Okay, guys, I love my aunt.  Always have, always will.  I'll post the letter to her on her 50th wedding anniversary at the last part of the blog, so you can see what a wonderful person she is. 

So, anyway, instead of writing a long-winded letter, I figured I had already written a long-winded bunch of blog entries, and just sent the whole fam a link for the blog so they could read about Tiger's Eye's adventure with Mr. Pilot.  She got to this entry:

Two Guys and an Aircraft Carrier

and shot me an e-mail to rebut my brother, i.e., his advice on teaching him how to loosen up around the "CMC's cute daughter."

I love that woman, and my uncle is just as faboo, too.  In lieu of presents, my cousin asked that we all contribute snippets of our memories for their big day.  Now, my tribute to the lady and her amazing husband at their 50th wedding anniversary, just so you understand the total package:

March 22, 2006

Most people don’t think of garages as special. They’re a utility; a place for cars and stuff for which there is no specific place in an already full house. That’s just not the case for some people.

I remember the Awesome garage always. It was always there. I remember spinning around the poles and the different cars housed there. I remember Uncle Awesome making table legs and the bows and quivers hanging on the walls. But mostly, I remember the people.

So many faces are connected with that place. So many babies being guided up and down on the garage steps. Grandma, Grandpa, aunts, uncles and cousins grew into great-grandchildren, great-nieces and great-nephews and in-laws and all kinds of new life. And we all celebrated it in the garage.

The food was always great, with some minor exceptions. I just told my KitKat about the time--I’m not sure how old I was, but I was still pretty young--how my relatives went out with cattle prods and zapped a bunch of frogs for frog legs. We even called my mother to ask her if she actually ate some frog legs that day, but she didn’t remember. Katie covered her mouth and nearly gagged when Mom insisted that the legs couldn’t be thin, though, but thick and juicy. I know I didn’t touch the frog legs, but my bravery has been known to waver from time to time. I do not remember the alternative; I’m pretty sure it came from a pig.

I took some skin off my hands pretty good once scraping scales off bluegill. There were the lobsters that Dad brought back from somewhere (Maine, maybe?) and I touched them, warned by my caring family that the claws could damage me, even with those thick rubber bands on the pinchers, but completely enthralled at their waving antennae and bulging eyes packed among the ice, and wondered if they really did scream when thrown into that big boiling pot of water. I tended to pick at yet-unserved food, which usually brought some form of admonishment, totally deserved. Iced tea in amber glasses. Silverware until all dirty, and then the plastic came out. Parents hanging out until the hungry kids loaded their plates. Ham, pork, pork, ham, chops, ham, pork, pork burgers, pheasant. Family bringing bowls, baking dishes and crock pots to add to everything already there. An extra table set up to fit what wouldn’t be crammed in between the chili and Grandma’s orange Jell-O/cottage cheese/carrot salad.

I hate to complain, I really do, but the fact of the matter is that Town Hall, although much more logically sound, just does not have the same flavor or air of the Awesome garage. It’s okay. It works out well, I know, but I miss the garage during the times we meet there.

Okay, enough about concrete floors, decorated walls and safely placed heaters. Please don’t mind me being verbose, but I’ve lived 34 years now and I’ve spent a lot of time at the Awesome farm. Riding the lawnmower tractor was always a big kick, providing it wasn’t too hot. Wandering through Aunt Awesome’s lush gardens and helping her pick flowers for drying was always a treat. Jo and I had many competitions with crochet thread and hooks, vying for who could make the longer chain. Real triumph came when those chains turned into granny squares. As I got older, it morphed into more intricate projects, like blankets and doilies, but it all started with Aunt Awesome. In fact, I have the blanket she made Tiger's Eye folded up neatly in the top drawer of my dresser. I still like the feel of the soft yarn when I put my hand in there to get something else, and it’s a little reminder of my aunt’s tireless energy and efforts to provide something special for everyone she knows.

I am not fond of fishing. It requires a certain tolerance of heat, patience, quietness and luck, none of which with I seemed to be blessed. I did enjoy looking for crickets, though, for Uncle Awesome. Rolling logs and revealing hordes of the critters had a wicked edge of delight--lunch for another animal, so the tacky legs sticking to my fingers made it fun, I guess. I liked knowing the difference between a bluegill and a bass, though, when they were brought into that little green boat or onto the bank. Mr. Sapphire and I went fishing at that pond there and Uncle Awesome clearly delineated to bank the bluegill in favor of the bass. I stayed in the boat, because everywhere I stepped things seemed to squirm or hop. Mr. Sapphire laughed at me. He’s so much better at fishing. I can barely cast. Thank goodness the children came along and I now have an excuse not to go fishing.

How can I forget the plane? I’m sure Uncle Awesome thought me insane when I asked him to do barrel rolls, but flying over the countryside to Sparta Airport never ceased to fascinate me. I’m not sure of the specifics, but I recall being picked up at an airport and carted away, led out to the plane in the night where its lights blinked, very spiffy for a young mind. I tried to explain to a friend once that my uncle had a runway in between corn fields, and she thought me a bit suicidal for enjoying such a thing. Well, so far, my memory always holds the plane and, at 34, I guess Uncle Awesome’s methods trumped that theory.

PIGS! Where do I start? My horrified offspring discovered that I participated in barbaric activities with little pink cute animals. When we got to clipping teeth and docking tails, they were convinced--I am a lunatic. I also explained that Uncle Awesome let me experiment on the pigs when I was in nursing school, giving me a very good demonstration on needle insertion. For years, though, I wondered where all the beer cans in the trash bucket outside the barn came from. I don’t know why I never asked. I thought if my cousins had a little "problem" surely they wouldn’t leave such a large pile for my aunt and uncle to see. Years later, I found out that some sows have bonding problems and beer works quite nicely. Inquiring minds want to know: Do they have a beer preference? How do Budweiser and Miller compare in a sow-to-sow contest?

Wandering through the different barns always provided such a neat view on life. In the first, the sows let their piglets suckle. In the next, the toddler piglets scattered when I tried to get in and be friendly. I was always a little afraid of the "stud" barn. Those guys made some funky sounds. Very much worth the new aroma I acquired along the way.

Okay, I have a vent. It’s never been voiced until now, but...why did you fill in the pond? Dee took us out when it froze over and let Jo and I slide around on the ice, wearing our red rubber boots. Too much fun!

Okay, I know this is getting long, but there are just too many things to add. I’ll try to make it brief. Snowmobiling on wet grass--my friends in Utah never believed me. Riding in Uncle Awesome’s fancy new tractor that went, well kinda, highway speeds. Aunt Awesome, do you remember when Jo and I made the insane request to WALK to Grandma’s? I do not remember much protest on your part. I just remember, in the fields, holding hands over the rough parts on the soft earth and feeling such a sense of accomplishment when we made it. The sky was overcast and we wore jackets, and seeing those double silos and watching them come a bit closer with every step just seemed so neat.

I want to thank you both for the shaped pancakes and teaching me that peanut butter and honey on pancakes is just about as close to heaven on Earth as you will ever come. You snuck us Lucky Charms--I still don’t know if Mom knows or you know that it was not supposed to be a part of our diet. I want to let you know that you never seemed rushed with us, and I know your schedules didn’t allow for much free time. Your patience always sticks with me, especially when I heard my name called for pig duty way too darn early and that I’d better get up if I wanted to ride along to take the pigs to market. We were free to explore and run. I know I spent a lot of time in front of the TV and with Wade’s Donkey Kong mini arcade, but I think I got something out of it--an eternal love for Smurfs. Okay, not a big notch in the measuring stick of life, but, hey, it’s something.

I would like to mention the dogs. Mutt, Cotton, Duke (especially Duke), Levi and Gus. I always like the fact that Mutt never snapped at me, even in his curmudgeonly years. Duke’s head just fit in my hand so nicely, and Gus is just a pleasure.

I know that’s not everything. I know I’m missing something, but I just want to thank you for everything, and I’m so proud of your 50 years together. My family and I wish you the best, and we love you so much.

And that's only part of those years...can you imagine what they've been like over my entire lifetime?  My family's amazing.

Edit:  I forgot she also grows the best blueberries found on the planet.  A freaky weather thing stole her crop from us her this year, and we're all grieving.