Happy birthday to my Aunt Juanita, my mother's youngest sibling. Juanita was fun and funny. At my mother's wake in 1989 the room became very crowded when the ladies from the Rosary Sodality, along with the young Father DeVolder, came to say the rosary. The room, airless with all these people crowded into it, and with the doors closed against any intrusion upon our supplications, became closer and closer as our fingers moved slowly from bead to bead, through decade after decade, and as my mind meandered through memories of the joyful mysteries and of the sorrowful mysteries and of the blessed mysteries and of the mysteries that are just plain. Just as Father DeVolder's starring role was coming to an end, Aunt Juanita suddenly crumpled to the floor in a faint; it was as if she'd stolen the priest's exit.
Recovering on the sofa, vacated now for her repose, and daintily resting the back of her hand against her forehead, she was miffed to hear it said that she had fallen.
"I didn't fall," she snitted. "I got down on the floor because I could feel it coming on and then I fainted."
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