a good idea at the time

it's like jello in a milk bottle. it seemed like a good idea at the time. but rarely are such things thought out to inevitability. whatever seems expedient and immediate will do. but while hind sight is 20/20, it is hard to put a band-aid on retrospection.

my aunt margie has always been the champion of missed observations and nonsense on the fly.
a short list is in order here, just so you get an idea of how my aunt margie works:

1)she tanned only on one side of her body, never turning over in the chair, believing fully in the notion that people would only ever see the front of her. my mother told me she looked like an oreo cookie missing one of its wafers.

2) she would spray her bouffant hairdo with final net, evenly applying a coat of laquer over her whole head and then turn on a gas burner to help dry and set her "do". it is the first thing i know of dare devildry.

3)jello in a milk bottle. yeah she really did that. see my previous post for a more lengthy explanation. it seems hard to go through that twice.

4)when my grandfather died, the suit he had chosen to be buried in was too moth-eaten to use. after speculating a few minutes on where to buy a suit for him, she announced that we should just rent him one. and my uncle buzz, always a little ahead of the curve, asked, "sounds great marge, but don't you think those monthly payments would kill you?"

and so many other favorites, all fraught with at least a small amount of danger.

like the family reunion, when the men had gathered, as they are imprinted to do, to build as big a fire as possible in the backyard. flames shot 12 feet into the air, the small explosions of compressed air and chemicals as paint cans exploded, hurling rustoleum shrapnel with an imprecise sense of direction or trajectory. the radiant heat of the bonfire was enough to blister the finish on on my uncle joe's 1970 baby blue el dorado fleetwood cadillac coupe. (uncle joe had always been a cadillac man and could never bring himself to part with any of those that had long ago ceased to function. he lined them up along the street and in a vacant lot nearby, a slowly decaying testament of his loyalty to GM products.)

back at the fire, my dad and my uncles, proud of their handiwork, thought it might be nice for us kids to roast some marshmallows. i was given the task of rounding up the rest of the children and then finding something to put the marshmallows on to roast them. "go ask your aunt margie," my dad said. "And put on some shoes. i don't want you running around out here barefoot." we were all barefoot. and in fact, the only bit of clothing we had on was underwear, having stripped down to our fruit of the looms to enjoy a run through the sprinkler. given that we were all in the path of super heated projectiles and and a barely contained inferno, asbestos suits and chain mail might have been wiser. still, i was touched that my father thought my keds would be enough to keep me out of harm's way. so off i went, in my keds and little white panties, to find aunt margie.

finding aunt margie was never much of a challenge. she was always in the "Florida" room, drinking coffee or diet pepsi and watching religious variety shows. you know, the ones where famous christian couples (like guy and ralna from the lawrence welk show) sang and danced and performed little musical skits about the lord and how nice heaven will be where, presumably all the men sport side burns and look glorious in their leisure suits and white shoes while the women wear floor length gowns in vibrant colors and patterns that make them appear to be moving at great speeds even when they are standing completely still. and in heaven, according to the shows she watched, there were bands and bandleaders, clarinet solos and great fake scenery and stage lighting and glitter all leading up to a grand finale where everyone joined hands and sang a final rousing number about how great god is and how happy we will all be to meet him. and so did i. the heaven on my aunt margie's tv set was the heaven i wanted to go to. i was ready. i even had my gown all picked out.

aunt margie was singing along to "ship ahoy" one of her favorite songs. whenever the time came to sing out "ship ahoy" she would lean over the arm of her chair and raise her hand to her brow, holding it like a blade and squinting into a fairy tale distance. i followed her gaze and imagined i could see the ship, too. i felt anxious that it would miss us in the drift of fog and darkness, our yearning bodies lost in the shag carpeting and particle board panelling of the florida room. we would be lost and floundering on the west coast of florida, searching and never finding our salvation on a 1969 full color RCA Zenith television set.

when her show was over, i asked aunt margie for something to roast marsh mallows on. she got up and walked to the back door, lit a cigarette and screamed at uncle joe "what in god's name do you expect me to find in this godforsaken house to give to all these kids to roast their GD marshmallows?"
and uncle joe replied, "geez oh pete sweet jesus, marge! why don't you try looking for something once in a GD while instead of asking me alla GD time. I got things to do out here! Joey is bringing over some of his old paint cans to burn!"

aunt margie surveyed the fire a moment, returned into the house, poured herself another pepsi and handed me a box of toothpicks. "here," she said. "there's plenty enough for all of you. be careful baby and tell your uncle joe to leave me alone. Guy and Ralna are up next and they are doing a number i know. come on back in if you want to sing with me. i can play along with them on the organ. you can turn the pages."

i rushed out, triumphant and big with the box of toothpicks. i passed them out to the rest of my cousins and siblings and ran to get the marshmallows. we were on our own. and we were on fire.
like i said, you can't put a band-aid on retrospection, but as i sat in the florida room with aunt margie and turned the pages with my one good hand and plunged the other into an icy cold pepsi cola, apparently the best thing for second degree burns, she sang to me her guy and ralna tune and wiped my tears with the sleeve of her pale orange chiffon house coat,i felt a small fortune in my spot on the bench next to her. "you'll always be my favorite" she told me. and even though she said that to all the neices and nephews, i believed her. unconditional love, unlike hind-sight, is never 20/20. i was in my own version of heaven, second degree burns and all. i stood on the bench, leaned into my aunt margie and whispered, "ship ahoy." we are saved.