Aunt Susan. Her distinctive voice- always slightly husky. I can hear her explaining something to someone, laughing at a joke, or shouting for one of her kids. All I have to do is picture her face and the sounds flood my ears. I loved her. I doubt I ever told her that. I need to send her a card. Everyone should know when someone loves them.
I remember the house in Simi Valley, the house in Newhall, and the one in Spring Valley Lake. By the time we lived in Landers, they lived in Hesperia and drove a bright green Triumph. However, in my mind anyway, Aunt Susan drives a station wagon. She drove it through a garage door once when a dog tried to attack Johnny. She drove at lightning speed when Julie tripped on the bleachers at Berechyn’s football game and split her tongue.
She was also famous for her ‘minutes’. Oh, I’m not talking about the notes of official meetings ala “Robert’s Rules of Order” but literal seconds combining into minutes that eventually become hours. I think that was her point, actually. I think she was trying to teach the boys about time. Yep. That’s gotta be it.
It usually started around four o’clock. We took turns you know. One of us, often Johnny, would amble into the living room or dining room where the parents were playing cards or talking and say, “When’s dinner mom?” Now, note that he didn’t ask what was for dinner. I don’t remember ever asking what we were having. I always remember the question being, “When is dinner?”
“In a minute.”
I don’t ever remember any other answer. “In a minute,” was very all-encompassing. We’d wait an hour or two and try again. Michael would amble into the room… “When’s dinner?”
“In a minute.”
By now, I was usually starving. We ate on a fairly rigid schedule in our house and the idea of making it past six without dinner seemed incredible. The questions came in closer succession now. Approximately every thirty minutes. They’d try me. “You ask her. You’re the guest, maybe she’ll make dinner for you.” Off I’d go. “Aunt Susan, we were wondering when we’ll have dinner?”
“In a minute.” (I often got a sweetie in there.)
Fifteen minutes later, we’d send in Scott. The baby of the family don’tcha know. “Mom, when’s dinner?”
“In a minute.”
Usually after eight-thirty and before ten, we’d go in once more and she’d be in there pulling hamburgers and hotdogs off a grill. I remember mac & cheese at her house. (We never had mac & cheese at my house.)
At home, mom and I would joke… “In an Aunt Susan minute…”
We said it affectionately. Those are some of my best memories. Whodda thunk?
