for the night, and finally collected enough from the hours of driving to mutter a few words before passing out ourselves, BFam looked at me.
“Did I do good?”
Yes, honey. Yes, you did.
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