The jOYs of Life

by Michelle Hoppe

  “We should get some food first, like crackers and cheese. Then I don’t know about you, but I’m having ice cream,” my sister announced.

  “Sounds good to me.”

  As we entered the small store, sis went right and headed for the bottled water and juice. I went left and stumbled upon an old fashion deli counter. A sign taped to the front of the glass meat case read, Sandwich $3.00, we make it your way!”

  “Hey Yvette, look at this.”

  “What.”

  Realizing she couldn’t see the deli from three aisles away I walked around to tell her of my find. It didn’t take much (any) convincing to get her to agree to purchase lunch at the meat counter. What surprised us most was the size of the sandwich we received for the rock bottom price of three bucks each. Taking our sandwiches and drinks to the lovely young lady at the cash register we paid for our meal and asked about a place to eat. She told us the park was only half a block up the road and we could enjoy a lake side table for our dining experience. We quickly took her up on the advice and found the park to be a delightful place. The food was really good too.

  After finishing the sandwiches, drinking several bottles of juice and water, we visited the facilities and once again climbed into the car. Driving back up the road, we decided ice cream sounded good for desert, so I pulled back into the parking lot of the grocery store.

  Walking to the window, we reviewed the selection and price. Not wanting to spoil my attempt at being good, I decided to order a $2.00 regular cone. Sis, who does not have a weight problem, opted for the very large sugar cone. Making a decision on the flavor, I told the woman in the window, I’d like a two dollar cone and while I can’t remember the name of the flavor I picked, let me assure you it had chocolate in it.

  The woman disappeared into the back part of the room to get our order. When she reappeared, she was holding a monstrosity of vast proportions. There were three whoppingly large scoops of ice cream, precariously perched atop a very small cone which looked like it was buckling under the weight. Handing this ‘disaster waiting to happen’ to me, I looked at her in confusion and reminded her I’d ordered the two dollar cone. Laughing a little she informed me this was the two dollar cone.

  Trying to balance this oversized treat in one hand, I turned to my sister and implored her to help hold it up. “There is no way I can eat this and drive.”

  “We could always just sit here and eat.”

  “We have to get back to the hotel before midnight.”

  “It won’t take that long to eat it.”

  “Ya right!”

  In an effort to get back on the road, I turned to the woman in the window, and requested that she simply dump the entire thing into a cup and give me a spoon. She charged me ten cents for the cup, which I gladly paid to be lightened of the worry this ice cream would end up in my lap, instead of my stomach.

  My sister did not have the same problem, because the sugar cone was huge to begin with and three or four scoops of ice cream fit in very nicely. I put my ice cream cup in the cup holder, and began to eat from what would turn out to be a bottomless pit of ice cream.

  I swear to you, I ate that ice cream from Port Hope, around the thumb to Port Austin, then down the middle of the state to Frankenmuth. This was about a two and a half hour drive, maybe more, during which, no matter how many bites I took, I could not seem to find the bottom of the cup.

  When we arrived in the delightful Bavarian city of Frankenmuth, I found the closest trash can and rid myself of the temptation. I’m sure there is a cup, somewhere in a dump in Michigan, still refilling with ice cream…the poor scavenger birds, gaining weight by the tons, trying to stem the flow.

  We spent several hours in Frankenmuth, a great city full of very friendly people and some unique stores. It was after nine p.m. before we decided to head for the hotel. Frankenmuth is definitely a town I will visit again in the future.

  We arrived back in Flint in less than an hour after setting out from Frankenmuth. Upon entering the room, we immediately noted the flashing message light on the phone. I looked at sis and told her it was likely her hubby calling, so go ahead and call him back, because I was taking a bath.

  Seconds after I settled into the hot, foamy water, she knocked on the door. “Guess what?”

  “What?” I asked as I sank deeper into the water.

  “They know we are here.”

  “Who knows we are here?”

  “The family,” she stated, a hint of concern in her voice…

  “How?” It was a question I needed an answer to.

  “Your husband,” Yvette said.

  “You called Steve? I thought you were calling Travis.”

  “I did call Travis, who told me Aunt Toots called him to get your number so she could call Steve to find out where we are.”

  Okay, don’t ask me to explain further, because I didn’t understand either since Aunt Toots has my number. I know because she calls me once a month, in the middle of the night, to say hi. Back to the story.

  “Ut-oh, how much trouble are we in?” I inquired.

  “Not sure,” was her response.

  Knowing my sister was waiting for me to exit the tub so we could discuss who was going to call our aunt, did nothing to speed me up. I heard a soft knock, “Hey, it’s time to get out and come make this call.”

  “Ok, give me a couple more minutes.”

  “Alright, but it’s getting late.”

  Since it was useless to delay longer, I stepped from the tub and dried off. Throwing on a robe, I walked back into the main room of our suite. “Why do I have to call her?”

  “Because you know her better than I do.”

  “I haven’t seen the women in fourteen years.”

  “Well, I haven’t seen her since I was four years old. You know her better, you get to call.”

  “Ok, ok, where’s the calling card?”

  Handing me the card, my sister quickly advised me it was her turn to take a bath and she headed for the other room.

  “Coward!” I called after her.

  “Darn right.”

  Putting on my glasses, I spent a good two minutes trying to focus on the tiny little, I’m talking tiny little, numbers they put on calling cards. Every one of which you must dial in order before you can place the call you don’t really want to place. Finally, I managed to get all the assorted numbers punched into the phone, in the right order and the funny voice told me to dial the number I wanted to call. What a friggin production that is, just to make a blasted phone call.

  It was now ten fifteen p.m. I knew my aunt would be awake because she is a night owl and never goes to bed before midnight. One ring, two rings, three rings… “Hello.”

  “Hi Aunt Toots,” I said in a carefree voice.

  “Mitzi, is that you?”

  Wait, sidebar here…for those of you who do not know me, my nickname is Mitzi. The only people in the world who still use this nickname when speaking to me live in Michigan or Texas. Not even my mother calls me by that name anymore.

  “Yes Aunt Toots, it’s me. I heard you called home last night looking for me.”

  “Where have you been? I spent all day by the phone waiting for your call.”

  “I’m sorry, we didn’t realize you were all waiting for us. We decided to take a drive over to Port Huron and ended up in Frankenmuth. We just got back to the hotel and got your message.”

  “Ok, we can talk about it tomorrow. What time are you planning to come over?”

  Knowing I’d missed a lecture, I wanted to give her anything she asked for, “When would you like us to be there? You name the time and we shall be there with bells on.”

  “We should be back from church around nine, so what about nine to nine thirty?”

  “Ok, we’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Before you go, I need to ask you something.”

  “Sure.”

  “Every year we have a family meeting at the start of the family reunion. I need one of you
girls to act as chairman and the other to be the secretary and take notes.”

  Revenge is such sweet reward. “No problem Aunt Toots, Yvette will be more than happy to be the secretary and take notes. You can count on her.”

  “Hey, wait.” Yvette walked back into the room, hair dripping wet and a towel wrapped around her neck. “What are you volunteering me for?”

  Ignoring her question, I continued to talk to my aunt. “Everything is fine, Yvette says she’d love to help in any way she can. We will see you in the morning. Goodnight.”

  With that I hung up the phone and waited for sis to sound off.

  “Just what did you tell her I would do?”

  “Oh it’s nothing; you’re the secretary for the family meeting tomorrow. All you have to do is read the minutes from last year. Read the family updates and an eight page story Aunt Toots wrote. I think she said something about reading letters from all those family members who couldn’t attend the event.”

  “Is that all?” Wow, her voice sounds a little icy.

  “Actually, you have to take notes.”

  “Great. Why didn’t you tell her no?”

  “Hey, you told me to make the call. After disappointing her by not calling her today, I didn’t want to hurt her feelings by telling her you didn’t want to help.”

  I think she wanted to throw something at my head. Instead she went back into the bathroom and used the blow dryer to dry her hair. Upon returning to the room, we agreed it was time to hit the sack and get some sleep.

  Tomorrow was the reunion and neither of us had any idea what lay in store.

  Day 7

  Welcome to ye old homestead!

  We arrived at nine-thirty a.m., parked the car, and headed for the front of the house. After knocking several times and ringing the doorbell, also several times, we concluded that nobody was home.

  “Are you sure she said nine-thirty?” Yvette inquired.

  “I’m sure.”

  “Well, where are they?”

  “I don’t have a clue. Maybe they decided to skip town before having to meet us.”

  “Don’t be silly. Of course they didn’t skip town. I bet they ran to the grocery store.”

  “All of them?” I wasn’t sure how many relatives it took to go to the grocery store, but I was betting it didn’t take all 162 of them.

  “Well, I guess we will have to wait for them to get back.”

  “Or,” I suggested, “We could take another road trip, see some more wildlife, and eat ice cream.”

  “No. We are going to wait.”

  Sitting on the steps to the big white house I remembered from my childhood, we waited over half an hour, in the heat. I was not amused.

  At ten a.m. six vehicles pull into the driveway, and I swear fifty people spilled out and milled around the front yard. None of them spoke to or approached us. I can only assume they had heard we were the California girls. Last to get out of a car was Aunt Toots. She crossed over to the porch quickly and folded me in her arms. No easy feat, considering I’m 5’7” and she is all of 4’6”. Turning to my sister she smiled brightly and reached to enfold my 5’9” baby sister into her arms.

  “It’s been so many years since I’ve seen you,” she cried. “Come inside and meet the family.”

  Yvette and I dutifully followed my aunt into the house. Sitting there on the couch and chairs in the living room were several teenagers and children. None of whom answered the door when we’d arrived half an hour ago, and all of whom left us sitting on the steps outside in the heat. I decided right then and there I didn’t care for the youngest members of the family.

  “Well look at this and we thought no one was home.” I stated as I walked into the room. None of the children seemed to realize I was speaking to them. My aunt told the kids to get out of the living room and go eat breakfast. She then indicated we should have a seat and relax. Sitting on a nearby chair, I started talking to my aunt when one of the ‘young ones’ came back into the room. A little girl, maybe about four-years-old.

  She stopped in front of the chair I was sitting in, crossed her arms and demanded, “Why are you so dressed up?”

  “I’m not really dressed up sweetie; this is what I normally wear.”

  “Why do you have a dress on?”

  “Because I like to wear dresses.”

  “Why are you so dressed up?”

  Two could play the question game. “What’s your name?”

  “Bethany. You look like a clown.”

  Good grief. I quickly turned to my sister to note she had indeed been listening. Speaking to her, I queried, “Why didn’t you tell me I had my make-up on wrong.”

  “Oh stop it, she’s a baby, probably doesn’t even know what she is saying.”

  Turning back to the kid, “I don’t think I look like a clown.”

  “Well not look like, you smell like a clown.”

  Ok, that was it…where did this child come from, and when was it leaving? I could hear my sister chuckling and turned to give her a look of oh shut up. Then I tried to reason with the kid. “Is that a good thing?”

  “Why are you so dressed up?”

  “Listen Bethany, if you want me to change into other clothes I can do that. I brought some pants with me. Would that make you happy?”

  “No.”

  That’s all I could take. Deciding retreat was the best possible answer; I smiled at the kid and stood up. Turning to my sister and aunt, I told them I was going to get something from the car, and quickly left the house.

  Standing next to the car, in the only shade available this far from the house, I tried to look unconcerned about looking like a clown, and lit a cig. So far, I was the only one in the entire famdamnily who smoked, great!

  Turning so I could see the street, I noticed a nice looking gentleman crossing from the direction of the neighbor’s house. Watching as he approached, I noted a rakish look about him. His hair was longer than most men his age. All but one of the buttons on his shirt were undone. He walked like a man on a mission, and the smile on his lips could be seen from a distance. As he steadily got closer I noticed his build. He was about 6’1 and had enough weight on him to look pretty damn good in the tailored slacks he wore. It was the devil-may-care way in which he carried himself however that gave me a moment’s pause; well truthfully, a lot of lustful thoughts (I’m married, not dead).

  Arriving in front of me, a mischievous glint in his deep blue eyes, he stopped within inches and spoke, “So who do you belong to?”

  Ok, I had a lot of things running around in my brain at that moment. Was this a neighbor? Could he be a member of the family? I remember something from the stories mom use to tell about several family members living within walking distance of each other. Taking a guess at his question, I assumed he was referring to family group, and replied. “Joanne.” Who by the by is my mother. I didn’t tell him that though. “Who do you belong to?” Please don’t be related; please don’t be related, please! I held my breath waiting for him to answer, repeating over and over please don’t be related, because those first lustful thoughts were running rampant now that he stood so close.

  Just before he spoke, my stomach did one of those flips…you know the kind of flip your stomach does when you suddenly remember you’re married and you shouldn’t be lusting after this person even if he’s not family. Then his next words kind of killed the mood anyway.

  “I’m Chuck and I belong to Agnes.”

  “Aunt Toots!” Oh great, he’s my uncle.

  Putting my arms around him, I gave him a hug. “Hi Uncle Chuck.”

  Holding me tight in his arms—I think maybe he had been hoping for the lack of family connection as well— “I’m your cousin, silly.”

  As we both laughed, I informed him it was too late to change his title now, to me he will always be Uncle Chuck.

  “Why are you out here all by yourself?”

  “I’m hiding from Bethany.”

  “Cute kid.”

 
“If you say so. Actually, I’m just smoking a cigarette and trying to decide if I can make it to the store and back before anyone misses me.”

  “What do you need at the store?”

  “Coffee. No one in this family smokes and apparently none of them drink coffee either. What a boring bunch.”

  He quickly took out a pack of cigarettes and lit one. That devilish glint back in his eyes, as he said, “Come with me, little girl.”

  Wow, I decided right then and there, Uncle Chuck would make a great romance hero. “Where are we going?”

  He strolled to his car, opened the trunk, pulled out a coffee pot and handed it to me. Next he took out a can of coffee and filters. “Never travel without them,” he informed me. “Let’s go inside and set this thing up.”

  “You’re my favorite uncle.”

  “I’m your cousin; try to keep it straight will you?”

  “Maybe after you make the coffee.” My mind, which by the way has always been hard to control, kept slipping back into the fantasy world of what if he were not my uncle? What if I were not married…oh good lord Michelle, stop it, he’s related…get these thoughts out of your brain. Putting the lid on lust, did not however keep me from watching him climb the stairs in front of me. After all if I’m going to make him the star of one of my books, I will need to describe him, right?

  At the top of the stairs he paused, turned his head to look at me and asked, “so which of the California girls are you?”

  “What?”

  “Your name cuz, you have one right?”

  With a chuckle, I told him, “Michelle, or as Aunt Toots calls me, Mitzi.”

  “Oh, the romance writer.”

  Apparently Aunt Toots had warned the family about me. “Yes, the romance writer in need of coffee, if you don’t mind.”

  Laughing, he turned back around and headed inside.

  We walked into the kitchen to find it full of family members, all talking very loudly and kids running everywhere. Quickly Chuck filled the pot with water and we carried our treasures to the parlor. Thankfully it was empty and we were able to set up a nice little coffee party in the corner. “So you’re Joanne’s daughter.”