Golden Wreath Lenox- Evil is Thy Name



What is it with the struggle of families who inherit possessions? Possessions, money- they signify responsibility- something people don't tell you, especially when you ask them how it feels that they won the lottery.

The second of Goddess knows how many more horrid boxes of this Golden Wreath Lenox China has shown up at my door- Happy Fucking Solstice! A "gift" from my loving aunt- looking for a fast way to dump what obviously isn't of value and is rather garish and filled with the vibes of its former owner. Nothing like taking my shed space up while I wait for a girlfriend to take it off my hands. Her husband is going to be livid when she temporarily inherits this china to replace hers which she is sick of! "I'll keep it for you," she tells me. Honey, keep it FOREVER!

This is the china of a woman we all called "Auntie." Auntie (my great aunt) was a difficult, arrogant woman who loved me dearly. But my Mom and her siblings? Not so much. I was rather insulated from her energies as the sole grandchild of the eldest of 3 children of a Baptist minister. Auntie, I'm told, in love for her sister (my grandmother) spent a great deal of time interfering with the hapiness of all three children's lives.

Now I am "Auntie," called so by my girlfriend's 5 year old- uh SCARY! And so the wheel turns and my shed space is being further monopolized. But like any anger and frustration, it's more the principle than the box. I wasn't thrilled about taking the china in the first place and our misunderstanding that I would take it made the first box appear. I thought I'd said no. Now there is the second. Perhaps I need to make a mosaic of rotten family heirlooms. Keeps it out of the landfill anyway!

I was busy leaving a nasty voicemail about this to my aunt when the poor little old Asian neighbors of mine were calling my name from outside- awaiting my arrival home so they could in haste reciprocate the lovely honey banana bread I'd made them. They are sweet ladies and offered both their tomato crop and their clothesline to me this summer. "What!?!!!" I shouted angry at someone outside calling my name. I think I scared them nearly out of their undies. Of course I took their sweet card and bottle of something calmly and graciously when I realized what it was. But it was priceless, that moment when any innocent passerby catches you in a moment of your own private fury.

And then there's the reciprocation thing! They didn't need to do that. Ah the vast and deep cultures of guilt- Jewish, Catholic, Arab, Chinese, Japanese- does it never stop? Why didn't Jung have anything to say about archetypes of guilt- it's so prominent! Marriages, families, empires- they are all built on guilt (and rape and deceit but hey let's stick to the narrative).

And then, being sick early this week, I had to knock once heavily on the one wall that my cottage shares with the abutting house. When their Mom is away, the teenagers run wild- and at 11pm, I wanted to sleep. They're good kids- sensitive too. One knock was all it too to have the quiet back. And as I came home from work on trash night- magically the kids appeared to take down the trash which sometimes gets left until the early am because (I'm theorizing) the Mom has the trash duty and is often home late. Was it guilt?

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