Wendi {at random}

Here's part of my family. 

Dad's side, gathered for the funeral of Uncle Mike, who everybody called Butch, so I had a slight complex every time I had to say his name. Uncle Mike? Uncle Butch? Uncle MikeButch? Uncle ButchMike??? Uncle??? Regardless.

Uncle was Dad's favorite cousin, I've been told. Dad would have cried and cried to see this day come. As it was, I'll never forget hugging Uncle at Dad's funeral. He was so sorrowful. So solemn. I think he loved Dad just as much. And then when we broke our hug, my hoopy silver necklace got caught on the fibers of his blazer and broke apart, and I had that awkward moment of standing by the coffin of my father fixing my bling and laughing it off. Uncle. He was awesome.

 

Uncle used to read this one bedtime story to Shell and me whenever he and his then-wife Aunt Diane (who only had one name) were hanging out at our house. The book was ...

Yes, this scary tale was my favorite bedtime story.

Explains a lot, I'm sure.

So Uncle would read this story to Shell and me as we lay in our little matchy matchy twin beds with the gold shag carpet and little girl flowered bedspreads and our tiny slippers stowed on the floor between us. When the lights were out, we'd see sparkles in the air, and we'd swear that if we scooped them up into our slippers then the jewels would be there in the morning. They weren't.

Still, those sparkly gems must have been what fueled our sweet dreams because not once did I wake with visions of headless horsemen or Brom Bones or cannon balls. In fact,  every now and again, when I close my eyes, I can still see the glittering sparkles, and I want to scoop them into my hands and hold them till tomorrow.