It Was A Dark and Stormy Afternoon

I just did a quick look back over my archives, and I can't believe that I have never told you this story. Maybe I have, and I just can't find it. It's a family classic, and the conditions of today make it a perfect choice.

Background: I have, in essence, six cousins. The two first cousins on my father's side disappeared from my life when I was nine or so, because my father and his sister had a disagreement and never spoke again. I have seen them a few times as adults, but I really have no relationship with them. I have two -- let's call them second cousins -- brothers, whose mother was my mother's first cousin (and my father's second cousin, a long story I know I have told before.) The older of these brothers died two years ago; we will see the younger one and his wife next week at my nephew's wedding. My mother's brother had two daughters, my first cousins, who grew up in California. The older, however, became like a third sister to me and the Sibs, was very close to my parents, and is arriving from Colorado with her husband later today.

We are having some nasty weather today, the storm that accompanies a hurricane -- Hannah -- but not the hurricane itself. (We do get the occasional hurricane here.) It's nasty rain and wind, which is what I presume has delayed my cousin's flight. And thereby hangs a tale.

This cousin, the oldest of all of us, is a brilliant woman. She is a retired school librarian, but has three or four master's degrees in various things that interest her, Russian History, Pop Culture, other stuff. She has traveled around the world, even alone, and has done it with a broken ankle. Nothing stops her; she loves the world around her and will do anything that she wants to do. Her sister, who is a year younger than my sister, is an altogether different story.

Cousin P was "sickly" as a small child (I think she had allergies) and was horribly pampered and catered to by her parents. Her big sister developed independence, but P lived at home until her late twenties or early thirties and literally did not know how to boil water. Her mother prepared everything she ate and did her laundry and cleaned her room. P went to college for 12 years or so because she kept changing her major. (She's book smart, too, but world smart ...) Finally, she became a nurse, which requires a brain, certainly.

One evening, her parents left her alone at dinner time for the very first time. Her mother had bought a TV dinner so that P could make her own meal. Her parents came home to find the fire department on their lawn. The funny thing is that the instructions on the TV dinner box are very clear, but it doesn't actually say anywhere to take the tray out of the box. (Maybe it does now.) She was maybe 30 when this happened.

A few years later, her parents moved to a senior citizens community about an hour outside of Los Angeles, and P got an apartment. Actually, she rented a room in someone else's apartment. She had no furniture, except a bed, so she kept all her clothes in boxes for years. She had a job, working three or four days a week. She dated a lot, and had several marriage proposals, but didn't feel that any of them were right for her.

In 1988, when her older sister was coming east to visit us for a week, P decided to come too. Well, okay. The other three of us are very close and have a lot in common, P not so much. I remember one afternoon sitting in my sister's living room, while all our various children ran circles around us, and P commenting on how much she admired us all, because she didn't understand how anybody could have a full time job and still get things done that you needed to do, like buy food and do laundry, and here the three of us were doing it while raising children! How could such a thing be possible! Uh, okay. She herself slept late every day, took hours to get ready to go out, could shop until she dropped, and then had to come home and take a three hour nap. No wonder she couldn't get anything done.

The end of her week came, and it was time to go home. Her sister was staying another few days. My father drove P to Newark Airport, many hours before her flight, as she had requested, because you know, she has to find stuff, and settle in, and so on. He came home around 3:00 or so in the afternoon, and within the hour, a freak storm blew in, the offshoot of a hurricane, like we have today. It was pouring rain and windy. P called her sister, who was at my house, from the airport: her flight was canceled. What should she do?

Well. We heard the one side of the conversation, and even my children, who were then 7 and 4, thought it was funny. It went something like this:

"Look for the Customer Service Desk."

"It's a desk with the sign Customer Service over it."

"Look for a sky cap to help with your bags."

"A man pushing a luggage cart."

"He's wearing a hat that says "Sky Cap" on it."

"Tell them you need a hotel room."

"Just for tonight."

"Tell them you need to re-book your flight for tomorrow."

"Show them your ticket."

And so on. It could not have been more ridiculous. And then we went out to IHOP in the storm and had pancakes. Came home to more phone calls, but P was in a hotel, and re-booked for the next afternoon. She could have had a morning flight, but didn't think she could get ready in time.

My father was horrified. He had to go get her! Her parents had entrusted P to his care! And we said "Daddy! She's forty years old!" So he didn't go.

Next day? The morning flight took off as scheduled. And then the storm rolled back in and the afternoon flight was canceled, and the game was on again. But she felt empowered this time, and enjoyed her second night in the hotel at Newark Airport. And went home the next day. And continued to feel so empowered with her new ability to look after herself that she moved to Oregon, where she had some friends, and has lived there ever since. Her mother lives there now too, in assisted living near P. P is still a flake, still can't work a full week. She has a house full of dogs and cats, one of whom -- a cat, I think -- doesn't get a long with any of the others, so the cat sleeps alone in the master bedroom. P sleeps on the couch with any number of the others.

When I spoke last night to Sister-Cousin, I mentioned that we would be having bad weather today, and I hoped that she would be okay if for some reason she got stuck at Newark Airport. We both had a good chuckle over that one.

So there you go. I guess every family's got one. P is ours.

WATCHING HOUSE :: ENTRY #1852
READING: A Short History of Nearly Everything by Bill Bryson