Tipsy babies on their rear, toss back more than Butterbeer!. Randy Dandies in the family, with secrets yet unknown. And the Undead stake their claim.
The Booze
I hate alcohol. But in our family, even kids were expected to drink a glass of hard liquor on special occasions. My mother would make me drink a glass of gin on Christmas day, when I was as young as 10. I don't know if she watered it down, I just remember the strong smell and bitter taste, which helped to turn me off spirits for life.
Did I say I hate alcohol?
However, it was family tradition to add a splash of booze to the baby milk in order to calm a crying toddler.
It worked.
It was so routine, that as kids, we thought every family did it, and that it was even added to the baby formula sold in stores.
My mother said I was a quiet baby and rarely cried in the crib. So I was spared the booze-laced baby milk, and its yet another reason I was glad that me and my older sibling were breast-fed.
No liquor from that source! (at least not directly). :)
I've never drank (outside of those "special occasions") smoked, or done drugs (not even weed), but my mother smokes Pall Mall's (red pack).
Me, I couldn't stand the things, and likened it to someone sticking their head into a burning house and breathing in the smoke.
As an adult, when it comes to cigarettes. I still don't imbibe (I know, that's a drink reference, but I'm working it in here).
Mom's a two-pack-a-day smoker, who must have lungs made of iron, as so far its had no effect on her health.
I tried it just once, at her insistence when I was 12, and coughed until my eyes teared up and that was it for me.
Oh no, thank you very much. Not this guy.
The Dandy
Now my uncle on the other hand, was a pipe smoker. He had one of those fancy curved-up ones, and always wore a proper smokers jacket when lighting up. I loved going to my aunts house, as the whole place smell wonderful from the "Irish blend" he preferred.
He had this whole little routine he'd go through when prepping for a smoking session. His "kit" was in an expensive wooden box (that we weren't allowed to touch), and his "workings" were done on a grand silver tray.
In another age, my uncle would have been called a 'Dandy,' because everything had to be just so. I mean think about it; who gets dressed up to smoke? I would not have been surprised to see him don a top hat, and it was rumored that he actually owned a cape, and would wear it at appropriate events.
He would have been right at home in Victorian England.
He seemed to me to be a combination of Winston Churchill and Errol Flynn. Of Course he wore a hat in public and wore cuff links.
even his socks were of the fancy, "shiny" type, and I wouldn't be surprised if he ironed his underwear (knowing him, he would have had them dry-cleaned). :)
Remember that episode of Seinfeld where Jerry suspected his date was wearing the same dress every day? Well, one day when my aunt and uncle had nodded off to sleep in the living room, I decided to investigate 'Capegate' once and for all.
This "caper" began as I crept past the cuckoo clock, and of course that ever-watchful bird popped out just as I passed it. This elicited several short snorts from my sleeping uncle, but the moment passed as I stealthily slithered up the stairs...
Passing several rooms and mindful of every creak of the wooden floors, I spied my prize, the massive bedroom closet. It was long and deep, built ornate shelving groaning with all manner of knick-knacks, gewgaws, and other assorted whim-whams collected over a lifetime.
Reaching deep inside, my fingers fondled a bundle tied up with twine. I was surprised to find collection of shall we say, "glamour photos" of someone named Bettie Page.
As George Takei would say; "Oh My!" (Those would have to be explored at another time)...
Carefully running my hands over the clothing resting on wooden hangers (what did you expect? "No wire hangers EVER!").
Reaching back, I thought I felt something smooth, you know, like maybe a cape? But at that moment, I was surprised by the opening of the bathroom door by my still sleepy uncle, and got the hell out of there in the nick of time.
I never did find the elusive cape or work up the nerve to ask him if he had one, so it remains a mystery.
No plastic chairs in his house either. Oh no, not on his watch! Everything had to be of wood, antiques preferred. He'd often refer to them as his "pieces" and would often show off their workmanship compared to the nonsense being put out today.
Yes, they had an actual Victrola in the living room. With the giant horn and everything.
And it worked.
It had the old-timey hand crank on the side, and an elaborate needle arm. I was dying to wind that thing up, but that was yet another item we kids weren't allowed to touch.
They played it exactly once for us, and this spectral, off-speed sound came out of it, like some unseen ghost wailing out into the ether.
And speaking of ghosts...
The Ghost
I've shared with you about The Hole Under the Stairs, that existed in the basement of my grandmothers house. It opened into a long tunnel where I'd hear all kinds of "whatevers" slithering around in there when I was a kid.
But there were more strange things about that house than that tunnel that my sister crawled in and which I kept a wary eye on when ever I went down there.
There was a cross i every room of the house (except the bathroom, of course). I say 'cross' because in our religion, we were not allowed to have a crucifix, as that was considered an idol because it had Jesus on it. But a plain old cross was fine.
This was to ward off the dead "woman" that my grandmother would confront in the dead of night in the pitch-black living room, while me and my huddled under the covers terrified.
Of "it."
Bible in hand, (old King James version, thank you), she'd head downstairs with confidence to deal with the intruder. The story is that a woman was killed in the home long ago, and still thought it was her house.
Grandmom told us that the woman wanted us out out of her house. But she told the long-departed spirit that she was indeed dead, and needed to cross over and to get out in the name of Jesus.
This was her house, and she wasn't letting anything dead or not, chase her out of it.
My older sister said she saw it once, standing behind grandmom as she was arguing with the thing.. It looked like a fuzzy person that she could sort of see through. Me, I kept whispering to her to get back, as I was petrified of being left alone upstairs.
As I got older, I was asked to perform the New Years Day 'House Cleansing.' This is where the eldest male (usually me, if I was around), started at the back door and went through every room blessing the house and ordering anything that wasn't supposed to be there to get out.
After making my way to the front door and crossing the threshold, the home was considered "cleansed" to enter the New Year.
But somebody didn't tell the apparitions that liked to make themselves known whenever we tried to get some sleep at night. They continued to tramp up and down the stairs all night long, and the only thing that seemed to work was my fearless grandmother, and her time-worn Bible. It seems that no ritual can compete with the Word of God! :) What strange things have happened in your family?