Some people have family trees ... but I have a family novella. It's a collection of stories about my family as I remember them, with a touch of my overactive imagination worked in for good measure. Enjoy!

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Deni is DeName                             
March 2004

My story of Deni begins with a painting, a moment frozen in time. Although I haven’t seen it in years, it’s still etched in my mind - as familiar as the Mona Lisa or Venus on the Half Shell. All I have to do is think of this painting, and I’m transported to a different place, back to the safety and comfort of my Nana and Papa’s house where it was so proudly displayed.

As a child, this painting captivated my attention. I would get lost in its swirls of blue and green shading and the vivid yellow used to capture Deni’s golden hair. I didn’t know who had painted it or where it came from, but I knew one thing - Deni was special. So special in fact, that someone had immortalized her on a canvas for the world to see.

The reality of the painting’s origin is not nearly as fantastical as one would think. It was actually a gift from a customer at the coffee shop where Deni used to waitress. Apparently, the artist created it from memory. I’m still trying to decide if this was a supreme form of flattery or an indication that she needed to get a restraining order and a super-size can of mace.

Despite the stalker implications, it was clear that Deni’s presence had resonated enough on the coffee shop patron’s life that he was moved to create art. As I sat down to write this story to celebrate her sixtieth birthday, I realized Deni’s presence resonates in my life too. She isn’t always in the foreground of every story, but like her painting she is always there and watching.

As far back as I can remember, a little bit of Deni is woven into every story. According to the tale of my birth, she kept my dad, the anxious father-to-be, occupied by sucking on sourball candies and telling jokes while my mother exhausted the list of Lamaze breathing exercises. During my toddler years, Deni and my mom used to go to Pizza Hut every Friday night and unbeknownst to me they would use my baby bottle as the means of smuggling in their Carlo Rossie wine! I’m told child protective services later caught on to this trick leading to the arrest and prosecution of mothers throughout the Bernalillio county area.

And who could forget my birthdays at Deni’s house? She had everything a kid could want. It was the perfect party setting with a pool, great food and usually a clown to entertain - or in most cases terrify - me. While everyone else spent hours playing in the pool until their skin had shriveled to raisin-like perfection, Deni never got her hair wet. Occasionally, if the planets were aligned just right, she would enter the pool wearing her one-piece terrycloth jumper and matching sun-deflecting visor, undoubtedly purchased from Kmart, for a brief swim with her neck craned skyward to keep her coif dry.

Then there was Christmas. While most families were busy opening up fruitcakes from a great aunt or a pair of socks from grandma, our family eagerly awaited a special kind of gift that only Deni could think of. You see, aunt Deni has a simple philosophy that she applies to life – vitamin C makes everything better. With this in mind, she would buy countless bottles of Costco ten-thousand-count chewable C’s to dole out as gifts. As a result, we were a very healthy family. There wasn’t a cold among us, just an occasional case of the runs from overdosing on the tasty supplements.

In middle school, my story of Deni switched focus. No longer content to be in the chorus, our relationship stepped center stage to bask in the spotlight of one-on-one time. Recognizing that I was a lazy preteen with hours and hours of summer vacation destined to be spent firmly planted in front of the TV, Deni set up a weekly lunch outing for us. Her teacher’s schedule afforded her the luxury of sharing in summer vacations as well. Once a week, she would pick me up and whisk me away to a short-lived fast food restaurant (I believe it was called The Rax) for the all-you-can-eat salad bar. An avid healthy eater and a teacher even in her off hours, Deni would use our lunch as an impromptu health class enlightening me on the benefits of vegetables, exercise and, of course, vitamins. The homework portion of our lunch usually came when she produced an article from Reader’s Digest or a similar publication that she thought might be of interest. Although it was never officially discussed, I knew that this article would serve as a topic of conversation for the next week’s lunch, so I eagerly reviewed it to make sure I would come off as precocious and well-rounded when the topic came up.

It isn’t just my life where Deni has been a guiding force. Her career as a teacher has enabled her make an impact in the lives of hundreds of children and today as a physical therapist, she is still going strong. As a mother, grandmother, sister, aunt and wife she has watched over all of our lives and filled them with love, laughter, healthy living articles and, did I mention, plenty of vitamin C.

So, thank you to that possibly-psychotic coffee shop customer for making Deni his muse and helping to remind us what we’ve known all along: like a fine painting, she is one of kind.

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