“Slamma Aunt Loosewheels never wore shoes,” Annie Cara-Lyle began.

Spam and Duh-Wayne sat there drinking  sludge with their eager mcbeaver faces on;  even though they probably already lived through this episode of the  ‘Slamma Aunt Loosewheels story.”  According to Annie,  they were all close through high school and when Spam and Duh-Wayne were newlies.

Newlies  was apparently some 50’s word for newly  weds;  Annie Cara-Lyle said they sloshed it (another 50’s word meaning talked about it)  down at the Sludge Pot, where you could get sludge and  Moose Made too; if you were old enough.   I think she made  it up, the words I mean, and maybe the rest of it.

Annie Cara-Lyle told these stories all the time.  It never made sense to me that her stories seemed to span such a long period of time.   Annie had created Annie Cara-lyle the kitten in a test tube ‘in the past’ when my mother was a teenager.  We got Annie Cara-Lyle at 8 weeks.   But the stories she told spanned at least a decade, through my mothers teenage years and to when she was a young single mom and on the verge of meeting the man of her dreams.

Annie Cara-Lyle claimed that time went by faster in the past that was why people were skinny back then, time went by so fast they only had time for one meal.   Duh-Wayne said it had to do with that loose thing a ma bob a jig that was loose on that control panel of the time machine.     It was making time jump around and only slowing down to a normal pace at fun times like going to a fair and Christmas.   Annie decided to leave the thing a ma bob a jig alone.

“She had corny feets,” Annie Cara-Lyle continued, “and those hard things that Grandfather uses his electric egg on; to make them soft as a baby brillo pad, and she had large onions on either side of her foots.  She wore flip flops so her onions hung out.   Corns and onions; old vegetable feet, we called her.”

Every day there was some story going on about my mother and her sister Dorky.   It was like an old weird sit com.   Annie Cara-Lyle was getting to a high point in the story.

Slamma Aunt Loosewheels, car ran out of gas on her way home from the Sludge Pot one evening and she was forced to walk back to the sludge pot in her old flip flops.   Duh-Wayne and Spam who were driving right behind her suggested she go and ask that guy who had tripped over her while she was taking a nap on the floor; for help.    ”

That guy was Slap-ya Uncle Pan,” Annie Cara-Lyle said.   “That’s how they met.   Meanwhile, back at the bush, that’s another 50’s word, it means home.”  Annie-Cara-Lyle was waving her arms around while she explained.

“Wait a minute, that is not a 50’s expression,” I interrupted and explained,  “The house we lived in was located in an area that was referred to as a bush so my dad would say ‘let’s go back to the bush,’ and my parents were not even living there yet. So that proves your story false and your time machine fake.”

Annie Cara-Lyle was glaring at me and then I realized it was actually just full blown Annie.   “Puker’s bush?” she hissed.   “Is that where you meant?”

“Something like that,” I agreed, feeling Annie’s horrible anger coming off her like heat.

“We all KNOW Slap-ya Uncle Pan said, ‘back to the bush’ we hear all about it in episode 325 called, “Back to the bush, its a fifties thing” Annie kept glaring at me, then waved at me and said, “Get outta here with your fake and quit interrupting.”

Annie’s expression all changed and she was Annie Cara-Lyle, I kind of felt I was in that made for tv movie, ‘Sybil’.   “Meanwhile back at the bush,” she glared at me suddenly becoming Annie but just for a second or two almost daring me to say something.   I nearly did, but the story continued.

“Aunt Dorky reined herd on two young children, Dick and Jean.   She would run after them with her trusty thermometer commanding, ‘Come, Dick, come. here Jean, here.’  Dick always came, he liked it; the thermometer.   Jean always ran.

They were supposed to be watching Kukla, Fran and Ollie.   But they weren’t cause Jean said it was a re-run and Dick couldn’t see it because of those horn rimmed coke bottle lensed glasses he wore.  Aunt Dorky was looking for ‘old trusty’ to calm things down.

Jean had buried ‘old trusty’ in a hole where some men would be pouring a cement sidewalk the next day.   Dick was threatening to tell Aunt Dorky where it was so Jean grabbed her bow and arrow.

Back then, they didn’t have those fake arrows with the rubber tips had the real thing.   The absolute real thing purchased from a real live Native American.    They had them back then; Native Americans.”

“We still have them,” I sighed.

Annie Cara-Lyle gave me an Annie type glare.   Slowly she was becoming more and more like Annie.   It was a shame too because for the briefest time, she was just a sweet little bundle curled up purring in my lap.   She was doing less of that and more of standing on my head board staring at me until I opened my eyes and screaming, “Catch me Jebus,” and landing claws out smack in the middle of my face.   They started calling me scabby at work because I was covered with scabbed over claw marks.

Annie Cara-Lyle continued.   “Dick cried, ‘It’s over here Aunt Dorky.’ “Shut up Dick, you little chicken. ”  Jean hollered running full speed after him with her bow aimed.

Dick kept yelling cause he really loved old Trusty.   “You will do anything to have something in your mouth, Dick,” Jean yell.   “Suck this one.” Jean aimed the bow and shot the arrow right in Dick’s leg.

Aunt Dorky was coming along behind both of them at a slow jog puffing out, “Stop Dick Stop,” keeping her eye peeled for old Trusty.  “No Jean No,” was coming out of her mouth as the arrow pieced Dick’s upper thigh.

Dick fell to the ground and began sobbing, his tears washing away the dried tears on his glasses from the day before.   Jean ran up on the scene and slapped him upside the head and screamed, “Want me to give you something to cry about?” She yanked the arrow out of his leg and said, “I’ll get the alcohol.”

While Jean was in the bathroom getting first aid supplies, Dick stopped crying long enough to disclose the hiding place of old trusty and he was calming himself with it when Jean came.   She took one look at him and slapped old trusty right out of his face.   Old Trusty fell to the ground and broke in a zillion pieces.

Aunt Dorky had a funeral for him, after Dick stopped crying.   Jean poured a half a bottle of alcohol on his leg cleaning the wound every time he cried or even looked like he was going to cry, Jean slapped him a few times in the head and screamed, “I can give you something to cry about.” It lasted for hours.

“They were the best kids,” Annie Cara-Lyle said.

“Yup,” Duh-Wayne agreed.

“Yup,” said Spam.

“Yup,” screamed Annie and you knew it was Annie cause she got loud and laughed her crazy laugh.  “To Dick and Jean.”

They clinked Sludge cups then Duh-Wayne began to deal out the card.  Story time had ended.

















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