Friday, April 22, 2011


Oh, I'm having a day when I'm missing my Aunts.  I had the best Aunts. 
I had an Aunt Jack and an Aunt Bill just to name two.  The fact that we never questioned their unusual Aunt-names says a lot about how our family embraces our inner quirkiness. 
My Aunt Bill loved to spruce things up with paint.
There was always a new project or two drying on her back porch.  The fact that her prized possessions rippled with so many coats of hope springs eternal never deterred her from applying just one more fresh coat. 
I wish I had seen this sign and sent it to her before she went to heaven.
She did rule our world.  At her funeral her pastor followed her instructions to single out her son and tell him to get right with God and go to church.  It was by no stretch of the imagination a politically correct sermon. 
There he sat.  We knew who it was and so did he.  Every one's ears turned purple and that pastor -- God love his soul  -- just kept at it per Aunt Bills instructions. 
It was a welcome relief to get back to the church, eat fried chicken and change the subject.
But you know what?  The next Sunday morning found her son darkening the doorway of Pleasant View Baptist church and he's been a regular ever since. 
I wonder if she's looking down and thinking "Now, that is a pleasant view after all."

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