The Wheel of Life

When I was growing up in the 1950s in Iowa, I had grandparents and great-grandparents and I had Aunty Ann.  She was a force of nature and the imprint she left on me was enormous.  It wasn't because I spent so much time with her, though she was living in the household I was born into.  My parents lived with my father's folks, including Aunty Ann, who ran the household and took care of her invalid sister, my grandmother, and her dying husband.  It was August in Iowa, which meant relentless heat and no air conditioning.  My mother was a diminutive, hearing-impaired, 19 year old shotgun bride when they moved in with his parents. She also had ruined his life, or so the story goes.

I watch enough old movies and read enough books to have an idea of what it was like for her during the six months before my birth.  I wasn't in her shoes, exactly, but I was sharing stress hormones with her.  I know it was less than an ideal start to the marriage.

Aunty Ann was my great-aunt.  She was born in Germany in the last decade of the Nineteenth Century. When people use the phrase "old school" they aren't talking about Aunty Ann.  She predates old school.  


Remember the book entitled "Everything I need to know I Learned in Kindergarten"?  Well, with Aunty Ann, I learned all the basics, good and bad, that I carry with me to this day.  Untangling some of that mess has paid the rent for several therapists.  I cannot relate them all, and wouldn't want to go into some of the old world beliefs and prejudices that peppered her world view.  However, here are some of the basics:


1. Don't wear shoes unless you have to. You'll wear them out.
2. Hang the sheets on the outside lines and the underwear on the inside, so the neighbors can't see them.
3. Rinse your hair in rainwater from the barrel outside.
4. Pay attention and keep your fingers out of the wringer.
5. Fold the buttons inside before they go through the wringer, or you'll be the one sewing buttons on later.
6. Whining won't make it cooler.  Lie still in front of the fan.
7. Wash your hands, face and feet before you go to bed.
8.  Don't wear underwear with your nightgown.  You have to let it breathe.
9. Noxema will cure just about anything.
10. Never complain about your food or throw any food away.  Be grateful you even have food.
11. Ants on the potato chips is no reason to throw them away.  Put them in the oven and all the ants will die and fall to the bottom.
12. There are no monsters in the closet, the basement or the bathroom, and you don't need to waste electricity turning on all the lights.
13. You look good enough without looking in the mirror.
14. No dessert until you clean up your plate; no bedtime treat till after prayers.
15. Just ignore it.  It will go away.


In addition, she taught me how to snap beans, shell peas, tell when veggies are ripe in the garden, can fruits and vegetables, water indoor plants, sweep and mop correctly, scrub a bathtub, wash the porch and . . . embroider with a hoop.  She took me downtown on the bus to go shopping and she took me to Colorado on the bus to visit relatives. She did a lot more talking than listening, but she liked to hear me sing.


When I was 29 and she had been dead a couple of years, I had a "near death experience" during a routine medical procedure.  I know this is something that many people pooh-pooh, and if it hadn't happened to me, I probably would too.  But I know what I experienced, call it what you will.  It was Aunty Ann who came to tell me I had to go back, that it wasn't time yet, I still had work to do and a child to finish raising.  I was sorely disappointed ----- I was in the middle of the most indescribably loving space imaginable ----- and afterwards, I was pretty pissed.  For the next several months, Aunty Ann was hanging around nearby.  I'm not saying I saw apparitions; I was just acutely aware of the essence of who she was to me, influencing my thoughts and behavior. As I became grounded and productive once more, she faded.


It was also Aunty Ann who came to get Dad when he made his transition.  He had Alzheimers Disease and was in the very final stage, down to the last day.  The family had gathered and we were staying with him in shifts.  The others had gone for food and Ralph and I were with him, each holding a hand and talking to him and each other, though he was unconscious.  I joked that "Where is Aunty Ann when you need her?" and we both talked about her and called for her to come, until we noticed, within minutes, that his labored breathing had stopped.  Aunty Ann had responded.

This was a week of comings and goings.  Several people I care about were touched with death this week.  Two new babies were born, as well. There is a continuity and an unpredictability about life that has made me think about what is important and what is not.  Our bird's nest was twice raided by Buddy, twice he killed a half-grown baby.  Buddy was doing what dogs do.  The wrens were doing what wrens do.  Life and death and birth and growth are inextricably linked and then shaped by how I hold them. Not bad.  Not good. Simply part of the interdependent web that is shared by us all.