Two years ago, my Aunt Barbara died after living her entire life in Roslyn New York. Rosyln is very small community on the North Shore of Long Island. It's actually a very nice place to live. Barbara was actually my Pop's cousin, which truthfully makes her my second cousin, I think. But being that she was my Pop's age, it always made more sense to call her Aunt rather than cousin. Barbara was single woman all her life, she'd had some boyfriends that had gotten serious at times, but for whatever reason, she never walked down the aisle of matrimony. And although I didn't know Barbara well, she never really made it seem like she cared about any of love's near misses in her life, so I don't really care either. She lived in her mother's house all her life. When her dad died (long before I ever met her), she just stayed with her mom, my Aunt Marie. And they lived in this small 4 bedroom tri-level for my whole life. Aunt Marie died years ago, but I remember her. It has been such a long time though for me and my Aunt Marie though, that I only remember her as a very old lady, and me being a young boy. And Marie was a beautiful small, strong, thin woman, who lived for her flowers and her patio and spoke with a German accent. She had wonderful flowers as I can remember. And when she died she musn't have weighed more than a hundred pounds or so. But she was a good woman. And her daughter, my Aunt Barbara was an apple that didn't fall too far from the tree.
Barbara used to come to Ohio twice a year, a hold over from when Marie and Barbara came to Ohio together once or twice a year. And like i've said, Barbara wasn't close to my age, unless 40 years is close, which it isn't. And so it was one of those things where we see them and are cordial, but not exactly a laugh a minute gathering. Barbara could have her moments...very set in her ways. She might have even come off as crabby to some. Be that as it may, she was my aunt. And that stuff didn't matter too much to me. But one year, maybe ten years ago, I think it was Christmas time. She was in town, and i was late 20's early 30's then. And I remember thinking how nicer she was to me this trip. Maybe someone of that generation was finally accepting one of us "kids" as an adult. She was staying at my mom's house and I'd gone over to help with food preparation for a big dinner. And somehow, she was supposed to help me with cutting vegetables for our huge crudite that i had to build. And when she picked up a knife that was like a cleaver or something, i first took the knife from her, and secondly, walked her around to the other side of the bar, gave her a glass of chardonnay, and told her to just look pretty, i'd do all the work. And so I went back around to the sink side of the bar and this way, we were facing each other and we could talk without me worrying about her cutting her fingers off. And talk we did. I don't remember any of what we spoke about, but I remember really enjoying the conversation. I do remember the vegetables though...carrots, celery, broccoli, radishes, red and yellow bell peppers, cucumbers, squash, zucchini and maybe something like squash or something. And i was no stranger to a chef's knife. I was very good with the knife, still am to this day. And she started with the "oh!" and "whatchit!" and then she relaxed. I had gained her trust. And as i washed the veggies then patted them dry and peeled what needed to be peeled, we talked. I'd slice the long colorful pieces into long strips and then julienne some of them, course chop others. the smaller things needed maybe a chop or a twist and then we'd have more wine. And we continued talking through that hour. And late that night and then later that week, at dinners, or functions, she told everyone how lovely it was to spend that time with me. She enjoyed the show, the wine and mostly the conversation. And that's the most I remember from Barbara. That;s actually the best memory of her that I have. And it's a great one.
Every year after that, Barbara would send a Christmas card to me, with maybe 50 bucks in it or maybe 100. And the girls would get $20 checks on their birthdays, and at Christmas, the girls would actually get gifts from Barbara. And in most of her cards, along with these funny little checks, would be a handwritten part that told me she remembered the night we made the vegetables. She'd told me many times that I have good hands. And I loved every card she sent us.
And so when she died, (I'd known she was sick for a while,) mother called and told me the bad news. My mother has given me the death notices of almost all the people in my life that have died, probably all the family members for sure. I had just pulled into the office, and we spoke for a few minutes about Barbara and mom was sad, she'd known her as a friend/relative for years. But every time I think about Aunt Barbara, I think about that night we made that huge veggy crudite, and our conversation that evening. She is a rock in the river of my life. And she'll always live there. And that's what it means when I say, "i love that memory". Because i do love that memory. This is not a sad story, Barbara traveled the world, was part of a great family and had a job she loved and one that paid her well apparently. When she died she left about a half million dollars to her school and her church in her will. God Bless Her. I do love that memory.
Barbara used to come to Ohio twice a year, a hold over from when Marie and Barbara came to Ohio together once or twice a year. And like i've said, Barbara wasn't close to my age, unless 40 years is close, which it isn't. And so it was one of those things where we see them and are cordial, but not exactly a laugh a minute gathering. Barbara could have her moments...very set in her ways. She might have even come off as crabby to some. Be that as it may, she was my aunt. And that stuff didn't matter too much to me. But one year, maybe ten years ago, I think it was Christmas time. She was in town, and i was late 20's early 30's then. And I remember thinking how nicer she was to me this trip. Maybe someone of that generation was finally accepting one of us "kids" as an adult. She was staying at my mom's house and I'd gone over to help with food preparation for a big dinner. And somehow, she was supposed to help me with cutting vegetables for our huge crudite that i had to build. And when she picked up a knife that was like a cleaver or something, i first took the knife from her, and secondly, walked her around to the other side of the bar, gave her a glass of chardonnay, and told her to just look pretty, i'd do all the work. And so I went back around to the sink side of the bar and this way, we were facing each other and we could talk without me worrying about her cutting her fingers off. And talk we did. I don't remember any of what we spoke about, but I remember really enjoying the conversation. I do remember the vegetables though...carrots, celery, broccoli, radishes, red and yellow bell peppers, cucumbers, squash, zucchini and maybe something like squash or something. And i was no stranger to a chef's knife. I was very good with the knife, still am to this day. And she started with the "oh!" and "whatchit!" and then she relaxed. I had gained her trust. And as i washed the veggies then patted them dry and peeled what needed to be peeled, we talked. I'd slice the long colorful pieces into long strips and then julienne some of them, course chop others. the smaller things needed maybe a chop or a twist and then we'd have more wine. And we continued talking through that hour. And late that night and then later that week, at dinners, or functions, she told everyone how lovely it was to spend that time with me. She enjoyed the show, the wine and mostly the conversation. And that's the most I remember from Barbara. That;s actually the best memory of her that I have. And it's a great one.
Every year after that, Barbara would send a Christmas card to me, with maybe 50 bucks in it or maybe 100. And the girls would get $20 checks on their birthdays, and at Christmas, the girls would actually get gifts from Barbara. And in most of her cards, along with these funny little checks, would be a handwritten part that told me she remembered the night we made the vegetables. She'd told me many times that I have good hands. And I loved every card she sent us.
And so when she died, (I'd known she was sick for a while,) mother called and told me the bad news. My mother has given me the death notices of almost all the people in my life that have died, probably all the family members for sure. I had just pulled into the office, and we spoke for a few minutes about Barbara and mom was sad, she'd known her as a friend/relative for years. But every time I think about Aunt Barbara, I think about that night we made that huge veggy crudite, and our conversation that evening. She is a rock in the river of my life. And she'll always live there. And that's what it means when I say, "i love that memory". Because i do love that memory. This is not a sad story, Barbara traveled the world, was part of a great family and had a job she loved and one that paid her well apparently. When she died she left about a half million dollars to her school and her church in her will. God Bless Her. I do love that memory.
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