Every time an old relative dies, so do snippets of your past .
It’s as though a string connecting you to the past has been cut by a pair of scissors, and like a tethered balloon , the memory bounces in your psychi for a moment before flitting away.
My sister messaged me a few days ago to let me know that our Auntie Joyce had died at the age of 97 .
I hasn’t seen her for forty six years, so upset wasn’t on the agenda, but I was transported to a time my parents were party people and relatives ways looked older than they actually were.
Aunty Joyce was in fact a second cousin. She was a short, pear shaped and overly vivacious woman , with red lipstick and strangely surprised looking drawn on eyebrows. She laughed long and hard and looked as though she had just walked out of a 1940s drama movie.
She always wore a full length fur coat
Even when I was a young man, I was always fascinated by Auntie Joyce’s eyebrows, or more importantly the lack of them. She drew her brows with an obvious flourish, giving herself an exotic,and permanently shocked look.
Remembering Joyce brought back vignettes of house parties when the men all wore ties and drank whiskey and the woman sported lumpy dresses and drank martini and lemonade. The house stank of cigarettes and cigars, perfumes and old spice.
And as a child the extended family visits reinforced my father’s status as patriarch
Joyce and her famous eyebrows have now gone
And another sliver of my past has dissolved into nothing
Good on her for getting to 97! I'm from a {mostly} long-lived family, and know the feeling of remembering people as though they stepped out of black and white movies.
ReplyDeleteI know exactly what you mean. I lost a friend recently. He was 92 and we had not been in touch for 40+ years. The memories do flood in.
ReplyDeleteJoyce sounds like a real character. One-of-a-kind and never to be forgotten person. RIP Joyce.
Very nicely put John. The trouble is that when family members die you can no longer ask them anything. There are many questions I would like to put to my deceased family members but I guess I will have wait until I am on the other side. R.I.P. Aunty Joyce.
ReplyDeleteMy parents were party people as well, this brought back many memories of those times. Thank you for this. RIP Auntie Joyce.
ReplyDeleteMy sympathy, John. Tho the dynamic Joyce is now gone, your memories of her and family gatherings are still yours.
ReplyDelete97! Hope she enjoyed every one of her years.
Hugs!
Thank you for sharing your memories of Aunty Joyce. With your inimitable descriptive writing, I know we can all see her in our mind's eye, and I bet many of us are now thinking of various characters in our own lives! xx
ReplyDeleteI instantly though of my paternal grandmother Molly, not because she resembled your Aunty Joyce, but because she lived to be 95 and there were so many things I wish I could have asked her, but since I had long moved away from my youthful homeland, those questions remain unanswered. She looked like she had just walked out of a Dutch painting pouring out a porcelain pitcher; round, and short, and with her thin white hair twisted into a tiny knot in the back with a giant brown Bakelite hair pin holding it in place. She was of German descent and stubborn as a mule when it counted. When she found out my grandfather had attended a KKK meeting, she told my grandfather if he ever attended another one, she would divorce him and take all of her inherited substantial farm acreage with her along with all five children who were his cheap farm labor. He never attended another Klan meeting.
ReplyDeleteI had an auntie with drawn-on eyebrows too because she had no real ones left, the consequence of over-plucking her brows as a teen in the 1920s when all the movie stars had fashionable pencil-thin flapper/vamp brows. Luckily my auntie had quite a bit of artistic skill, so they didn't look TOO bad, all things considered.
ReplyDeleteBut that Auntie Joyce sliver of your past hasn't dissolved at all, John, you have your memories and now a blog post to remind you.
ReplyDeleteYour description is perfect. I can picture it all.
ReplyDeleteIf only I had your ability to write I would respond in a worthy manner. Happy Hooker gave the response I wish I had the talent to create. However, I will add that this reminded me so much of my Aunt Sarah. She and Uncle Wesley lived in Chicago and led a very glamorous life. I had to stop and think about the years - I must have been about 9 when Uncle Wesley died. Aunt Sarah was never the same of course but managed to carry on with her life as best she could. You describe her so well it's as if you knew her. I wonder how many "Aunty Joyce's" there are? I wonder if they had any idea the impact they were making on our young selves.
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