The uncles are all dead. They were a hearty lot, the Paulsons. Lived into their nineties most of them, as did their sister, my mom. The last of them died recently and it got me thinking about my favorite, Uncle Harry, who passed on several years ago.
I lost my own dad when I was five. I probably know him best from family stories; sometimes I don’t know if my memories are of the stories told about him or are actually memories of him. My favorite story/memory is of us both sick, me in one bedroom and him across the hallway in another. My mom set up a series of mirrors opposite our beds reflecting off a common mirror in the hallway so that we could look at one another. My dad had these wonderful big ears. I remember him waving at me one morning, his ears seeming to hover around his head like a lopsided halo.
He died the next day. (more…)
Scene of the Crime 