The Adventures of Aunt Rainey
I realized yesterday I forogt to write about my great-Aunt Rainey. Oops. Here goes. If you’ve ever seen the movie Secondhand Lions it’s the story about a young boy (Haley Joel Osment) who is trying desperately to find out if the stories about his great-uncles are real—the stories of their daring adventures and near death experiences in a far away land. Everyone that was ever close to him had lied to him so he wanted desperately to believe the stories were true. And, in the end, he does find out every bit of their stories were true and he achieves a catharsis of some kind, which is really hard to articulate but makes perfect sense in the movie.
Well, Aunt Rainey is just like the great uncles and I am just like Haley Joel Osment…except Aunt Rainey never had any near death experiences and I don’t have trust issues. But we are alike.
Let me explain.
Rainey is a wonderfully boisterous debutante of old who has had more money in her life than most of us will ever see. She comes from an elegant time and knows how to live grand. My mother has told me about shopping trips to Neiman Marcus and such. Rainey even lived for a time in San Francisco on a hill. She is straight out of a F. Scott Fitzgerald novel.
If you were to visit Aunt Rainey’s apartment in Dallas, she would shuffle about quickly despite her ninety years of age and begin showing you pictures. Lots of pictures. At first glance, you would never guess she’s approaching ninety. As you flip through the pictures, some will catch your attention instantly. There, in one photo is Aunt Rainey, her now deceased husband Bert, and... a shiek.
Yes, a shiek. And the picture of them is in the desert somewhere; a line of hooded Arabic men smiling for the camera with Bert and Aunt Rainey. According to Rainey, it was in Lebanon and her husband was one of the first Americans to work with the countries of the Middle East to bring oil to the United States. She continued that Bert was well known and well respected by all the powerful men of the Middle East. They wined and dined all over the Middle East, living in Lebanon for three years.
As if that idea weren’t romantic enough, Rainey has knick knacks from her travels and walking through her apartment is like walking through a Hollywood prop storage house. Plates and odd-shaped thingys, lamps, and tables – all from distant, seemingl fictional lands.
When my mother graduated from high school Rainey took her to the Orient for several weeks. I’m pretty sure that trip was one of the highlights of my mother’s life. They took lots of pictures.
It’s terribly sad that her travels weren’t documented, but Rainey still recalls names with unbelievable accuracy. Perhaps somewhere she has written down the stories. If not the stories, she definitely has the pictures.
We spent a whole afternoon with Rainey about two months ago, and I was encouraged by her spunk. When we ate dinner at the retirement community, Rainey gave us all a good laugh when she ordered a martini from the waitress. (Her community doesn’t serve alcohol.) We got an even bigger laugh on the way back to her apartment after dinner when, while pulling out a handkerchief to blow her noise said “I hope my nose doesn’t out run me!”
It’s all a testament to growing old gracefully. I wonder if she doesn’t re-live her adventures from time to time, perhaps pulling out the pictures and thinking back. I’m hoping we can attend a 100th birthday party here in another ten years, maybe pull out some old pictures and tell some stories.
Well, Aunt Rainey is just like the great uncles and I am just like Haley Joel Osment…except Aunt Rainey never had any near death experiences and I don’t have trust issues. But we are alike.
Let me explain.
Rainey is a wonderfully boisterous debutante of old who has had more money in her life than most of us will ever see. She comes from an elegant time and knows how to live grand. My mother has told me about shopping trips to Neiman Marcus and such. Rainey even lived for a time in San Francisco on a hill. She is straight out of a F. Scott Fitzgerald novel.
If you were to visit Aunt Rainey’s apartment in Dallas, she would shuffle about quickly despite her ninety years of age and begin showing you pictures. Lots of pictures. At first glance, you would never guess she’s approaching ninety. As you flip through the pictures, some will catch your attention instantly. There, in one photo is Aunt Rainey, her now deceased husband Bert, and... a shiek.
Yes, a shiek. And the picture of them is in the desert somewhere; a line of hooded Arabic men smiling for the camera with Bert and Aunt Rainey. According to Rainey, it was in Lebanon and her husband was one of the first Americans to work with the countries of the Middle East to bring oil to the United States. She continued that Bert was well known and well respected by all the powerful men of the Middle East. They wined and dined all over the Middle East, living in Lebanon for three years.
As if that idea weren’t romantic enough, Rainey has knick knacks from her travels and walking through her apartment is like walking through a Hollywood prop storage house. Plates and odd-shaped thingys, lamps, and tables – all from distant, seemingl fictional lands.
When my mother graduated from high school Rainey took her to the Orient for several weeks. I’m pretty sure that trip was one of the highlights of my mother’s life. They took lots of pictures.
It’s terribly sad that her travels weren’t documented, but Rainey still recalls names with unbelievable accuracy. Perhaps somewhere she has written down the stories. If not the stories, she definitely has the pictures.
We spent a whole afternoon with Rainey about two months ago, and I was encouraged by her spunk. When we ate dinner at the retirement community, Rainey gave us all a good laugh when she ordered a martini from the waitress. (Her community doesn’t serve alcohol.) We got an even bigger laugh on the way back to her apartment after dinner when, while pulling out a handkerchief to blow her noise said “I hope my nose doesn’t out run me!”
It’s all a testament to growing old gracefully. I wonder if she doesn’t re-live her adventures from time to time, perhaps pulling out the pictures and thinking back. I’m hoping we can attend a 100th birthday party here in another ten years, maybe pull out some old pictures and tell some stories.
posted by Winston A. Hall at 10:38 AM
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