My Aunty Chris
When I was little, my Aunty Chris often made Christmas. She rarely remembered our individual birthdays, but she surely made up for it every year in December. Our tree would drastically change from being newly decorated, but with nothing underneath, to overflowing with presents. A refrigerator-sized box would arrive, and we'd shout, "Aunty Christmas has arrived!" Aunty Chris was WAY better than Santa Claus, because we actually got to see the presents in the weeks prior to the 25th, building anticipation along the way. My sister and I would get matching Christmas dresses (much nicer than any that we had), along with shoes and toys. As we got old enough, she asked my mother if it okay to simply switch to checks, and she approved. Every Christmas, including this past one, each of us would get a sizable check from my Aunty Chris and Uncle Brian (though it was always in my aunt's - my father's sister - handwriting).
***
All through elementary school, my family and I would go on a road trip from Southern California to Northern California, where my aunt and uncle lived, every Memorial Day weekend. We would even take an extra day off of school, receiving a note from our mother to bring upon our return, stating that we were sick. (My mother never intended for the teachers to believe us, she explained, but it was how our public school would continue to get money for our lack of presence.) As our 1978 Chevy Nova would never made the trek (it often didn't make the mile-long distance to school without breaking down), my father would rent an enormous van for us to take. The most famous one in our memories was the 15-person van, which had FOUR rows of bench seats - one for each child, and an extra for luggage. My mother would always buy National Enquirer and other "trashy" newspapers, because it was a road trip. We'd stop at the greasiest trucker joints on the way up and back. When I was young, I thought it was because it was all there was, but I suspect it was more to do with the fact that my father found these places fascinating. (The fact that they were relatively inexpensive didn't hurt, either.)
Once we got there, late on a Friday night, we'd be welcomed into my aunt and uncle's giant house on an acre of land in Orinda, California. She always had the nicest kitchen, filled with food for us to eat. She would specifically buy those variety packs of single-serving cereals for us to choose from, and we would always swarm towards the sugar cereal, which we weren't allowed to eat during the school year. The only time I ate Apple Jacks were during those trips to my aunt's house. They had an enormous television, and my sister and I would share the couch in the living room, able to watch it until we fell asleep (way past our bedtime).
We would take day trips to San Francisco or Santa Cruz during these mini-vacations. My memories include my brother stuffing my shoes with tissue so I could join the rest of my siblings in riding the bumper cars on the boardwalk (the ticket-taker could totally tell, but he let me on anyway), and seeing the olden Gate Bridge. Once we were in the park in San Francisco, and there were a couple of people flying kites. The kites were shaped like circles, with a long tail coming off of it, fluttering in the wind. My aunt, in front of all of us (I think I was around 7 years old), pointed at it, and went, "Hey, look! Sperm!" My mother, startled but trying to hold back laughter, responded with, "CHRIS!" I wasn't sure what sperm was, but my aunt had clearly said something scandalous. My mother has always been a naturally shy person, and I think my aunt's brassiness helped my mom to relax and speak her mind more often. She embraced my mother as a friend, instead of just her brother's wife, and I've always loved her for that.
***
It became especially apparent after puberty, but I am built much more like my dad's side of the family, and my sister is built like my mom's (which explains our 3.5 inch height difference). My aunt had a photo of her mother - my grandmother - hanging in a guest bedroom, and when I was nine years old I was suddenly struck with how much the photo reminded me of my fourth grade school picture. My grandmother passed away from cancer when my aunt was only 17, and my dad was only 8. Because my dad was so young when this happened, he rarely spoke much of his mom, but my aunt would share stories when we saw her. One that I remember is how she used to make poodle skirts for my aunt (with or without the poodle - I think it was simply about the cut, two concentric circles), and after a while, she had made so many of them for her, she could cut the fabric completely freehand. How badass is that?
***
When I was fifteen, my family flew to North Dakota to visit my Great Aunt Ruth, her son Bobby, and Mad Eye Katrina. Katrina was the weird little, really old dachshund who was missing and eye, and who was my great aunt's "little angel." Chris, after having to watch the little dog run around with her head tilted sideways, with her good eye up towards the ceiling, yelping at anyone who got near her, for an entire week before we arrived, promptly dubbed her Mad Eye. After spending some time with the extended family, my parents, sister, aunt and I left for a road trip in the RV my father rented, and the minivan my aunt rented. We traveled all across the southern North Dakota border, drove through Montana for an hour, and made our way back across the northern South Dakota border. South Dakota remains one of the most beautiful states I have ever seen. During this trip, we discovered my aunt's disgust of camping, refusal to eat in "cafes" (as in, cafés that do not have the appropriate accent written on the sign), and need for a new fork with every course of her meal, including courses that were simply iceberg lettuce with ranch dressing passing as a salad in a diner in South Dakota. My sister and I are fairly certain that her "new fork" that she demanded likely was covered in saliva by the time she received it.
There was one leg of the journey where she and I were in the minivan together, alone. I got to ask her about how she met Uncle Brian. She told me a very sweet, almost movie-quality story of how she and Brian met, dated and fell in love when they were teenagers. Unfortunately, he then left to fight in Vietnam (I don't know if he was drafted or if he joined up - either is possible, and he is certainly a very proud veteran), and my aunt moved from New York, where they were from, to Florida. After his return, he went to college, got married, and had two children, and my aunt was in a relationship with a man for seven years while working as a high-end server for very expensive restaurants and catering companies. Years later, after my uncle had gotten divorced, they met up again, and rekindled their romance. When they got married, my father, with my mother, attempted to surprise them by attending their near-elopement, but they got lost on the way. My aunt told me, laughing, about the miserable tone in my father's voice when he had called her, from a pay phone, asking for directions: "You know your father, and how he would have loved to have just shown up! But they got lost and he had to admit defeat. Ha! But they made it in the end."
My Uncle Brian became an executive of an ice cream company in California, and my aunt became a business wife, i.e. a professional hostess. Her years as a server and a caterer served their purpose - she played her role well. But I never saw much joy in how she cooked. She did it, efficiently, and it was all extraordinarily delicious (she was the first person I had ever seen make brussel sprouts with bacon, and it changed my world forever), but it was all for the finished product rather than the process.
***
After they had sold their house in Orinda and purchased a ranch house with 10 acres near Austin, Texas (and a condo in Jupiter, Florida), we visited them for Thanksgiving in Texas. It was a month after Joseph died, and I was a bit of a wreck. I had made a fruit crisp for one of the desserts, and even though it was cooked, my family encouraged me to put the dessert under the broiler for a minute or so to brown the top some more. I had very little experience with using a broiler, and I walked away. Suddenly the dessert literally caught on fire. Screaming ensued (thankfully we had a firefighter in attendance who calmly placed a dish cloth on the top of the baking dish, and the fire quickly went out), and I remember being angry for being pressured to put the dessert in there in the first place. My siblings were terrified that I would be upset that the dessert was now completely burned, and kept shouting that it was okay, as they tried to pick off most of the black chunks. It was their shouting and concern that really got me, though, and I burst into racking sobs. My aunt took me over to her, and wrapped her long arms around me, surrounding me with her full 5'9" frame. "My friend just died," I sobbed into her shoulder. "I know," she said, holding me tighter.
***
After my Great Aunt Ruth died, we traveled to North Dakota once more for her funeral. My aunt continued to be the one who took care of everything, arranging details of the funeral, arranging dinners, taking care of her cousin Bobby. Aunty Chris took care of business. She also confessed to me that she felt like she was losing her mom for the second time, because my Aunt Ruth was the last of her living siblings, and the one Chris became closest to after her mom died. My strong aunt who would shout inappropriate things in front of children and whom I never saw cry, showed that vulnerability to me that weekend. I recognized that behavior - reporting about those emotions, after dealing with them in private first, is something most people see in me. There are very few people that I feel comfortable enough to share pre-analyzed and processed emotions with, if I'm not caught off guard. Maybe I got that from her.
I also watch her watch her and Brian's dog in doggy day care through the internet, calling for Brian ("BRIAN!"), and demanding that they tell the day care employees to check on their dog, because she looks sad. Her animals were her babies.
***
They sold their Texan ranch and moved to Florida full-time. She wants a house, she explained, but she needs to be near the water. Most of their things, including this enormous table they had my entire life, made out of redwood that had a natural hole in one end, was in storage, to fit in a 1500 square foot condo from their 4000 square foot house. She despised having two houses, two communities, and never feeling settled. I understood. I did tell her, though, if she still had that ranch house, I would have been likely calling her and asking if I could have my wedding there. It was absolutely spectacular.
***
My Uncle Brian has cancer. They discovered it in his throat, and they had to remove part of his esophagus. My mom said that they were planning on going to Florida for Thanksgiving this year, to spend time with them. I asked my mother, meaningfully, if David and I should come to Florida for Thanksgiving instead of California for Christmas, as she knew we could only afford one trip this year. My mother paused, and said yes.
***
The condo is beautiful, and has a spectacular view of the beach. My aunt and uncle look tired, but seem to enjoy having us there. We try to do as much as possible to take care of things on our own, and to get out of the house so that they could rest. My mother mentions to me that she's worried that Chris has been taking such attentive care of Brian that she hasn't been taking care of herself. The illness has taken a toll on them both, but they still laugh, and David confesses to me how much my aunt reminds him of his mother.
During this trip my aunt and I realize that we have nearly identical feet, save the forty-year age difference. I tease her, saying that her feet are my future. Maybe I'll get a tattoo when I turn fifty, too, like she did.
***
My aunt is generous, weird, wonderful, brass, and larger than life. She raised show dogs and show alpacas, and loved her nieces and nephew with all her heart. She had the most distinctive voice, and would pronounce things as cyouuuuute. She would take care of everyone around her, and make people laugh when they least expected to.
Christine Wicks, my Aunty Chris, passed away this morning. Her birthday is tomorrow.
I'm not going to post this today, April 21, 2012, because my sister is currently on a day-long flight to Canada and doesn't know yet. I don't feel comfortable posting this in my small corner of the internet until she knows.
We've known since last Friday that she hasn't been doing well. I got a text from my mother, whom my uncle called, and I had a tear-filled conversation with her as she waited for my Dad to come home from work early, as she asked him to. They flew out to Florida the next day, and were able to help over the weekend. My siblings and I sent flowers, and my mom said that while she wasn't always very aware, she saw the flowers and loved them. My parents left on Tuesday, but they were able to see that Chris had an arsenal of friends that she's earned over the years taking care of both her and Brian. Chris is my dad's only sibling, and the first of my parent's generation in my family to pass away.
Aunty Chris, I love you. I miss you. You are one of the strongest people I've ever known, and have been a terrific role model for me. You will be remembered for all you are.
***
All through elementary school, my family and I would go on a road trip from Southern California to Northern California, where my aunt and uncle lived, every Memorial Day weekend. We would even take an extra day off of school, receiving a note from our mother to bring upon our return, stating that we were sick. (My mother never intended for the teachers to believe us, she explained, but it was how our public school would continue to get money for our lack of presence.) As our 1978 Chevy Nova would never made the trek (it often didn't make the mile-long distance to school without breaking down), my father would rent an enormous van for us to take. The most famous one in our memories was the 15-person van, which had FOUR rows of bench seats - one for each child, and an extra for luggage. My mother would always buy National Enquirer and other "trashy" newspapers, because it was a road trip. We'd stop at the greasiest trucker joints on the way up and back. When I was young, I thought it was because it was all there was, but I suspect it was more to do with the fact that my father found these places fascinating. (The fact that they were relatively inexpensive didn't hurt, either.)
Once we got there, late on a Friday night, we'd be welcomed into my aunt and uncle's giant house on an acre of land in Orinda, California. She always had the nicest kitchen, filled with food for us to eat. She would specifically buy those variety packs of single-serving cereals for us to choose from, and we would always swarm towards the sugar cereal, which we weren't allowed to eat during the school year. The only time I ate Apple Jacks were during those trips to my aunt's house. They had an enormous television, and my sister and I would share the couch in the living room, able to watch it until we fell asleep (way past our bedtime).
We would take day trips to San Francisco or Santa Cruz during these mini-vacations. My memories include my brother stuffing my shoes with tissue so I could join the rest of my siblings in riding the bumper cars on the boardwalk (the ticket-taker could totally tell, but he let me on anyway), and seeing the olden Gate Bridge. Once we were in the park in San Francisco, and there were a couple of people flying kites. The kites were shaped like circles, with a long tail coming off of it, fluttering in the wind. My aunt, in front of all of us (I think I was around 7 years old), pointed at it, and went, "Hey, look! Sperm!" My mother, startled but trying to hold back laughter, responded with, "CHRIS!" I wasn't sure what sperm was, but my aunt had clearly said something scandalous. My mother has always been a naturally shy person, and I think my aunt's brassiness helped my mom to relax and speak her mind more often. She embraced my mother as a friend, instead of just her brother's wife, and I've always loved her for that.
***
It became especially apparent after puberty, but I am built much more like my dad's side of the family, and my sister is built like my mom's (which explains our 3.5 inch height difference). My aunt had a photo of her mother - my grandmother - hanging in a guest bedroom, and when I was nine years old I was suddenly struck with how much the photo reminded me of my fourth grade school picture. My grandmother passed away from cancer when my aunt was only 17, and my dad was only 8. Because my dad was so young when this happened, he rarely spoke much of his mom, but my aunt would share stories when we saw her. One that I remember is how she used to make poodle skirts for my aunt (with or without the poodle - I think it was simply about the cut, two concentric circles), and after a while, she had made so many of them for her, she could cut the fabric completely freehand. How badass is that?
***
When I was fifteen, my family flew to North Dakota to visit my Great Aunt Ruth, her son Bobby, and Mad Eye Katrina. Katrina was the weird little, really old dachshund who was missing and eye, and who was my great aunt's "little angel." Chris, after having to watch the little dog run around with her head tilted sideways, with her good eye up towards the ceiling, yelping at anyone who got near her, for an entire week before we arrived, promptly dubbed her Mad Eye. After spending some time with the extended family, my parents, sister, aunt and I left for a road trip in the RV my father rented, and the minivan my aunt rented. We traveled all across the southern North Dakota border, drove through Montana for an hour, and made our way back across the northern South Dakota border. South Dakota remains one of the most beautiful states I have ever seen. During this trip, we discovered my aunt's disgust of camping, refusal to eat in "cafes" (as in, cafés that do not have the appropriate accent written on the sign), and need for a new fork with every course of her meal, including courses that were simply iceberg lettuce with ranch dressing passing as a salad in a diner in South Dakota. My sister and I are fairly certain that her "new fork" that she demanded likely was covered in saliva by the time she received it.
There was one leg of the journey where she and I were in the minivan together, alone. I got to ask her about how she met Uncle Brian. She told me a very sweet, almost movie-quality story of how she and Brian met, dated and fell in love when they were teenagers. Unfortunately, he then left to fight in Vietnam (I don't know if he was drafted or if he joined up - either is possible, and he is certainly a very proud veteran), and my aunt moved from New York, where they were from, to Florida. After his return, he went to college, got married, and had two children, and my aunt was in a relationship with a man for seven years while working as a high-end server for very expensive restaurants and catering companies. Years later, after my uncle had gotten divorced, they met up again, and rekindled their romance. When they got married, my father, with my mother, attempted to surprise them by attending their near-elopement, but they got lost on the way. My aunt told me, laughing, about the miserable tone in my father's voice when he had called her, from a pay phone, asking for directions: "You know your father, and how he would have loved to have just shown up! But they got lost and he had to admit defeat. Ha! But they made it in the end."
My Uncle Brian became an executive of an ice cream company in California, and my aunt became a business wife, i.e. a professional hostess. Her years as a server and a caterer served their purpose - she played her role well. But I never saw much joy in how she cooked. She did it, efficiently, and it was all extraordinarily delicious (she was the first person I had ever seen make brussel sprouts with bacon, and it changed my world forever), but it was all for the finished product rather than the process.
***
After they had sold their house in Orinda and purchased a ranch house with 10 acres near Austin, Texas (and a condo in Jupiter, Florida), we visited them for Thanksgiving in Texas. It was a month after Joseph died, and I was a bit of a wreck. I had made a fruit crisp for one of the desserts, and even though it was cooked, my family encouraged me to put the dessert under the broiler for a minute or so to brown the top some more. I had very little experience with using a broiler, and I walked away. Suddenly the dessert literally caught on fire. Screaming ensued (thankfully we had a firefighter in attendance who calmly placed a dish cloth on the top of the baking dish, and the fire quickly went out), and I remember being angry for being pressured to put the dessert in there in the first place. My siblings were terrified that I would be upset that the dessert was now completely burned, and kept shouting that it was okay, as they tried to pick off most of the black chunks. It was their shouting and concern that really got me, though, and I burst into racking sobs. My aunt took me over to her, and wrapped her long arms around me, surrounding me with her full 5'9" frame. "My friend just died," I sobbed into her shoulder. "I know," she said, holding me tighter.
***
After my Great Aunt Ruth died, we traveled to North Dakota once more for her funeral. My aunt continued to be the one who took care of everything, arranging details of the funeral, arranging dinners, taking care of her cousin Bobby. Aunty Chris took care of business. She also confessed to me that she felt like she was losing her mom for the second time, because my Aunt Ruth was the last of her living siblings, and the one Chris became closest to after her mom died. My strong aunt who would shout inappropriate things in front of children and whom I never saw cry, showed that vulnerability to me that weekend. I recognized that behavior - reporting about those emotions, after dealing with them in private first, is something most people see in me. There are very few people that I feel comfortable enough to share pre-analyzed and processed emotions with, if I'm not caught off guard. Maybe I got that from her.
I also watch her watch her and Brian's dog in doggy day care through the internet, calling for Brian ("BRIAN!"), and demanding that they tell the day care employees to check on their dog, because she looks sad. Her animals were her babies.
***
They sold their Texan ranch and moved to Florida full-time. She wants a house, she explained, but she needs to be near the water. Most of their things, including this enormous table they had my entire life, made out of redwood that had a natural hole in one end, was in storage, to fit in a 1500 square foot condo from their 4000 square foot house. She despised having two houses, two communities, and never feeling settled. I understood. I did tell her, though, if she still had that ranch house, I would have been likely calling her and asking if I could have my wedding there. It was absolutely spectacular.
***
My Uncle Brian has cancer. They discovered it in his throat, and they had to remove part of his esophagus. My mom said that they were planning on going to Florida for Thanksgiving this year, to spend time with them. I asked my mother, meaningfully, if David and I should come to Florida for Thanksgiving instead of California for Christmas, as she knew we could only afford one trip this year. My mother paused, and said yes.
***
The condo is beautiful, and has a spectacular view of the beach. My aunt and uncle look tired, but seem to enjoy having us there. We try to do as much as possible to take care of things on our own, and to get out of the house so that they could rest. My mother mentions to me that she's worried that Chris has been taking such attentive care of Brian that she hasn't been taking care of herself. The illness has taken a toll on them both, but they still laugh, and David confesses to me how much my aunt reminds him of his mother.
During this trip my aunt and I realize that we have nearly identical feet, save the forty-year age difference. I tease her, saying that her feet are my future. Maybe I'll get a tattoo when I turn fifty, too, like she did.
***
My aunt is generous, weird, wonderful, brass, and larger than life. She raised show dogs and show alpacas, and loved her nieces and nephew with all her heart. She had the most distinctive voice, and would pronounce things as cyouuuuute. She would take care of everyone around her, and make people laugh when they least expected to.
Christine Wicks, my Aunty Chris, passed away this morning. Her birthday is tomorrow.
I'm not going to post this today, April 21, 2012, because my sister is currently on a day-long flight to Canada and doesn't know yet. I don't feel comfortable posting this in my small corner of the internet until she knows.
We've known since last Friday that she hasn't been doing well. I got a text from my mother, whom my uncle called, and I had a tear-filled conversation with her as she waited for my Dad to come home from work early, as she asked him to. They flew out to Florida the next day, and were able to help over the weekend. My siblings and I sent flowers, and my mom said that while she wasn't always very aware, she saw the flowers and loved them. My parents left on Tuesday, but they were able to see that Chris had an arsenal of friends that she's earned over the years taking care of both her and Brian. Chris is my dad's only sibling, and the first of my parent's generation in my family to pass away.
Aunty Chris, I love you. I miss you. You are one of the strongest people I've ever known, and have been a terrific role model for me. You will be remembered for all you are.