My dear sweet, gentle, ever wonderful and long-suffering Scorpio mother [henceforth to be referred to as Ma Wetzel> is dreadfully afraid that I’ll write something about the family. Some secret, some truth, or, her worst nightmare, I’ll just be making something up. Something audacious and improbable.
“You should talk about the way she just makes stuff all the time,” [Sister>
Why would I do that? Just reporting the facts is usually entertaining enough. Take normally bizarre family dynamics, and add the stress of a funeral, compound the mixture with the whole family traveling together, it can be a little strange.
We didn’t get chance to leave the house before tempers were fragile. And Sister, flying in on a red-eye from the Left Coast was no better. She was in a highly animated state at a very unreasonable hour of the morning until we got on the next plane. She talked and talked [Gemini> until she suddenly stopped, mouth hanging open, passed out cold. The book she as reading was still open on her lap.
I poked my mother, “They’re so cute when they’re at this age and they’re asleep,” I tell her.
A little later, Ma and Pa Wetzel were asleep, and I poked Sister in the side, “They’re so cute when they’re asleep.”