Anyone over the age of 30 should remember the TV sitcom “Bewitched” with Samantha the “nice” witch; her “ordinary” husband, Darrin; her mother, Eldora; and her Aunt Clara.
Our family has a special connection to Aunt Clara. We have founded the “Clara Club.” We don’t idolize Marion Lorne, who played Clara. We, quite by accident, imitate her.
An online biography of actors states that Aunt Clara was “befuddled, muttering, doorknob collecting, bouncing into walls or conjuring up some type of unintended harmless witchcraft,” making Darrin and Samantha cringe most of the time.
Our Clara Club started a couple of years ago, when my daughter Tracey; my mother, Jean; my sister Sharon; and I decided life is way too serious. It’s time to laugh at your missteps, even if they are patterned after Aunt Clara.
We aren’t witches, and we don’t cast spells, but we do laugh at ourselves. For example, one day I was trying like heck to get a music cassette to play. I put it in, took it out, pushed buttons and complained to my husband, Toby, that the cassette player was broken.
He took a look, reached for the cord and plugged it in, and quite calmly said, “That was a Clara.” You get the picture.
Another time I was making Toby’s favorite oatmeal cookies. As I was mixing the last ingredients, someone knocked at the door. When I returned to the kitchen, I placed the doughy cookies onto the baking sheet. Fifteen minutes later, when I took the cookies out of the oven, I noticed they were like a pile of chunky sawdust, collapsed and not mounded like they should be. Then I noticed the unopened bag of flour. I had forgotten to add the flour! Clara Club … we ate them sprinkled over ice cream.