If you cannot get rid of the family skeleton, you may as well make it dance – George Bernard Shaw
Many years ago, I wrote a few notes about beloved and astounding relatives.
My aunt, officially thirty-five percent disabled and half the rest of the time not feeling real good, works four days a week, then comes home and does housework until she drops. Cooks a great meal. She just turned down a promotion, her own office with her name on the door, if she’d work Fridays, too.
My uncle, retired after twenty-eight successful years at IBM, took a part-time job in the produce department of the local grocery where he puts in forty hours weekly, including nights and weekends. My cousin attends the local university, reasonably full-time, then works five nights a week as a waiter.
Saturday mornings, my uncle and cousin clean a doctor’s office for extra cash.
Me? I set the table before dinner, clear it afterwards, end of chores. I rest between meals.
Don’t Really Think I’m Lazy.
Reach for the bunny, lose a finger
And for the first time in a decade, even more, the old man visited. Took the young redhead with him. Least he could do on their anniversary.
Just kidding. Actually that was her present to him. His present to her was two days without relatives.
You know what I’m talking about.
They had visited her daughter, the single mom with three boys, two bedrooms and one bath. Scheduled to be there, crammed together, five days.
Right on cue, that lovely hostess speaks in a husky voice, “Like Benjamin Franklin said, fish and relatives begin to stink after three days.”
He called the nearest Marriott and said, goodbye.
Lesson learned.
The old man decided to pay homage to his parents and take Mom and Dad’s route to the relatives. First mistake, now known as The Long Way. Never even saw an alligator, let alone a boa constrictor.
Colony Hotel & Cabana Club. Convenient to everything, especially the hot spots. Got there eventually, parked between a Land Rover Sport and a Tesla S. His daily driver is a slinky black hot rod but suddenly his dick wasn’t feeling so big. Certainly not his wallet.
Hot. Don’t feel so good. Nowhere to get a milkshake. At the Cafe Martier, back bar, lovely Jordan agreed to concoct something cool and creamy. Gave the young redhead a twenty to get herself a drink. Jordan charged me six-fifty for her custom concoction. http://www.delraycaffemartier.com/home.html
“Where’s my change?”, he asked his bride when she returned with her vodka soda. She gave him back a dollar.
“I tipped a five, didn’t want to seem cheap.”
Grey Goose, my ass.
Delray Beach where the “RealFeel” is one-oh-three in the shade. Pillars of heat ripple from the streets and sidewalks and parking lots.
Nowhere in this burg to get fried oysters. Except an appetizer of six bi-valves at J&J’s Seafood. http://www.jjseafooddelray.com/
Amazon is locating Florida’s first Whole Foods 365 in Delray Beach. Aimed at millennials with more money than time.
So, the old man drove his increasingly cool car north, moved up to Boynton Beach.
Welcome to the peace and the quiet and kosher delicatessens.
https://www.sundekbeachhouse.com/
Dinner conversation mostly a matter of catching up, descriptions of numerous medical procedures and the usual number of fart jokes.
The Uncle told a fun tale of hanging an anatomically correct teddy bear by the noose outside the club manager’s office. Had the threatening letter from The Association’s lawyer framed.
The Aunt has some bizarre cardiac condition, so mysterious even the best doctors in Miami with Jewish names can’t find the cause. Doesn’t matter.
She woke up yesterday and her heart is as good as new. That’s the thing about mysteries.
The Young Redhead told about the time the bird, large and white, had pooped on her head.
Everybody agreed, she fit right in with the rest of the family.
Cousin Otis about the same age as the old man. Same condition.
Creaky and cranky but still loving family and toys.