Goodbye Aunt Loris and Uncle Claud

There were six of us cousins growing up. Three Padgett’s and three Mann’s. We spent every holiday together: Ripping open colorful packages and squealing with delight, playing hide-and-seek in those amazing Berkeley houses, and searching our enchanted gardens for elves at twilight. That’s how I remember it, because I was the youngest and was doted upon, looked after and spoiled. Mom, Dad, Aunt Loris and Uncle Claud pretty much left us alone to enjoy our childhoods. But somehow I knew they had woven a cocoon around us that kept us safe.

When I was my most troubled, around age 13, I would leave home at the drop of a hat, furious with life, running away. I smoke, drank, and wore too much make-up. We had moved to the suburbs after “The Divorce” and I did not fit in, so I often ran away to roam the streets of Berkeley. I remember turning up at the Domingo house where my Aunt and Uncle lived, and being given food and drink and comfort. I especially remember Uncle Claud focusing on me, just me. Praising my abilities, never a critical or harsh word. I could almost see myself through his eyes, and that was enough to keep me going. So different from my own father, whose comments left me fighting tears with slumped shoulders.

Uncle Claud was different. For one thing, he was a star—working for Channel 2 news, reporting all through the tumultuous 60’s and 70’s. There he was on TV, looking so handsome at 10 pm. He had the ability to make anyone feel good about what they were doing. I have never met anyone else who was as genuine, generous and caring. Not ever. What a remarkable gift.

My Aunt was a mystery to me as a child, smelling of exotic perfumes and wrapped in soft jersey, jewels sparkling at her ears and throat. Like Lauren Bacall, she had a dark, smoky beauty. (partially because all the rooms were hazy, since everyone smoked!) There were all sorts of subtle wonders that I absorbed as a child because of my Aunt. I recall lovely paisley shawls and big books on art, quotes from famous writers and wonderful parties where sherry was served in jewel-toned glasses.

Later, as a young married adult, the slightly twisted Padgett humor emerged from me (thanks for that, Dad) and linked up with my Aunt’s razon-sharp wit. I began to appreciate that we shared something very special and personal. From then on we always laughed when we were together, usually at someone else’s expense. Nothing was verboten—god, what a relief that was! I will miss that more than I can express.

I can still feel the warm glow of magic these two people wrought in my young life. They are part of who I am, and I am a better person because of them.

Uncle Claud's Obit:
http://www.legacy.com/SFGate/DeathNotices.asp?Page=Notice&PersonID=108304948

The Big Ears Solution

When my daughter was a baby she needed me to do it all: Make breakfast and mud pies, schedule doctor visits and play dates, and manifest a myriad of activities that were both interesting and safe. Then she learned to ask for what she wanted: Can I go to Chelsea's? Will you bake cookies? Find my blue bear? Watch me dance? Kiss my owie? I was the Happy Fulfiller of her wants and needs. I loved this job. It fit in my soul and made me happy—and even allowed me time for a "money job" on the side.

Then one day when she was around thirteen, I GOT FIRED. Just fired from my Mommy job. Oh, not in those words, but dismissal was extremely clear. "Mom! Don't tell me what to do!" "You can't make me!" "You don’t understand me!" Well, hell. What was I suppose to do now? I refused to reenact my mother's role during my own hair-raising adolescence. I would not be the enemy—it left too many scars. Without a role model, I turned to the facts: I loved my daughter, and I believed in her innate honesty, integrity and intelligence. She was going through massive changes, and my parenting style wasn’t working anymore.

After much reading and talking with my husband, mother, sister and dog, I had a new goal. I wanted to be rehired as Trusted Advisor for this emerging creature that was my rosy-cheeked sweet pea just yesterday. In response, I became a head with a gigantic pair of ears that listened and nodded, listened and nodded, without comment... no really! I kept my mouth glued shut until the silence came. And it always did. Then, I would utter a very sincere, "That sounds really hard for you. Let's see if we can figure it out together." Or something similar—and bing-bang-BOOM! I got the job! No resume required. No background check. No drug testing.

Here’s how it worked: If her mood was black, I would throw my agenda of homework, shopping or chores out the window. Ensconced on my bed, doors closed against the world, (and the cats) the stage was set for a heart-to-heart. A few mild questions would often elicit tears, followed by a Big Ears session. We did not emerge until the dilemma was wrestled, pinned, and called by its name. Sometimes we made a follow-up plan, other times it wasn't that big of a deal. I made some missteps, yet learned quickly as all Mother/Advisors must. Unsaid rules included: No smiling or laughing, no half-listening, and no opinions before the silence. The listening part gave me plenty of time to think of what I wanted to say, and how to phrase it so that it could be heard in a non-critical way.

By putting my daughter’s everyday issues under a magnifying glass together, I began to appreciate this sensitive, blooming person who shared my house, and she began to see that I could still be there for her. Watching my daughter gain confidence in her own judgment, make informed decisions, and stand up for her beliefs was a privilege. Right before my eyes (and those big listening ears) she grew from a confused tween to a thoughtful young woman. In retrospect, I know that I was actually getting ready to say goodbye, and I desperately wanted those transition years to be rewarding, love-filled years. They were.

BUT WAIT!

...or trying desperately to do that stupid silver lining thingy…

A box (containing computer junk we can’t afford) was delivered today.
But wait! It’s from Small Dog Electronics and every box they send contains two little rubber dogs—just like crackerjacks. Mmmmm crackerjacks.

It’s freezing cold, there are no flowers or leaves on the trees, and I spend too much time at my computer or watching TV.
But wait! I see the birds clearly on the naked branches when I bother to look up from my screen. Oh, and Perry Mason is still God.

No work this week.
I gotta be honest, I got nuthin’ here.

Wolfy

Everyone in the whole kingdom agreed,
That the Big Bad Wolf just had to leave.
"He's BIG and BAD and MEAN and TOUGH,
We fairytale friends have had enough!"

Little Bow Peep won't stroll in the park.
All the King's men are afraid of the dark.
Remember that sweet old Gingerbread man?
He's tired of running as fast as he can.

Bah Bah Black Sheep lives in dread,
That he'll be gobbled up in bed.
And the Three Little Pigs will stand for nothing,
Like stinky Wolf breath or huffing and puffing.

So they asked advice from someone Good,
(You may remember, Miss Riding Hood?)
And brave Little Red set a trap to lure,
That Big Bad Wolf right back to her.

In a handwritten note she promised him sweets,
Like cookies and candies, fruits and treats.
"Come to my house at twelve o'clock,
And I will leave the door unlocked."

Now, poor Mr. Wolf, it must be said,
Was sad and sick and nearly dead.
But when he got Red's kindly note,
It brought a lump to his dry throat.

Wolfy thought, "It's so very exciting,
That Red should do such kind inviting!"
"Oh dear," thought he, quite scared and shy.
"Will there be friends and gooseberry pie?"

He pulled a comb through mangy hair.
"I'll need a clean white shirt to wear."
He brushed his teeth—there were just two,
(Which made it very hard to chew.)

And shuffling across the forest floor,
He softly opened the cottage door.
Then BAM! Red grabbed him from behind,
While Grandma tied him up in twine!

All the fairytale creatures gathered 'round,
To see the Wolf— now safely bound.
They yelled at him, right in his ear,
"You're BIG! You're BAD! You can't stay HERE!"

Everyone hollered—except Wolfy himself.
(Did I mention he's shy and in very poor health?)
"I'm sorry," he whispered, with a dry little cough.
"If I seemed to be mean or acting too tough."

I was hungry and lonely and not feeling well.
I had no idea it would make you all yell!"
"I'm frightened of pigs. I don't eat gingerbread.
I assure you the sheep are quite safe in their beds.
And all of my huffing and puffing about,
It's just how I breathe—'cause I'm not very stout."

The fairytale friends took a good look at him.
Poor scraggly thing—he was very thin.
Living alone with no Wolf mom or dad.
Perhaps he wasn't so BIG or so BAD.

Then Red spoke up and the whole group agreed,
"My dear Mr. Wolf, you ought to be freed!
We're terribly sorry you've been all alone,
With no Birthday cards, or chats on the phone."

"Pleeease" squealed the Pigs, "Won't you come dine?
I'm sure that our brick house will hold up just fine."
"And this is for you," said Bah Bah Black Sheep.
Handing the Wolf his wool coat—to keep!

Wolfy could hardly believe his own Great Big Ears.
His Great Big Eyes filled with Great Big Tears.
And wrapped inside the Sheep's snuggly skin,
He allowed himself ...one Wolfish grin.

The End




©2005 Mary Clasen