Tag Archives: crazy

I’m Not Judging…but…

2 Replies

HA-HA-HA-HA

The emotions surrounding my inability to write about my Crazie Aunt Kathleen aren’t quite clear to me.  Composing stories about her big brother (my father) has been easier, perhaps because he prided himself on his uniqueness.  Often times Dad knew his choice of actions or words would appear odd, but took that path anyway.

On the other hand, Aunt Kathleen doesn’t seem to recognize the peculiar things she does as…well…peculiar.  I guess what I saying is, I have a harder time laughing behind her back than I do the rest of my family.

I mean, who am I to judge that it would be Crazie to ask your niece to stop her car on the side of a busy highway and get out to pick up a shoe that’s lying in the ditch because “You never know when someone in the family might break their leg and they’d need just one shoe.”  And, in as much as I’m not judging, I didn’t point out that they’d have to break their left leg, and they’d have to wear a size 13 shoe.

Or who’s to say that it isn’t important on your way home from the hospital after an extensive stay in ICU to ask your niece to stop at the dollar store so you can buy ten bottles of lilac scented hand lotion to add to your vast collection at home?

This week she called to say the dentist told her she’d need to have all her teeth pulled and dentures made.  The cost would be approximately $5,000.

“So, of course,” she said.  “I called around to see who could do it cheaper.”

“Okayyyy,” I said, knowing the conversation was going to take a bizarre turn but not sure where that would be.

“There’s a place that advertises in the paper.  They’ll pull my teeth for $85 and make the dentures for $500.  What do you think?”

“I…well…”  I stuttered.  “I don’t even know where to start with my questions.”

“I know, it’s great, right?”

I’ll pause here to mention that Aunt Kathleen is not in the best of health.  She’s extremely obese, uses an oxygen tank and, because her joints no longer support her, she maneuvers around as slow as a snail with a walker.

“I’m not sure ‘great’ is the word I would have used,” I said and switching to my best adult-speaking-to-a-child voice I asked,  “Don’t you think it’s a little odd that one place wants $5,000 and one place wants $85?  That doesn’t seem right to me.”

“Exactly what I thought.  That dentist is ripping me off.”

I rubbed my forehead – a habit formed over years of trying to make sense of zany conversations with my family – and asked, “So the problem is the money?”

“Oh, I have enough.  That’s not the problem.”

“Then, what is?” I asked.

“Well, I’m afraid it will be a waste of money.”

“A waste?”

“I mean, what if I pay the $5,000 for the surgery and new teeth, and then I die next year?”

I am sorry to report that laughing behind her back was not the issue.  I laughed so long and so hard that she hung up on me.

Mid-Life Crisis + Wild Hare = Boondoggle

7 Replies

Still struggling through my mid-life crisis, I decided I wanted to buy a camper to take out to The Aunt Farm so that my husband and I could spend romantic nights out under the stars.  Well, not under the stars literally, because I don’t like bugs much and I can’t sleep unless it’s on a mattress and…well, you get the picture.  I liked the idea of spending the night in the woods, I just couldn’t put it into practice.

So, I hopped on Craigslist to see what I might be able to purchase for a few hundred bucks. Zoom!  I was off like a wild hare leaping from a basic “I need something to keep me off the ground” to hey, look at these cute vintage campers turned into designer digs.  I spent an entire day surfing the  net and by mid-afternoon had contacted an owner of a 13-foot trailer that, according to the pictures, still had a strong “vintage” flair to it.

One slight issue (there were many, but let’s stick to the time line) was that said camper resided 150 miles away.

“Boondoggle!” I shouted to my friend/office mate, Sharon who immediately said “I’m in.”

In the old days we’d jump in the car and go just about anywhere.  This time, she was responsible (don’t you hate that word) for her middle-school-aged son so we brought him along.  We spent the first 30 miles teaching him to say boondoggle – as it came from him as “hot doggle?  dog boggle?”

We drove

enjoying the varied scenery along the way.


We arrived too early to meet the owner of the camper but thanks to Sharon’s sister, we were informed we were within a mile of the famous Juaraz Bakery.  Off we went to hang out for a half hour.  Unfortunately for my waist line, you can buy a lot of pastries in a half hour.

Finally, we met up with the owner and stepped inside the magical camper that would transport me from mid-life crisis to Nirvana. She opened the door and I gasped as I stepped into…my mother’s 1970’s living room complete with dark wood paneling and worn out blue polyester cushions.  The cooktop had been removed and the electrical wiring didn’t work, but the good news, as the owner pointed out, she’d placed a portable toilet in the closet.

Now, I’ve got a pretty good imagination for design – When I bought my home it was filled with pink flocked wall paper and although the floors were covered in red and orange shag carpeting, I could see it’s potential.  Not here though – all I saw was a flash back to the tiny half-built bedroom from my teenage years.

We left without buying the camper and Sharon’s son was strangely quiet for the first hour on the drive home. We finally got out of him that he was sad that his first boondoggle had been a bust because we went all that way and didn’t buy anything.

“Exactly!” Sharon and I high-fived each other.  “That’s what a boondoggle is.”

Still not sold on the idea that we’d accomplished anything interesting I suggested he tell the story that he’d driven 150 miles to taste the pastries at a famous Mexican bakery.  He agreed that made a much better story and we dubbed him an official Boondoggler.

I wish I could tell you I got the wild hare out of my system but alas, there’s more to the story.  Returning to craigslist and upping my price range, I went out the next day for another long drive to look at a 35-foot trailer.  No good.

Upped the price again and drove another hundred miles to look at an mint condition 1988 RV, complete with lined and pleated curtains. It wasn’t exactly what I was looking for but it was clean and that’s worth something, right?

I drove home and spent the next two hours trying to convince my husband to drive back the hundred miles to test drive it with me.  Strangely, he had no interest in that and had the nerve to suggest that maybe I should sleep on it and make a decision in the morning.

I did and he was right.  Dammit.

According to the internet, a mid-life crisis is defined as the search for an undefined dream or goal and is manifested in behavior such as the acquisition of expensive or unusual items like motorcycles, boats, clothing, sports cars jewelry, gadgets, tattoos and piercings.

No mention of campers – so maybe I’m not having a mid-life crisis after all?