You can't take it with you but you can take a bit for a while
When I was young, my grandmother used to take me with her when she visited my Aunt Shirley, Uncle Larry and cousin Lori after they moved to Columbus, Ind. from our hometown about 90 minutes westward.
Aunt Shirley, my mother's sister, married Uncle Larry, my father's brother. They met when they were about five years old and married 12 years later. They built a successful business together and retired together, returning near their hometown for their golden years. I don't remember many occasions where one wasn't without the other.
Her recent death ended that. Seventy-five years of knowing each other, 63 years of marriage, a lifetime of dry jokes, euchre nights, bowling and collecting all sort of glass and cast iron cookware.
There are great photos of Shirley wearing an "I Dream of Jeanie" like dress for a Homecoming float, and Larry suited up for a brother's wedding. They were super cool. Uncle Larry is the strong, silent type unless he has a story to tell, and then he can make you pee your pants because you laugh so much.
Lori was about a year younger than me, so it made sense that I got to tag along on my grandmother's trips. I'm sure that she and I must have talked as she drove the Indiana highways toward Aunt Shirley's house, but mostly I remember reading Harlequin romances that she and mother got by the bag-full from a used bookstore in Linton.
She was always amazed that I could read in the car and not get sick. Maybe she should have found more age-appropriate reading for me, but then again, reading is fundamental, and all reading is good.
All I know is I looked forward to those trips that meant I'd leave behind a house full of siblings for the quiet of a house where an only child lived. In the beginning, they lived in an apartment in the city, which was exotic to my farmhouse self. One year, Aunt Shirley bought Lori and me matching, white go-go boots. They might have just been zip-up winter boots, but I remember them as go-go boots and boy were we something in them.
We also hung out a lot with my other only child cousin, Howard, the son of my mother's other sister. I still carry the "Slow me down, Lord," keychain he bought me when I was 16. I don't see enough of him, and I'm tired of seeing him at funerals. We need more fun family gatherings.
Aunt Shirley was my "cool aunt." I think all of my sisters had their own special relationship with her. Donna was the first grandchild for my mother's mother. My dad was in the service at the time and stationed in Germany, so nearly 10-year-old Shirley (the former baby of the family) must have been commissioned to watch the baby from time to time. That situation was rinse and repeated when I came along, though there were five other siblings that Donna had to deal with.
I started this post the week my aunt died, and I just couldn't finish it. She's not replaceable. She and Larry welcomed Jeff into the family with open arms. She never hesitated to correct him when he tried to tell her how to properly take care of cast iron, and she quickly forgave him when he fell into her birdbath and broke it during one of their legendary Fourth of July fireworks parties. He and Larry and my Uncle Ed polluted the country air with so much cordite that there probably still aren't mosquitoes out that way.
So many good times. I'm thinking of her a lot lately. Maybe it's because the irises are starting to bloom. My grandmother's name (and Howard's mom) was Iris. I took them from my mother's yard years ago, and they've never been more happy to reach to the sky than this year. I can't wait for all the buds to bloom.
I highly recommend stealing a plant (or wrangling a plant-able gift) from a loved one so you can have them with you for years to come. And if you move and can't take them with you, you're still ensuring there's a little bit of their beauty still in the world.
Godspeed, Aunt Shirley. Please report to your sisters and your mother that we're all doing well, but we do miss you. Thank you all for the guidance, the humor and the love.
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