Yesterday, I went and saw my cousin and his family in Murrietta, about an hour south of me. His parents where in from Texas, and I had not seen my aunt and uncle for over two years.
My aunt is a cut up and one of the nicest, caring people you can know. My uncle, who had a harsh upbringing, but never seems to let that stop him from telling a great, and often funny story about the time. He is, to me also, the museum of my father's life. I've mentioned before how he's told me stories of my late father, and he usually does it with so much love and respect.
Last night he told at story about how my mom and dad (not yet married) and them had traveled to Niagra Falls for the weekend on the train. And because sleeping cars cost extra, they sat across from each other -legs touching legs - on the overnight trip. They were, of course, exhausted by sitting up all night and by the time they actually got to the Falls, they were tired, but he said they still had a great time.
My aunt then told a story about how my dad gave their daugther Nancy a St. Christopher's medal. Auntie said that Nancy was maybe, at most nine months old. My dad loved kids - something I inherited from him - and seemed to adore Nancy. He asked Auntie -knowing that she was not Catholic - if he could pin that medal to her crib. Of course, my aunt said yes.
But these people -who are not biologically my realtives, but I've known them all my life - represent the living history of a my father I never knew. Mom has told stories, but it was never in such detail. Both seemed to love my father very deply, and I think they miss him as much as I do.
I aslo heard the tales of how my mother really has become the person she resented all her life: her father. When she was visting auntie back in September, she apparently did not want to do anything that came clsoe to dribing more than 10 miles.
Mom hates flying, so they travel by car. Everywhere. So when she got to Texas, and auntie suggested that they go here, and mom would ask how far away it was and auntie would say an hour, mom would say she didn't travel all this way in her car just to do more traveling in a car.
I'm unsure what she expected to happen.
My brother has become that way too, as he does not like to travel more than 10 miles from his home. It appears to be too much effort.
Reminds me of the line in A League of Thier Own. Jon Lovitz's character, the lovable, but sarcastic scout, is trying to lure a pitcher away from her small town life. They're at the train station and the poor girl is sad to leave and is hesitating. Lovitz's line, fustrated at the dwindling time, says: "See, the train moves, not the station."
I think my mom has become that. She rather have it come to her, than she go to. Which is why she'll never sell that house in Illinois and move some place where it's warmer, cheaper and be around people her age.
My aunt is a cut up and one of the nicest, caring people you can know. My uncle, who had a harsh upbringing, but never seems to let that stop him from telling a great, and often funny story about the time. He is, to me also, the museum of my father's life. I've mentioned before how he's told me stories of my late father, and he usually does it with so much love and respect.
Last night he told at story about how my mom and dad (not yet married) and them had traveled to Niagra Falls for the weekend on the train. And because sleeping cars cost extra, they sat across from each other -legs touching legs - on the overnight trip. They were, of course, exhausted by sitting up all night and by the time they actually got to the Falls, they were tired, but he said they still had a great time.
My aunt then told a story about how my dad gave their daugther Nancy a St. Christopher's medal. Auntie said that Nancy was maybe, at most nine months old. My dad loved kids - something I inherited from him - and seemed to adore Nancy. He asked Auntie -knowing that she was not Catholic - if he could pin that medal to her crib. Of course, my aunt said yes.
But these people -who are not biologically my realtives, but I've known them all my life - represent the living history of a my father I never knew. Mom has told stories, but it was never in such detail. Both seemed to love my father very deply, and I think they miss him as much as I do.
I aslo heard the tales of how my mother really has become the person she resented all her life: her father. When she was visting auntie back in September, she apparently did not want to do anything that came clsoe to dribing more than 10 miles.
Mom hates flying, so they travel by car. Everywhere. So when she got to Texas, and auntie suggested that they go here, and mom would ask how far away it was and auntie would say an hour, mom would say she didn't travel all this way in her car just to do more traveling in a car.
I'm unsure what she expected to happen.
My brother has become that way too, as he does not like to travel more than 10 miles from his home. It appears to be too much effort.
Reminds me of the line in A League of Thier Own. Jon Lovitz's character, the lovable, but sarcastic scout, is trying to lure a pitcher away from her small town life. They're at the train station and the poor girl is sad to leave and is hesitating. Lovitz's line, fustrated at the dwindling time, says: "See, the train moves, not the station."
I think my mom has become that. She rather have it come to her, than she go to. Which is why she'll never sell that house in Illinois and move some place where it's warmer, cheaper and be around people her age.
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