A
recent exchange with a friend on facebook messenger reminded me of an interesting childhood memory which seems relevant to the topics discussed on this site. So please indulge me as I share about my Aunt Ida.
As I shared with my friend, my father was from Mississippi and annual treks down south to attend huge family reunions were a childhood staple. Most of these visits were standard road trip fare and the usual sort of family gathering, with copious amounts of good food served at several tables. My personal promotion from the “little kids table” to the “adults table” was a happy milestone in my life and was the third most significant memory I carry from those times. Far and away though, my most significant memory from those years was the time I met the curious Aunt Ida.
It began like all the other visits, as an uneventful road trip to Mississippi, punctuated by tremendously exciting stops at every road side “Stuckey’s” available! Things took an odd turn, however, as we deviated from our usual route and pulled off the main highway onto a small one lane asphalt road, which we stayed on for quite a long time. At least as it seemed to me and my nine year old sense of time.
Things got even stranger as we pulled off the asphalt and began heading down a small dirt road, again for quite a while, then turning onto what barely passed for a dirt foot path, eventually coming to a stop in the text book definition of “the middle of no where”!
“Where are we? What are we doing?” I asked.
“We’re meeting your Aunt Ida”, my mother replied, “We have something for her.”
“But why are we stopping here?”, I insisted, “Why don’t we drive to her house?”
“She doesn’t live in a house. She lives in a cave up in the mountains and the roads don’t go there. So she’s meeting us here”, my mom answered as if it were the most normal thing in the world.
“A cave?”, I protested, “Where does she use the bathroom?”
“She doesn’t need to use the bathroom. She doesn’t eat or drink”, my mom answered, again as if it were the most normal thing in the world.
“She doesn’t eat or drink? What do you mean she doesn’t eat or drink? How can someone not eat or drink?”, I asked.
“Well, she doesn’t need to. She’s old.”, my mom answered, again as if it were the most normal thing in the world.
For how long?” I asked.
“How long what?”, mom said.
“How long has she not been eating?”, I clarified.
Looking at my father for confirmation, who seemed preoccupied with scanning the dusty road for signs of Aunt Ida’s approach, my mother answered, “Well, I guess it’s been nearly thirty years now.”
“Thirty years!”, I exclaimed, “How old is she?”
“A hundred and six”, came the ‘every thing is perfectly normal’ reply.
“A hundred and six! Wouldn’t it be better if we walked to her cave, instead of making a hundred and six year old woman walk to us?”, I protested.
“Well it’s ten miles and there’s some places that would probably be too hard for you and your brother. But it’s easy for her. She does it all the time. Don’t worry.”
At this point I fell silent, dumbstruck by the incredible circumstances of the relative I was apparently soon to meet. I joined my father in scanning the approach for the amazing Aunt Ida. She did not disappoint.
Bounding down the dirt road at a rapid pace, came a woman full of life and joy. She practically glowed with a radiance that seemed to emanate from every part of her while simultaneously surrounding her. She did look old, but at the same time youthful. Her posture was upright, her stride vigorous. When she arrived at our car she shouted out “Hellos” and greetings to us all. She complimented and congratulated us all on how well we looked, how nice our car was, how beautiful my mother was, how handsome my brother and I were. She cracked jokes and asked me riddles that had me holding my sides in pain from laughing so hard.
My father handed her a sealed envelope which she graciously took with an even more gracious “Thank You”.
In my childhood mind I speculated it was probably some money, so she could buy a pair of shoes, since I had noticed that she was barefoot. Looking back on it, I rather think now that Aunt Ida probably did not wear shoes.
The conversations did not last too long, I suspect because dusk was approaching, and Aunt Ida soon bid farewell to us all and headed back up the dusty dirt road the way she had come. We all returned to the car and also headed back the way we had come, eventually rejoining the Interstate and continuing on to the family reunion.
I never heard anything more about Aunt Ida and, since this was some fifty-six years ago, I guess she has long since passed.
Or maybe not.
Sacred Breath 