Many family stories have Aunt Carolyn and my Mother as the central figures. They knew how to have a good time and create a comedic scenes without trying. A regular Lucy and Ethel. Laurel and Hardy. I never understood the reason, but the combination of these two women never brought a dull moment.
Aunt Carolyn and my Mother were never easily swayed from trying. They first meet when my Mother was 18 and Aunt C was 16. They were the sisters that neither had growing up. Their antics spanned over decades. First and foremost, you have to understand that Aunt C was a red head, and a good-looking one at that. I remember her rosy-permed hair, perfectly formed and bouncy when you touched it. I'm not sure but I think she casted a love spell on Uncle Dick that he never got over.
One particular misadventure began when they had the bright idea of making sauerkraut. The practice of fermenting chopped cabbage began ages ago. Perfected by many cultures across many lands. The recipe remains to this day simple. Cut up the cabbage, pack it in salt to ferment, add some caraway seeds if desired, put a lid on it, and leave it alone. A clean container, cabbage, salt, time... Their honest attempt turned disastrous. The stench finally dissipated, forming a cloud over a nearby field. The container ruined, discarded to the landfill somewhere. My cousin had to take the concoction out into the yard and bury it. To this day, no grass grows on that spot at the red-bricked homestead out on Main Street. And I'm sure ages and ages hence from now, a biochemistry major will study that plot of land to determine the reason why.
Later, Aunt C attempted to teach my Mother to make pie dough. The early morning hours began with high hopes that Mother would master the technique and by evening we would be enjoying the fruits of their labor. After several hours, bowls of mixtures of flour, water, and whatever else you put in began to stack up. The lesson ended poorly by early afternoon. I think I may have used some of it as a substitute for modeling clay. None of my creations survive. And my Mother continued to keep Pillsbury's already-made pie dough in business.
One specific incident involving Aunt C sent this skinny kid into fits. Aunt C worked at bank in Anderson and sometimes we would go and pick her up from work. One particular trip would prove exciting. As I recall, I stood, just high enough to see out the front windshield, in the center of the back seat next to my sister, and maybe a cousin on the other side. Letting a kid stand in a moving car isnt' something that you could allow today without the police pulling you over. It was back in the day when you didn't drive like a bat out of hell. Aunt C sat in the front passenger seat, un-primping herself, while my Mother drove. From my vantage point, it appeared that Aunt C began to peel off the hair on her head. She then tossed it into the back seat. This ball of hair flew right at me. There's nothing more scarier than seeing your Aunt's head of hair come flying at you, even if it was just a wig. Everyone laughed, but me.
CSM
Aunt Carolyn and my Mother were never easily swayed from trying. They first meet when my Mother was 18 and Aunt C was 16. They were the sisters that neither had growing up. Their antics spanned over decades. First and foremost, you have to understand that Aunt C was a red head, and a good-looking one at that. I remember her rosy-permed hair, perfectly formed and bouncy when you touched it. I'm not sure but I think she casted a love spell on Uncle Dick that he never got over.
One particular misadventure began when they had the bright idea of making sauerkraut. The practice of fermenting chopped cabbage began ages ago. Perfected by many cultures across many lands. The recipe remains to this day simple. Cut up the cabbage, pack it in salt to ferment, add some caraway seeds if desired, put a lid on it, and leave it alone. A clean container, cabbage, salt, time... Their honest attempt turned disastrous. The stench finally dissipated, forming a cloud over a nearby field. The container ruined, discarded to the landfill somewhere. My cousin had to take the concoction out into the yard and bury it. To this day, no grass grows on that spot at the red-bricked homestead out on Main Street. And I'm sure ages and ages hence from now, a biochemistry major will study that plot of land to determine the reason why.
Later, Aunt C attempted to teach my Mother to make pie dough. The early morning hours began with high hopes that Mother would master the technique and by evening we would be enjoying the fruits of their labor. After several hours, bowls of mixtures of flour, water, and whatever else you put in began to stack up. The lesson ended poorly by early afternoon. I think I may have used some of it as a substitute for modeling clay. None of my creations survive. And my Mother continued to keep Pillsbury's already-made pie dough in business.
One specific incident involving Aunt C sent this skinny kid into fits. Aunt C worked at bank in Anderson and sometimes we would go and pick her up from work. One particular trip would prove exciting. As I recall, I stood, just high enough to see out the front windshield, in the center of the back seat next to my sister, and maybe a cousin on the other side. Letting a kid stand in a moving car isnt' something that you could allow today without the police pulling you over. It was back in the day when you didn't drive like a bat out of hell. Aunt C sat in the front passenger seat, un-primping herself, while my Mother drove. From my vantage point, it appeared that Aunt C began to peel off the hair on her head. She then tossed it into the back seat. This ball of hair flew right at me. There's nothing more scarier than seeing your Aunt's head of hair come flying at you, even if it was just a wig. Everyone laughed, but me.
CSM
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