dona's 365

First close person in my life who died, Uncle Don called me “Little Miss America”. (He had high expectations for my appearance). He was a short man who worked for the railroad and raised Dobermans. His love for me was genuine and he gave me a lasting gift: my name. Note : Don is the one on the left - the shorter of the two. (the other man was abnormally tall)

My mom always said, "If you can't say something nice about someone, don't say anything at all." Not quite following her advice about my aunt 's narrow minded husband who hurt my mom with his judgment far more than she could have hurt him by the actions of which he accused her.

I don't really remember my Grandpa Patrick. He died when I was only 3. My dad says he used to hold my bottle at an angle and I'd walk up and drink from it like a calf. He was a farmer all his life. That’s about all I know about him.

Dean in his element Originally uploaded by donapatrick . The night I met Dean at the biker bar in Elgin, I knew we would marry. It took a few years, but we did get married. I had to get something out of my system first and he was there when I was ready and has been there ever since.

Bonnie ’s older sister, Diana, married George, divorced him, then re-married him. Why? Who knows? Not long ago we spoke on the telephone and she told me about her inability to digest gluten, thinking it would help me in some way. I think my mother told her I once had diarrhea.

I remember very little about Darwin, except that he wore cowboy shirts and a perpetual sneer. Recently I saw him in old family home movie footage, but it told me nothing. He was Bonnie ’s older brother and agreed with his dad in most things. For example: “reading was for losers”.

Grandma ’s youngest brother and Auntie June ’s husband Harold was often heard chuckling about something or another. I remember once, riding in his Ford on the way to a lake in Wisconsin he sang: Wouldn’t you really rather have a PEW -ick? ” Then chucked at his cleverness. We need more like him.

How sad it is that I have no real memories of my cousin Julie. I remember her face. I remember being at her house. I remember hanging out with her. But I have no stories to tell about Julie. Of course it is only sad for me. Others knew her.

My cousin Pam and I used to pretend we were grown-ups and take dolls for walks. I’ve not seen her in years, but still have a letter she wrote me when she lost her impossibly tiny premature infant. I still cry when I read her words. Sometimes growing up sucks.

If you’ve ever heard Tom Chapin’s song, Cousins , you know what it was like when my aunt and uncle stopped by with their crew. Someone always ended up hurt and something was always broken. It was a relief when they moved to Mississippi, but I always kinda missed the excitement.

Mom called tonight to say Auntie June died. Auntie June taught me the secret to lump-free mashed potatoes. Mash the potatoes (electric mixer ok), add some butter, mash some more. Add milk when the potato mixture is smooth, never before. She had a lot of opinions, but had great advice.

Each time Uncle Verne saw me after high school he’d ask, “Whatcha doing these days?” I’d reply, “I’m going to college,” and he’d say “College is a waste of time. Get a job like Bonnie .” Also the most racist person I’ve ever known; the “n-word” never far from his lips.

Dad ’s sister, Norma, though not the youngest, in the family, was the one who was coddled the most. She’d barely survived encephalitis as a child and always seemed a little too quiet. As an adult, her children regularly feuded with one-another and her ne’er-do-well husband caused quarrels with his in-laws.

My mom ’s youngest sister and my favorite aunt, Ginny’s been a huge part of my life. More like an older sister than an aunt she has been my friend, confidant and ally. She told me that when I was born she thought of me as her real, live dress-up doll.

My closest (in age and friendship) boy cousin, Jim, was always very easy going. He didn’t have the temper his brother had. Perhaps if he had vented a little and gotten some of the same support services as Bob did, Jim would not have taken the Ben Sanderson way out.

When my Grandpa Green wasn’t reading a book or completing a crossword puzzle he’d be playing solitaire. I asked him once, what kept him from cheating. His response was “You’d only be cheating yourself.” He didn’t know it then, but that advice gave me the foundation for who I’ve become.

My most vivid memory of my cousin Debbie was the year she arrived at Grandma ’s with lice. I see Grandma combing Debbie’s long, hopelessly snarled hair and hear Debbie’s howls (Owwwwww! Grandma, that hurts!) and Grandma’s curse words: (%&$# lice!). Debbie returned from that vacation with a much shorter hairstyle.

After Uncle Quay made a pass at me at a family gathering one Christmas, I both feared and hated him. I dreamed last night I told him how angry I still was, these 33 years later. He’s no longer here to tell though. He took his own life years ago.

The only other person in my extended family who attended college, Darlene got a teaching degree, but didn’t use it for long. She was always sweet. She must have inherited all of her mother’s nice genes, because her siblings were a nasty bunch. They must have taken after their dad.

Before I could say my “r”s I called my Aunt Corrine, Aunt Queen. She is my father ’s youngest sister and she hurt his sense of morality when she divorced her abusive first husband. She’s his first line of defense these days, although she only shows up on his good days.