Starbody

My mother called to say that Uncle Stan died. Really, he’s not my uncle at all and is actually my grandmother’s sister’s husband (and I think also my godfather). He was about 90 years old and I have to say we were all surprised he was the last one to hang in there due to the copious amounts of alcohol he consumed throughout his life, or at least the part of his life I knew him.

He lived in northern Michigan minutes away from my grandparents’ house “up north” and most often I’d see him on long summer vacation stays with them. Their houses were/are situated in a rural area with my grandparent’s being set off the road and surrounded by woods. Uncle Stan would come over in the evenings. We’d pause in the midst of whatever we were doing because you could clearly hear a car coming from far away. He’d sit just inside the garage with my grandfather drinking Old Milwaukee’s out of the garage refridgerator (which held little else but nightcrawlers for fishing). My brother and I would wander around trying to catch moths or making a last ditch effort at swinging on the tire swing without permanently paralyzing ourselves. The tire swing was hung on the perfect tree, unfortunately it was also hung too close to the tree itself. So, if you really let loose on it there was always the danger of smacking headlong into the trunk. Conservative swinging was only so much fun.

Uncle Stan and my grandfather would listen to the Tiger’s game on an old beat up radio and instructed us occasionally to grab them a beer. If we were expedient about it, the foam was offered up as a treat. It was, of course, terrible but we always complied because it seemed so elicit. My grandmother highly disapproved. Despite that, she would sometimes bring out trays of cheese, crackers and salami (which the men devoured) in between hanging laundry on the lines. I’d stand next to her and hand her clothespins, often already bored of whatever it was we were doing. She always wore a skirt, the footie socks with the little balls, blue Keds (i swear she kept them in waiting should a pair wear out) and a kerchief on her head.

They’d be at this until the mosquitos started to bite, at which time Uncle Stan would gather up Pepper (his small poodle) and meander to his car for the drive home.