Great Aunt Nuh nuh

I love my family. My whole family. Everyone from my two sisters to my mom’s great aunt from my grandfather’s brother's first marriage. At least I think that’s the connection, but to be honest I could care less how she’s related. My cousins are some of my best friends and I can go to my aunts and uncles for anything. We are all so close, which is why I was so excited when my dad told me we were visiting some relatives I had never met that had houses in Nevada and California. Not only did I get to meet some new family members but I would also get to see the west coast. I was so excited that I couldn’t wait to go.

I’m not much for clichés, but this trip taught me the meaning of “there’s one in every family”. My Great Aunt Nuh nuh was the most infuriating person I have ever met. From the moment we met I could tell we wouldn’t get along. After a horrible trip that included an unexpected overnight layover in Detroit, Nuh nuh insisted that we insist demand that the airline to compensate us at that very moment. After spending a good portion of the previous two days traveling, the last thing we wanted to do was stand in an airport line and argue fair compensation with an airline agent. My Great Uncle Bud, who I could tell instantly I would get along with, just stood silently and rolled his eyes.

Eventually, after basically dragging her out of the airport, we got Nuh nuh to calm down. When we got to their house in Reno, my parents and sisters were shown to their beds and I was led to the living room couch. I have no problems with sleeping on couches (in fact I’ve slept in much worse places) but there was a problem I could see approaching fast. My Nuh nuh and Uncle Bud were entering their twilight years and I was entering puberty. I had a hunch that our sleep schedules might not match up exactly. At 5:45 in the morning my theory was confirmed. After a solid two and a half hours of sleep I woke up to coffee being brewed, eggs being scrambled and an argument I couldn’t quite understand through my early morning haze.

When Nuh nuh saw my head peek from out of the sheets, she informed me that I had left the TV on all night. Then she reminded me that she had asked nicely that I turn it off the previous night before she went to bed. That is true, she did ask me politely to turn the TV off. In fact, she asked me nicely about twelve times. Whether I forgot or whether I did it subconsciously out of spite, I don’t know, but the fact is I was wrong for leaving the TV on. And Nuh nuh was up to the task of reminding me numerous times every day for the rest of the vacation.

After three days in Reno, and three days of waking up at 5:45, we packed the van and hit the road for the sunny shores of Carmel, California. The van, completely full with luggage and people, was gassed up and ready to go when Nuh nuh was suddenly struck with a horrible vision, one we could only assume had to do with the famine and death. “THE GARBAGE” she shouted as we pulled out of the driveway. “Don’t worry,” Uncle Bud said calmly, apparently used to these sudden eruptions of terror, “I took it out this morning.” Nuh nuh, with the same freakishly alert expression, replied “No the garbage was only half full, we should bring it to Carmel with us.”

Shock filled the van. Nuh nuh, suddenly an avid environmentalist, pleaded for us to turn around and haul the half filled bag of garbage inside the van for the three hour trip. We let Nuh nuh vent about the effect humans have on the environment for about 30 minutes in silence, never having the intention of going back to get the garbage. When she finished her enviro-rant, my mom changed the topic before any of us could point out that Nuh nuh didn’t care about the environment at all and just didn’t want the four cent garbage bag not to be filled to capacity, which is what everyone was thinking.

I wish I could say that was the worst thing that happened on that trip, but sadly for my family it wasn’t. An hour and a half later two bags, which turned out were not so securely strapped to the roof, flew off and bounced off the pavement and under cars like some horrible pin ball game. When Uncle Bud pulled over to the shoulder, Nuh nuh suggested that my dad didn’t need to go get the luggage, stating that carrying the 20-pound bag would be bad for his back, because we could drive the van in reverse down the median. My mom, the most docile and loving person I have ever met in my life, screamed “DO NOT BACK THIS CAR UP! DO NOT BACK THIS CAR UP! MY CHILDREN ARE IN HERE!” My dad, apparently as startled as I was, threw the side door open and sprinted down the median. All this while Nuh nuh grumbled about how the car accident he was in twenty-six years earlier had injured his back. “He’ll live,” Uncle Bud said flatly, still seemingly unaffected by any of this.

We made it to Carmel without my Dad’s back going out, miraculously, and my family spent the next few days avoiding Nuh nuh at all costs. I put up with a few more comments about leaving the television on and sleeping until the ungodly hour of 11 am. The day of our flight out Nuh nuh suggested we trade our tickets in and stay a few more days. I suggested that we take the earliest flight possible.

I still love my family. There's even a soft spot in my heart for Great Aunt Nuh nuh. I wish her nothing but happiness. Not just any kind of happiness, but the happiness you can only feel after a garbage bag is completely full. I wish her all the happiness in the world, as long as she stays on the West Coast and we never cross paths again.