family history, part three

Grandma Milly's maiden name was Van Streusel.

Millicent Van Streusel was the daughter of Eugene Van Streusel, the former United States Sentator from Pennsylvania and then chairman of the Senate Sub Committee on Tariffs and Foreign Trade. As my grandfather, Randolph Barrington had a great interest in both subjects he considered it a shrewd business decision to marry the chairman's daughter.

My grandfather was quite right. Great Grandfather Van Streusel had a lengthy and productive Senate career bending regulations towards and regulators away from Grandpa Barrington. Grandpa made sure that he was discretely yet generously compensated for his efforts.

I suppose at some time Old Granddad loved Grandma Milly, God rest her soul, at least as much as he loved anything other than himself. That's not really saying alot. With affectionate amusement he referred to her as "My Monet", explaining that she was beautiful from a distance but up close she was just a jumbled messy mix of splotchy colors.

My poor grandmother. The skin condition is hereditary. Most people in my branch of the family lucked out, of course my skin and complexion remains as beautiful, smooth and perfect as a baby's, but I have a few cousins who weren't so fortunate.

The 4th of July will always remind me of her, my late Grandma Milly, God rest her soul.

It is the anniversary of her death.

She died from injuries she sustained in a fireworks accident in 1983.

We were at the traditional holiday family gathering at the lake house. Not the one in upstate New York, which by that time was used exclusively by my grandfather as a den for his hedonistic excesses, but the one on the shores of Lake Michigan.

Every year on the 4th of July I would go down to the dock by the boathouse. Along with my younger brother and a handful of cousins (some of them mini Monets), I spent hours shooting fireworks off into the night sky above the lake.

Grandma Milly, God rest her soul, typically stayed on the balcony of the main house, quietly sipping straight vodka martinis from a lemonade glass while watching her grandchildren play and applauding the fireworks.

On this particular 4th of July she ran out of her regular 80 proof vodka by early evening. It had been a stressful day for Grandma Milly, God rest her soul, she was drinking at a quicker than normal pace.

Because of the holiday my grandfather had also began to drink quite early in the day. He typically did not drink more than the obligatory social sip or two. He did not like the out of control feeling that frequently accompanies inebriation, but he sometimes made an exception for special events such as holidays. Subsequently by noon he was quite intoxicated and lost all discretion. Grandfather was openly flaunting his most recent affair with the buxom young lass he had hired to be his secretary after convincing her to quit her previous job as a cocktail waitress in a gentlemen's club.

If Grandma Milly, God rest her soul, had done a shot of vodka for every insult and affront to her respect and dignity that first bottle of vodka would have been gone by around 12:30.

Not that she didn't try.

As the sun was going down she switched to drinking the 100 proof stuff. Well, after a couple of those on top of her usual holiday bump of pharmaceutical grade morphine, she got to feeling a little festive. She decided to join the younger generation down on the dock.

What happened next is one of those memories that you will forever replay in perfect mental slow motion.

There was a gentle summer breeze blowing off the lake. It was a beautiful cloudless night. Grandma Milly, God rest her soul, was dancing playfully around on the dock with my cousin Martha, one of the mini Monets. Grandma had a lemonade glass martini in one hand and a sparkler in the other.

A spark from the sparkler caught the breeze and gently drifted towards Grandma Milly, God rest her soul. It landed in her beautifully behived and bouffaunted hair.

POOF! She lit up like Michael Jackson in a Pepsi commercial.

Grandma Milly, God rest her soul, was so whacked out by this time she probably didn't know her own name. She had not yet realized her head was on fire.

Cousin Martha screamed and grabbed the first thing she saw to quench the flames: Grandma Milly's, God rest her soul, lemonade glass. Thinking it was full of ice and lemonade she threw the contents at Grandma's head. The 100 proof vodka burst into flames as it landed on Grandma Milly's shoulders and chest.

You would be surprised to learn how quickly an Italian designer blouse made from hand woven silk becomes engulfed in fire. If your spending that kind of money you should expect a little more flame resistance.

Cousin Martha screamed louder. Grandma just looked confused. Cousin Martha looked at the water in the lake. She looked at Grandma. She gave one more look at the water. She reached out and shoved flaming Grandma off the dock and into the water.

Grandma Milly, God rest her soul, never learned to swim. Not that it would have mattered. Mark Spitz would not have been able to swim in the condition Grandma was in. She sank like a stone. Steam sizzled and floated upwards as the water quenched the flames.

Officially the cause of death was listed as "accidental drowning". Neither the police reports nor the newspaper accounts mentioned the fire or Grandma Milly's, God rest her soul, profound intoxication.

Cousin Martha still resides under heavy sedation at the Tranquil Creek Home for The Mentally Impaired Incompetent and Deranged. They say the poor girl never got over the shock of igniting grandma. I think it's more likely that Old Granddad did not want the truth of the incident to ever tarnish the family image. Cousin Martha was to hysterical to be trusted to keep silent.

After the funeral I overheard Old Granddad, the bastard, make a comment to one of his business associates about how he was happy to have finally had his Independence Day.