Tuesday, December 09, 2008

Call Me Pick

Mildred Barton Presley or “Aunt Pick,” was my grandfather’s sister. She got the nickname Pick from her father when she was a little girl. He’d say, “There’s Daddy’s little pickananny,” and then it got shortened to just Pick. I never knew her as anything else.

Aunt Pick had the most beautiful skin you’ve ever seen. It looked exactly like the skin of a peach, but it was ivory colored. My sisters and I would always ask her what she used on her face that made it so pretty. She’d laugh the way only Aunt Pick laughed, “Shoo-hoo-hoo-hoo!” and say, “I use Crisco right out of the can every night like cold cream!” Then she’d show us that she had a big can of Crisco sitting on her dressing table.

Now about Aunt Pick’s laugh. She said the word “shoot” a lot, and I guess her laugh was just a condensed version of that word. “Shoo-hoo-hoo-hoo!” I can still hear her plain as day. And she was always laughing, too. She seemed to be perpetually happy and pleasant. She must have taken after her mother, my Great Granny Barton, who was always happy. I never heard her or Granny Barton say a cross word about anything.

Aunt Pick was always heavy, as far as I know. She told me a story one time about how she fell in the parking lot of the grocery store, and she was so fat, she couldn’t get up. She said, “I just rolled around and rolled around in that parking lot, and couldn’t get myself up! Shoo-hoo-hoo-hoo!” She had tears in her eyes when she told me because she was laughing so much.

I tell you all these things about Aunt Pick just to say that I’m going to look just like Aunt Pick if I don’t go on a diet and put a halt to stuffing my face with whatever, whenever I want. I’ve just been ignoring it and pretending it isn’t so. I’ll be attempting to lose weight, yet again, starting on December 26th. Ho-Hum. Same shit, different day.

It’s a necessary evil though. Aunt Pick died when she was 73 years old (I believe that’s the right age?). She was in her bathroom one morning putting on her make-up when her husband heard her fall. She’d had a heart attack and died right there. Unless I want to die in a similar fashion, I need to do something about my weight, which I supposedly have some control over. I don’t feel good or look good either, and that bothers me more than anyone knows.

When I do keel over some day, I know Aunt Pick will be there with open arms to welcome me to the other side where it won’t matter if I’m fat or skinny.


  1. Anonymous3:25 PM

    I wish you had posted a pic of Pick

  2. Anonymous3:55 PM

    Got it. I hope she is wearing that scarf when you see her.

  3. I've got something for you that Aunt Pick wrote. Guess I'll get that out in the mail tomorrow! Love you!


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