Auntie Mae

You've probably heard of the Broadway musical about eccentric, bizarre, and borderline crazy Auntie Mame who could "coax the blues right out of the horn." She may have been something, but I have an Auntie Mae, who is the antithesis of Mame, and I'm right glad she is. She's as down to earth and non-eccentric as pork 'n beans. My Auntie Mae has been a dependable staple in my life, providing me with kisses, hugs, smiles, and birthday cards for as long as I can remember.

When I was little, Auntie Mae, whose real name is Marian, called me "Lulu" after the girl in the comic strip who enjoyed getting into mischief. "Uh, oh, Lulu's here. Now there'll be action," she'd say, laughing.

And, she was right. None of that dull sitting-around stuff for me. When we went to visit her house, I found the much-needed fuel for fun in her four kids, for I lived alone with my parents. Greg was older, and a cool teenager, so he brooded in his room much of the time, but the others were always game for tag, bicycle riding, red-light/green-light, or whatever. I'm sure my high energy hi-jinx drove her crazy, but she never let on---too much.

In a day and age when good men are hard to find, Auntie Mae lucked out and nabbed two fine husbands in her life time. Virgil, the first one and the father of her kids, was a noisy, kind-hearted, fun-loving sort who was into nature and camping and architecture. He created a fish pond in his back yard, and once, just for kicks and under the influence of the deceased, he and my dad had a funeral and buried an empty whiskey jug near our campsite in Yellowstone Park. Such hymns they sang! I remember riding in the back seat of Auntie Mae and Virgil's station wagon and going to get milk from the store, all of us kids singing and joking, and for a little while I wasn't an only child; I was part of a big family.

At far too young of an age, a brain tumor took Virgil's life, and after awhile Auntie Mae became reacquainted with and married Bob, a guy she had known growing up. Bob enjoyed fishing, gardening and outdoor activities, and he and Auntie Mae had much fun relaxing and having a few "berrs" (beers) together at the end of the day. She often bragged about Bob's cooking, but "Oh, that man's messy," she'd say. (Auntie Mae, my mother, and their sister Doris [Dottie] were raised by their mother to be the patron saints of cleanliness---and they were.)

Auntie Mae loved simple things: a good laugh, good friends, good food. She steered clear of conflict, and I never heard her say anything bad about anyone else. Though she had endured the horrific pain of losing a child and did not feel well much of the time in her later years, she didn't make a habit of complaining.

In all the family pictures, she and my mother have their arms around each other; Mom was the girly girl who cooked and polished the stove, and Marian the tomboy just back from milking the cows. They exchanged letters on a weekly basis back in the day, but switched to calling as their arthritis made writing difficult. Auntie Mae could write the best letters. Kind of like "Seinfeld," they were about nothing, really, but her personality was revealed in them. She liked to write something funny and then put "Ha!" after it. Her letters always made me feel like I was a special part of her life because she shared it so honestly.

Mom passed away in March, and I began calling Auntie Mae about once a week to sort of fill the gap, but I think maybe I filled in for my mother for her, too. Now, Auntie Mae, age 80, is gone as well. There were three sisters raised on that farm in Squirrel Hollow in Glen Haven, and all have passed away.

I will miss you Auntie Mae.