My Aunt Aggie was a highly opinionated, adorable old cootress. She spent her life showing off and coming up with wise sayings. I have no idea how she came up with them. I remember a few of them and wish that I could remember them all. I think you will like them; I do. Here is a sampling.
The saddest song is the one that’s left unsung. To this she added the pithy disclaimer, But if the song does not improve on silence it would be better left unsung. To me, this is a metaphor for life, in general, and my life in particular. How often have I heard a tedious piece of music, read a dull, wordy discourse, heard an endless speech or gazed upon a hopelessly inane piece of artwork and longed for a blank page or blank canvas or the silence that was present before being violated.
Also very high on my list.
Many a good itch has been ruined by a feeble scratch. Every itch (challenge) presents an opportunity for a great scratch (success.) I guess that I didn’t really have to spell this out in such detail for the reader but I rather enjoy preaching. And I do it so well. This one was certainly a good bit briefer that your normal Sunday homily.
Aunt Aggie had a wonderful sense of humor. Here’s a sample.
If your enemy is armed with a hammer, try not to look like a nail. I can’t think of any elaboration that would improve upon her basic message. So relax; I won’t try.
Some of her advice made good sense.
Err proudly, err often, but err at home where nobody will see you make an ass of yourself. When you or some family member or friend or even enemy sits down to study, practice an instrument or sharpen a skill, remember that you or they can make all the mistakes they want. As long as they make them and correct them in private, before the big test, the big game or important event.
Sometimes her simplicity was eloquent.
You don’t need a shotgun to subdue a butterfly. I think of this when I sit down to do a lengthy worksheet of long divisions or square roots. I could use my calculator and make the work much easier. Of course, then I would miss all of the fun.
She had life very well figured out. Her take on it is noteworthy.
Life is a race where the winner is the one who crosses the finish line last. The goal, she implied, is simply to outlive your fellows and survive.
She had no bitterness in her; did little complaining. Sometimes, however, things got to her. Here’s an example:
If it tastes good, it’s fattening; if it feels good, it’s immoral; if it looks good, I can’t afford it.
While I was never aware of her religious doctrines, her advice on one aspect of it was
If you call for divine intervention, make sure it’s for something more compelling than a sneeze. Save your pleas to the Almighty for extreme crises like healing the lame or unbinding the tongues of the mute. Don’t waste it on things that can be handled by taking an aspirin or a slug of Robitussin.
Along similar lines was her take on piety.
I hate sin but love the sinners. On the other hand, I love virtue but can’t stand the virtuous.
Finally, she admonished us not to set our expectations too high with this keen observation:
The bather will never get cleaner than the bath water.
As you can see, she directed her wit at every aspect of life and had human existence well covered. But her cunning and insights were not the total of her virtues. For, although she and her husband, Uncle Eb, had no children of their own, she was extremely fond of her nieces and nephews. A couple of anecdotes will illustrate this.
She would often drive some of us children in her ancient automobile. On one such trip we were progressing as well as her struggling vehicle would permit when she came to a sudden halt for a red light. “Well, there goes my streak of good luck,” she said, adding “seventy-three years down the drain.” We were all startled to hear that this red light was the uppermost of her life’s catastrophes.
On another occasion she took some of us to a local art museum. One of the paintings held us spellbound, mostly because it was abrim with naked, winged children. “Those are cherubs and seraphs,” she told us. We asked her which were which. Now, in circumstances where she needed a sudden fact she was not at all averse to making one up. “Well,” she said, “the cherubs are the ones facing into the center and the seraphs are facing out.” It sounded good, not only to us, but also to one of the patrons who was standing near enough to hear. We later heard that person explain to her companion the fact she had just learned about cherubs and seraphs. Aunt Aggie stifled a hearty chuckle.
I really miss my Aunt Aggie and Uncle Eb. They were both colorful and lively characters. My own life was very much the richer for having known them.