Blood relatives who increased my blood pressure

For decades, we would spend Christmas in the Pink Funeral Parlor -- the room that never changed. When you sat down, gingerly, in a chair or on the couch, a dust plume would arise like a mushroom cloud. Dust bunnies would scatter like beetles brought to light.

Mom would refuse any help in the kitchen, even as she neared and passed 70, so dinners would get later and later. One evening, the meal -- penance -- was served at about 9 or 10 PM. We finally emerged, grateful to be released, by about midnight. Mom saw nothing wrong with this, even though some us had to go to work the next day, like in about six hours.

Everyone was near dead by that point, but we complained not. That would have brought down a firestorm of criticism from my mom, who thought the mere fact we were all together as a family would make everything right. HA! She would also moan about being "a woman alone" since my dad died in 1993. A little extra helping of GUILT, anyone, served piping hot?

The other thing that drove me crazy for years was that I had to act as driver for my kind-hearted but deluded Aunt Virge (my dad's older half-sister) who lived in Philadelphia with her son. Her son is a good 10 years older than me, doesn't drive, and never held a real job in his life. I went schlepping into Philadelphia at mom's command to pick up two people I barely knew and never cared to. They talked gibberish the entire trip to help make the time pass much more S - L - O - W - L - Y.

My crazy old aunt labored under the mistaken impression that her son was a genius -- instead of a compete and utter ass. I said as much when I was a kid and was chastised for being insensitive. Now, my brother, too, thinks Chuck is an ass. So, miraculously, does my mom. My aunt has since died. We don't see Chuck anymore.

Perhaps time does heal a few wounds.