When I was six, my Aunt Olga spent the night at our house to babysit. She chased me and my brothers to bed and lay down to sleep on one of the beds in our bunkhouse-like room. But Lightning, our dog, had snuck in and climbed on Olga’s bed and beat her to the pillow. Olga put her head down on the dog and sat up, startled.
Olga yelled at the dog, but Lightning knew a soft-touch and once again beat her to the pillow. Once again Olga yelled at the dog. She tried to chase Lightning away, but lightning kept jumping back onto the bed.
I precociously sat up in my bed and yelled, “Hey Auntie Olga: what’s the big idea? Leave the dog alone. She ain’t hurtin’ anyone. How’s a fella’ supposed to get any sleep around here?”
The Inside Joke
I don’t know from what TV show or movie I heard such phrasing, but the story was repeated for the next forty years whenever we’d visit Olga. It entered the realm of family lore, at least from my perspective, and it was with a sense of pride that I heard it repeated. How clever I was, I guess.
I also enjoyed the loving nostalgia of a family connection. At our gatherings over the ensuing decades, I could say, “Hey Auntie Olga: what’s the big idea?” and get a laugh. A cheap laugh, sure, but an important one. Laughing with family is one of the ways we strengthen our connection.
As Birbiglia points out, family is anyone with whom you share an inside joke. The more inside jokes you have, the more it feels like family. They don’t have to be good jokes; just shared.
Rest In Peace
Aunt Olga died a few days ago, so I won’t hear that story of Lightning on Olga’s pillow ever again, at least not with the same loving nostalgia.
Olga dedicated her life to not worrying about things. She made not worrying an art form. Some of it was nature, some of it nurture. When badgered about a topic, the closest she came to raising her ire was annoyance at being reminded of whatever presented itself as a problem.
I don’t think she ever formulated a lifestyle motto, but it might have been: “What the hell do I care what they think?”
How to Live
Olga was a master in not hurrying, as well. It makes sense: if you’re not worried, why hurry? She took her sweet-ass time about everything. No event, deadline or agreement was so important that she needed to rush. No amount of coaxing could change that.
Olga never had a serious relationship or children, but she seemed to enjoy all of her nieces and nephews. Later on, she took similar joy in the next generation of nieces and nephews. She would have craft projects for us when we visited, and would share with us the projects she worked on. Although not necessarily happy all the time, she was always fun.
What I remember most of Olga is that she was never without a camera, and loved to capture the moments when family came together. She never rushed taking the picture, either. As she wound the film, aimed the camera, and searched in vain with her finger for the shutter release, she’d mutter, “Wait a while… Wait a while…”
Beyond that, Olga never asked much of this world. Some of that may have been the lingering sting of early disappointment: a childhood during the depression with a poverty-stricken family of eight siblings. Surviving that harsh beginning, the world offered little opportunity for an introverted, single woman with no particular drive to over-achieve. Or achieve at all, for that matter.
As the years went by, she grew into the role of eccentric aunt, gathering ephemera to the point of hoarding, never missing a dessert, and seeking out small adventures of her own desires. She had her walking stick, her bags of things, and her camera with her all the time.
Later in life, surviving all but one of her siblings, she lived with my cousin, Donna. It was there that Brooke, Olga’s great-great niece, started a TikTok account for Olga. Brooke taught Olga the various dance routines kids do online, and posted the videos to her account. Wouldn’t you just know it but she had over 6,000 followers when she died.
Olga loved her family and was loved in return. She ran her race slow and steady. Olga was 97 years old.