It Wasn’t an Event to Invoke a
Nonconformist’s Cliché About
a Higher Power. Nor Was It
One to Untether One’s Wife-
ly Duties and Make Any Sud-
den Moves Toward Upsetting
the Applecart. But rest and
relaxation are nevertheless....
The inquiring and quite intimidated gargoyles
were the subjects, I believe, of the article I
was enjoying at the time. Dinner was running
a bit late, which is hot at all out of the norm.
And, also not unusual, the two Aunties were
standing near the gas hearth, stock still, in
the particular way they always loved to pose,
believing themselves so very hip to the “Age
of the Selfie Stick,” as they called it. Ron’s
dun-colored mastiff arrived at the perfect
time, spilled the entire bowl of pinto beans
and somehow me under our elaborately-hewn
(I the had a moment to notice) dining room
table. Neither of us had ever pretended it
was an actual dining room. But I was insis
tent that it be both a room and a site with
in which something akin to dining would at
least occasionally occur. Anyway, no matter
how seriously the belligerent Aunties were
when it came to the diligence of their par
ticular idea of hip portraiture, with their aw
kwardly erect and severe looks to a photo
graphic layperson such as I (okay, it’d been
maybe a 7-minute duration of immobility
thus far. But my god! If they gave out an
award for Best Mannequins Alive each Year,
well, they’d probably be dining with Meryl
Streep and not their petty “nieces” at the
moment). One bare shrimp the length and
(literal) texture of the gullet of an egret
makes for neither fine & dandy nor fine
nor dandy. On any occasion. While I
might be keenly aware that beauty is in
the eye of the beholder (that is my opinion
on that subject if it can even at all be an op
inion and not a fact; a fact with which I’ve
had enormous amounts of luck if you’d ask
me, but then that would make light of the
fact that facts are facts, I suppose — so
don’t expect me to budge from the opinion
that this fact is, um, a fact.), the poor gals
suddenly looked as if they might lose con
sciousness, like, pronto. For some reason
this thought forced my eyes to roll back-
wards, well into angles pointing toward
the depths of my sockets behind which
I’m to understand the very brain can be
seen if only a tiny flashlight were handy
on such unexpected occasions. Later on,
sometime shortly after my eyeballs flipped
back around in such a way that (and on
this I can simply suspect, as always,
never having any eyes but my own, of
course), in a somewhat more human fash
ion, I found myself staring in horror at the
still models of the century and their chitosan-
riddled eyeballs as they sort of scooted (like a
dog does across the carpeted room when it
needs to, you know, squeeze the Charmin)
slowly, hesitantly and, I did think, madly
at me. Needless to say we never made it
to the bakeless blonde brownies on that
particular special occasion (and of course
I’ve already forgotten what had initially
made this day so special in the first place,
but obviously they were here, together,
with us, and a meal was being prepared,
so something special must have been
happening at the time or within its pro
ximity. I felt a joy that cannot at this
moment be put into words (which would,
of course, be quite exactly: The Aunties
are leaving! The Aunties are leaving!)
sprint like a marathon into my head with
nothing less exuberant than sheer unre
strained glee. I’m struck now with some
shock at how unashamed I am of relaying
this to you. But, you know, honesty and all.
Ew. Well, anyway. I was able to control
my normally uncontrollable reaction, that
is to present anything anywhere upon the
visible surface of my face how happy I was
about this breaking news. In retrospect,
I’ll just say that a senior must refrain from
acting in any fashion that might be construed
(or, as occurs most often my case, misconstrued)
as the least bit giddy at your Auntie’s posing
so long at a gathering that you are hosting
that they have to do anything short of (on
this day) calling the ambulance to leave
said gathering a bit early. At the precise
point that the door was shut behind them,
I figure that if you’re going to guffaw, then
guffaw you must. So what if you’re elderly.
The horrid apologies can come later. (And
if you’re not yet wise to elderly women or,
I’m certain, men, then something guffaw-
like erupts. You can always just apologize,
say that you were just thinking about
something from last month and quickly
retreat to the ladies’ room. I’ve done it
all my life and it seems to work for me.
On most occasions, that is. There was
that one time, but never mind that. That
one’s a full story to be told on another
date. If we ever happen to have another
after this one. You don’t know this about
me yet, and perhaps never will, but even
though I do often go on, I don’t think that
I have I ever once told a story in its need
ful entirety? Which reminds me: on the
day of the occasion in which the Aunties
became frozen models (for a duration well
over that which any 80 year old should re
main that immobile and barely breathing) it
would seem to me that I had finally be
come a woman with wisdom. Which is
a very cool thing, I think. One thing
is certain and that is that I was the
hostess with the mostest that day. Oh,
and on a smaller but related note,
not even once have either of us, whilst
shopping, which was usually late on a
weekday evening (by which I suppose
I mean, in general, shortly after midnight),
the two of us, exhausted, leaning dependently
upon the handle of our one oversized but
mostly empty cart as it crawls ever so slowly
down every aisle at Target or Safeway or
wherever, never has there been any reaching
toward, or even pretending to even notice,
those boxes of bakeless blonde brownies.
They are simply and slowly passed, un
noticed much in the same way that most
scenery in a play or film might be. We
are by all means only pretending not
to notice them, but like most all other
humans on this planet, we’ve all both
got peripheral vision (speaking of oddly
and often unnoticed facts). And I
may not guffaw as I glance from the
corner of my eye at, what at the sur
face, looks and seems in concept like
a wonderful, wonderful thing. But
I let out at least a half-chuckle every
single time. A frequent event that
seems to happen to me in mostly
inopportune moments and ones in
which I assure you NEVER go unnoticed.
