I’VE written about la nina before, the capricious intruder with no respect for people’s health or property.
She floats around somewhere in the troposphere, thinking about where she can dump her next bucket of tears while she mulls over whoever did her a nasty deed in previous lifetimes.
She must have had an awfully bad night prior to the previous week which sent her into four days of straight depression.
Will someone tell her help is available these days. Nobody will judge you “la nina” – you can work yourself out while giving the reins to our old friend el nino who’s more inclined to deliver sunny days and warm weather.
Before I get chewed like an ever-lasting gobstopper, I know el nino can bring drought. And I’m aware that we require the balance brought by rain.
All I’m saying is that I feel la nina has had more than her fair go over the past few months. She’s wept so hard that our dams are full, and she seems intent on maintaining her rein of misery for the foreseeable future.
What did she do with el nino anyway? Is he okay?
Never mind. The last time I hypothesised la nina’s existence, I ran out of time to introduce you to one of Wanda’s cousins, Nina.
She’s that person in the family who looks horribly older than she probably is, yet nobody’s really sure because they don’t have the courage to discuss her age.
Wanda tells me she recalls playing with Nina as a child, which makes them a similar age.
We’re not responsible for the naming convention, but somewhere along the line “cousin” Nina became “aunt” Nina, and that’s what everyone calls her.
Even her own aunt calls her Aunt Nina.
There would be irony if the “la” before the weather variety of “nina” meant “aunt” because these two actually have a lot in common.
Aunt Nina hovers in the background most of the time, occasionally mentioned in family outposts, rarely to say she’s okay – usually to say she’s still around. Somewhere.
Nobody seems to know where, until one of the uncles says she’s likely to turn up at an upcoming weddings. At that point, the conversation stops, the brood sipping faster on their English breakfast tea, all hoping the same thing – that Aunt Nina will keep to herself when she arrives.
You see, Aunt Nina preys on the weak.
At a funeral recently, she holed up the partner of a family member – not even a real relative – in the back bathroom of the family home.
The house is an old Queenslander and the bathroom is a toilet and shower with one entry, which means only one way out. That would be past Aunt Nina’s lecture on politics which rapidly transgresses into a one-way discussion about religion.
Aunt Nina likes to impose her views, and that would normally be okay in small doses because we all enjoy a sprinkling of diverse opinion in our lives at times. It helps the brain cells grow.
The shower continues, and all of a sudden, things are starting to feel uncomfortable because there’s always someone in the family crowd who won’t take Aunt Nina’s strong views with the good intention they came with.
The resistance is broken by someone somewhat less prone to keeping the peace. Even in the good company of people the rulebook of decorum says you must sustain long-term pleasantries, there’s only so much a dam wall can take.
So it bursts.
Sarcasm is a nice go-to, but Aunt Nina is far too stubborn to entertain trivialities. She just keeps soaking the table with extremity after extremity of far left – or is it far right – thoughts that would annoy anyone with a vege garden and a shed full of family heirlooms.
Then there’s an argument, some anger, and all ends in tears and occasionally a broken candle holder.
That’s when Wanda comes in. Bless her, my wife is everybody’s Switzerland. She’s a ray of sunshine, and even though things are a bit messy, she urges all to clean things up – to be respectful, sweep away the candle holder glass and get on with the get-together.
So when will Aunt Nina raise her ugly head again.
Unfortunately, nobody can predict when the next family reunion will be, regardless of the amount of research they’ve been doing.
