Aunt Dorthey and the Wedding

Just last month, my nephew married a wonderful young lady in an incredible ceremony in my hometown, Jonesboro, Arkansas.  Despite a raging thunderstorm during the rehearsal dinner, the whole weekend went off like clockwork.  It was incredible.  On our flight back to New Jersey, I had time to think about the wedding, and about the impending wedding of my daughter.  I anticipate all sorts of madness, as Jordan’s wedding will be in New Orleans.  A couple of years ago, one of my nieces had a wedding in New Orleans and it was a fantastic event.  As the jet flew me home to Jersey, I looked down on the passing countryside, and slowly, another wedding came to mind.

Roughly 10 years ago another niece, Ashley, held her wedding on a sweltering evening in mid-August. Everyone thinks they know hot.  Everyone thinks they know humid.  If you haven’t spent an August in Jonesboro, Arkansas you know neither hot nor humid.  In August, if the air moves at all, you feel more like a dog panting on you than anything else.  The warm and oh-so-humid dog breath breeze does more than make you uncomfortable.  It makes you miserable because it usually is just enough breeze to bring airborne visitors from the rice fields south of Jonesboro into Jonesboro.  At the last puff of a  breeze, mosquitoes the size of sparrows swarm like flying vampire biker gangs and immediately begin sucking blood, bone marrow and the very life force from those unfortunate enough to get caught in either darkness or shade.  Home sweet home.  

On the day of the wedding, my wife and I were supposed to make sure Mom was at the Church on time.  That was our mission.  Get mom, and get her to the church with time to spare because Momma’s not happy when Momma has to hurry.  Mom likes to take her time getting ready, and so Landi and I enjoyed a couple of cocktails while mom finished getting ready.  Landi was as beautiful as she has ever been with every hair in it’s place, and perfect makeup.  I was wearing my freshly pressed suit.  I had my crisply starched, white shirt with the French cuffs sporting my gold Ole Miss cuff-links.  My freshly cut hair was neatly combed.  We were a sharp looking couple.  Ten minutes before we were going to leave for the church, and a full 25 minutes before the wedding, the phone rang.  It was my sister.  

“You’ve got Aunt Dorthy?”, she asked.

“No”, I replied.  “Am I supposed to?” I asked.

“Mother was supposed to get Aunt Dorthy from the nursing home.”, came the response. 

“Shit….Ok, no sweat.  I’ll take care of it.”, I assured her, and I hung up.  I told Mom that we had to get Aunt Dorthy.  After a brief discussion, it was decided that Mom would drive herself to the ceremony, and that Landi and I would go get Aunt Dorthy from the nursing home and take her to the wedding. We fixed fresh cocktails, and headed out.  It was a ten minute drive to the Nursing Home.   On the way there,  I explained to Landi just how big a role Aunt Dorthy had played in our family for so many years.  First, I explained that Aunt Dorthy wasn’t really an aunt, but that’s what dad had always called her.  She had worked for Mom, and later for my sister, for many years.  She had a big part in raising all of my sister’s kids.  I hadn’t seen Aunt Dorthy in some years.  It crossed my mind as we sped through Jonesboro streets to the Nursing Home, that this might be a very fortuitious event because we’d get to spend some time with Aunt Dorthy.  We pulled up in the parking lot of the Nursing Home and I walked quickly in to get Aunt Dorthy out.  I had parked as close as I could to the door so she wouldn’t have to walk far.

Having not seen Aunt Dorthy in several years, I was somewhat unprepared to see her.  She was dressed to the nines.  Her hair was perfect, as was her makeup.  Sitting there in her wheel chair, she was absolutely glowing.  ….In her wheel chair…..

An orderly helped me wheel Aunt Dorthy out to the Van.  In the late afternoon heat, I was already starting to sweat.  At the Van, the orderly, citing some rule, decided he could help no more, and retreated into the Nursing Home.  Landi and I set about getting Aunt Dorthy into the Van.  The Van, I should mention, was fairly high.  It had a running board the everyone stepped on to climb up into the van.  It’s not too difficult….unless you weigh 400 lbs and have two artificial knees. 

Aunt Dorthy slowly and painfully stood up.  The wheel chair started to roll away, and I reached to grab it incase Aunt Dorthy needed to sit again, and as I stretched to grab it, I heard the tearing of fabric and felt the shoulder of my suit jacket..give..a little.  Damn…but I caught the chair, which was a good thing, because, with a pained groan, Aunt Dorthy sat back down.  We locked the wheels of the wheel chair, and tried again.  Slowly and wobbly, Aunt Dorthy stood.  With her right hand, she grasped the handle at the top of the sliding door of the van.  She was making a 100% effort, and it was painful, but she was going to make it!   Then, she started to fade.  All sense of modesty lost, I shifted my position so that I could get my shoulder under her butt.  I squatted down, and again, I heard the tearing of fabric, and felt a new looseness in my pants.  I get my shoulder under her and lifted as hard as I could, but made little progress until I reached with my left hand to grab the frame of the captains chair we were trying to get her in.  Again, the sound of tearing fabric and a new freedom in my left shoulder told me I had torn out that sleeve too, but not for nothing, Aunt Dorthey was sitting peacefully in the captain's chair in the van.

I looked at Landi.  Sweat was running down both her cheeks.  Her beautiful dress was marked with sweat and wrinkled beyond belief.  Her hair was…interesting.  I was covered in sweat.  I could feel my shirt sticking to my chest and I had torn the shoulder out of both of the arms of my suit, and split the seat of my pants but in the rear view mirror I could see Aunt Dorthy smiling in the back seat.  I looked at Landi, and she looked at me, we laughed a little and with the air conditioner going full blast, we headed to the wedding.

At the church, I stopped the var right at the handicap entrance.  I would pay the ticket if I got one, but I wanted Aunt Dorthy as close to the door as possible.  Getting Aunt Dorthy out of the van was much less trouble than getting her in.  With Aunt Dorthy safely in her wheel chair, Landi and I began trying to navigate to the sanctuary of the church.  The signs directed us to an elevator.  Emerging from the elevator, we saw a door marked ‘Sanctuary’.  Landi pulled the door open, and I pushed Aunt Dorthy through the door…..into the sanctuary…..the front of the sanctuary…..behind the wedding party…..during the ceremony.  As inconspicuously and quickly as possible, I wheeled Aunt Dorthy off the stage.  With the ceremony in full swing, all eyes were on us as we slipped down the groaning handicap ramp and into the handicap space.   I could feel my sister’s gaze burning my skin.  Landi sat down beside me.  We were watched the rest of the ceremony and marshaled our strength.

After the ceremony, I asked Mom if she would ride to the reception with Landi in the van so I could put Aunt Dorthy in her Lincoln, and Mom was agreeable, so that’s what we did.  Hoping to beat the crowd, Aunt Dorthy and I went directly to my sister’s house.  I hoped that I’d be able to get a close parking place,but that plan didn’t work out so well.  Cars were backed up all the way down the driveway, so I drove past the house, and parked a couple of blocks away.  I helped Aunt Dorthy out of the car and into her wheel chair and began slowly pushing a 400lb lady back up the road in the smothering heat of a mid-August evening wearing the remnants of what once was a fine suit.  The last leg of the journey was up the hill of the driveway.  I had to really lean into it to get her up the hill because the leather soles of my shoes slipped easily on the polished concrete driveway.    I was sweating like mad.  My shirt was completely stuck to my back, and as the sweat ran down my face, and into my eyes, blinding me, I had to dodge a couple of cars that came flying down the drive, apparently driven by the ‘valet’ parking guys.  Valet parking? 

Finally, we entered the reception.  Aunt Dorthy was in her prime.  She knew everyone there, and probably for the first time in her life, she held court.  Everyone had to visit Aunt Dorthy!  She knew everyone because she had watched them all grow up.  While she was visiting with someone, she mentioned to me that she was a little hungry.  Landi  got her a fresh glass of wine, and I went into the dining room to fix her a plate from the buffet.  My sister’s dining room table is huge.  It will comfortably set 25 people.  On this massive table the caterer had done a magnificent job presenting an absolute abundance of wonderful food.  It was incredible.  As I surveyed the beautiful scene, in the corner of my eye, I noticed someone bump a tall cabinet.  The tall candle wobbled back and forth a couple of time, finally teetering just a smidgeon too far and falling only to come to rest against the antique tapestry hanging on the wall.  I shouted to the person beside the cabinet, but in the low rumble of the crowd they didn’t hear me.  I moved close, but the crowd, all waiting to get to the food, was slow to part.  “That’s on fire!”, I said as I pointed excitedly and pushed my way through.  I was almost there, when with a muffled ‘whoomp’, the tapestry burst into flames.  It was a real fire, with flames a foot tall.  The room went oddly quiet, and someone said “Hey…that’s on fire!”,  and now the crowd parted for me.  I jumped up on top of the cabinet, and began pounding the flames trying to knock the fire down.  ‘Get me a towel’, I shouted…and someone handed me a paper napkin.  “I need water!!”, I shouted, to which a second someone observed “Hey…that’s on fire.”  Still, no one moved.  No one put a plate down.  I was pounding the fire with paper napkins, and a plastic cup sparks and smoke were filling the room.  “Get me some water!”, I shouted to which no one moved.  Finally, the chef ran out of the kitchen with a wet towel, and we got the fire out leaving a huge hole burned in the tapestry, and an ominous black smudge on the wall, with those creeps smoke stains going up to the ceiling.

I climbed down off the cabinet and fixed Aunt Dorthy a plate all the while listening to the murmured comments about the fire.  I took Aunt Dorthy’s plate to her.  She was still holding court and having the time of her life.  Landi looked at me with horror….and that ‘What the hell happened to you?’ look in her eyes.

I went to the bar. 

The bar tender was facing away when I approached.  He turned and looked at me.  Startled, he recovered and  slowly he took in the whole state of my disrepair.  My coat had both the shoulders torn out and the front pocket was torn half off.  My shirt tail was out, and my face was covered in black soot.  Sweat had run down my face drawing clear lines in the soot, and my shirt was stuck to me.  My tie and one eyebrow were severely singed, and my hair was probably still smoking some.  He sniffed the air, obviously taking in the aroma of burnt hair, sweat and wet plaster.

 
The bartender smiled, reached for the bourbon, and said “You must be Uncle Bill.  They warned me about you."

Memories of an Old Dog

He arrived on a plane from Arkansas in December of 1994.  My brother got him a ticket and a frequent flyer number on Northwest Airlines.  He weighed about 4 lbs, but most of that was bark and howl.  He didn’t remember me when I picked him up at the airport because when Jordan selected him, his eyes werent’ yet open.

His name was Buckwheat.  He was a Lab, a black lab.  He grew big, and he was smart.  He understood more English than most High School Graduates do, and was a hell of a lot more polite.  But, he would lie to you.  Buck would always insist to anyone who would listen that he hadn’t been fed in weeks.  He would sit there dripping wet and deny that he had been in the pool.  He would look at you with an absolutely clear conscience and insist that he did not know what happened to the pizza crust……or th whole thing of lasagna.

Buck was three years old when his brother arrived.  We brought Catfish home from the hospital, and Buck had the first sniff.  At first, he wasn’t too interested in the boy, but as the boy grew, Buck did his part in teaching him to be a good kid.  For a long time, Catfish used to tell people that Buckwheat was his brother.  Buck was a gentle to, and Ratfish is a gentle kid.  Buck was a rough-house dog, and Fish will rough house wit you.  Buck was an understanding dog, and Monkeyboy understands.

Then, 14 years went by, and  Buck got old.  One of the cruelest realities of being a grownup is that you see dogs go from puppies, to dogs, to old dogs.  They don’t know when they are puppies, and they don’t realize they are getting old, and they have no concept of their own mortality.  They just  live for today, and a smile from you.  Through the entire journey, they are good, solid friends.  If we have one friend who was as solid as Buckwheat, we are indeed blessed.  We nurture them as puppies, enjoy them as dogs, and comfort them in the twilight.  I have often said that if you treat you kids as well as you treat your dog, both will turn out ok.

On September 18, 2007 while playing soccer, I blew out my ACL, tore my Miniscus, and broke my tibia.  The next morning, Buck was sick.  He couldn't stand.  He was disoriented, and couldn't walk.  I carried him to the Van, and took him to the vet.  Sick old dogs are tough on a man's heart.  You hate to say good by, but you know you owe it to the dog to be strong.

Here’s to memories of old dogs.

He Can Drive Now.

Having newly returned to real 'work', a hard day really wears me out.  I left my client today and drove home tonight bone weary, tired, worn out.  The whole way home, I looked forward to a good meal, and a nice glass of wine.  I had some very nice ribeye steaks, and some asparagus.

I had no more than walked through the door at home when I became aware that all was not to be as I had so eagerly anticipated.  Landi had choir practice and Catfish had work.  She's a soprano, and he's a life guard.  She can drive herself to choir practice, and I have to....wait....HOT DAMN!  He's 17!!!  He can drive!!!

I cooked the steaks, and asparagi, and we all enjoyed a wonderful meal.  Landi smiled, waved and drove off.  Catfish smiled, waved and drove off.

I watched him drive down the icy road, and I smiled, remembering when I first got my driver's license.   My birthday is Oct. 9th, and on Oct. 9th 1973 Jonesboro High School had it's bon fire for Homecoming.  Boo, Tick, Bat and I were running late to the bon fire.  On my 16th birthday, I got a speeding ticket for going 45 in a 20.

I took a deep breath.  I could still see his brake lights at the end of the road.  I remembered that in November of 1973, I borrowed my father's Ford LTD, and together with Boo, Winston, and Mitzi, got it so buried up in mud out in Quail Hollow that it took 3 wreckers to get it out.

My heart started racing as I saw his brake lights as he turned onto Maple Ave.  It was in late November of 1973 while duck hunting, that I learned that while a Volkswagen Bug will float, a 1969 Datsun 510 will not.

I was hyperventalating now.  He was out of sight.  I remembered December....of 1973.  It really seemed like a good idea to drive out to Black Oak to steal the population sigh, but it wasn't.  A $25 dollar fine later ( I got to keep the sign) I was driving back to Jonesboro.

He was gone now....out of sight.In the spring, I met a girl.  I break a cold sweat.  For some insane reason, my 16 year old brain thought it would be a great idea to buy this girl a giant (5 foot tall) stuffed bunny rabbit for Easter.  I thought it would be funny to drive around town with the bunny in the drivers seat, and me in the passenger seat, pressing the gas peddle with tmy left foot, and steering with my left hand.  The police officer did not see the humor.

All manner of memories flooded back.  Getting Mom's stationwagon stuck off Woodsprings Road....taking Dad's Lincoln fishing....the prom....driving around drinking beer and shooting snakes....My head was spinning and I felt faint.  Oh..damn.

Years ago, when Dad was visiting and Catfish was just a 18 month old baby, I spent some time telling dad some of the absurd things that Catfish had done.  After relating to Dad how Catfish had recently walked a window ledge around an entire room, Dad smiled.  He smiled as only he could smile.  His eyes twinkled.  He gave me that 'look'.

"Son", he said, "Has he burned the house down yet?"

"No, sir.  He hasn't."  I replied.

"Well". he said with his blue eyes smiling, "I'm one up on you."

I am so very, very scared right now.

A Free Man

Long ago and far away, well, actually a couple of weeks ago, and right here, we prepared for our Christmas trek to Arkansas, with a follow up journey to New Orleans for Jordans engagment party.  While a Ford Expedition is a large vehicle, it becomes somewhat clausterphobic when you stuff gifts for three generations of Garners, and 4 human beings along with all their baggage into it.  Fortunately, as you will recall, I purchased a SUV Top Carrier last spring, so we were able to wedge our gifts, our luggage, and our selves into the Beast for the journey.

No journey is complete without a mishap of some sort.  Several years ago, you may recall my report that, on a biterly cold and very wet and windy day, my bride slamed the car door, trapping my hand.  That was just as pleasent as it sounds.   A year after that, you might recall that on another journey,  in the pre-dawn darkness as I tried to quietly leave the hotel room for morning coffee, I discovered the ironing board had been laid down, creating a barrier so our dog could not get to the door to bark.  I tripped over the ironing board, and slammed both shins on to the metal edge of the ironing board.  That's a pain that will take your breath away.  Have you ever crossed the Huey P. Long Bridge in New Orleans?  Try it in a Conversion Van.  The two lane highway was added to the damn bridge as an afterthought, and is held up by hope and prayer.  Because the van sets so high, it completely obscures your view of the incredibly low 'guard rails'.  I hyperventilate just thinking about going over that bridge again.  We drove 50 miles our of our way to avoid crossing it again.  One of my favourite trips was when we stayed in a hotel with the glass elevator that goes through the roof and climbs up the outside of the damn hotel.  I nearly wet my pants.  No summary of trips is complete without mentioning ice storms and dead conversion vans in Virginia.

So, I get nervous when we prepare to travel.  I know something is going to happen.  I know it's going to involve me, and it will either hurt like hell or scare the bejesus out of me.  In either case, my immediate family always finds great humor in what ever it is that befalls me.

The friday before we were scheduled to leave for Arkansas, I decided to have the Beast cleaned.   There is a car wash across South Plainfied that I usually go to, so after dropping the kids off at school, I worked my way across town.  The traffic was heavy because of school.  I drove slowly and weaved through.  One block from the car wash, a small Nissan car darted in front of me.  I was going slow anyway because I knew this was a place where cars dart.  I almost got the beast stopped.  When the collision became inevitable, I braced and closed my eyes.  In my mind, I was thinking "Ok...this is where the damn airbag punches me in the face, breaks my nose, and gives me two black eyes just in time for Christmas".  Because things were now moving in slow motion, I had time for a second thought.  It occurred to me that we were going to have to rent a car to go to Jonesboro and New Orleans because this one was going to be laid up.  Damn Damn Damn.  However, because I was going slow, and reacted quickly with the brakes, I thought I might get the Beast stopped before contact.  It was going to be close.  It was 'close',  but not quite.

Finally the collision came....."CRUNCH"...without an exclamation point.

No Airbag deployment!   Wahoooo!!!!!  No airbag, no punch in the face, no black eyes, no dust and powder all through the car.

I got out of the car and inspected the damage.  Plastic was cracked and bent and torn, but nothing leaking, and no hissing sounds.  I called 911 to report the accident.

Less than an hour later, the cop was finished with the accident report and I was on my way.  As I drove away from the scene of the crash, I realized that I was going to have a wonderful trip to Arkansas.    My new friend driving the Nissan, however, wasn't quite as happy as me.  He 'no hablias anglais', and he "no have the driving license".  Bad things were just starting to happen to him, but me?  My "bad thing" was done.  It was history!  No pain, no fear!  I was a free man!  I was now free to enjoy the trip to Arkansas and New Orleans without wondering what horrible thing was going to happen to me.

Merry Christmas to all and a very Happy New Year!