Mary

Last night, as I drifted off to sleep, my Aunt Mary came to mind. Now most of you will shake your heads and think this is just weirdness, but I believe that we, or at least I, get 'visitations' in our twilight sleep sometimes. I've had several occasions where just as I'm about to topple into deep slumber, someone gone pops so strongly into my mind, that I struggle back to the surface of consciousness and then lay awake for a while thinking of them. The sensation that I was in their presence is so strong! A feeling of warmth, tenderness and affection suffuses me, till I drift off and succumb to sleep.

My mother 'visits' fairly regularly and sometimes, instead of having her in my thoughts/dream state, I hear her voice and it's loud enough to jolt me awake. Usually, she just says my name in the sharp manner she always used to me. In the past couple of years, my ex mother-in-law has visited me twice. Sometimes I dream of my dad. But this is the first time, Mary has 'come to see me'.

In my home, growing up, we didn't use the title 'Aunt' or 'Uncle' to address our parents' siblings. We just used first names; Mary, Sarah, etc. I didn't know most of my aunts and uncles; it's a shame, too, for there were many. My mother was one of seven children and my dad was one of five; one of which was a fraternal twin sister.

At any rate, last night, as I lay awake thinking of Mary, I realized what a big impact she had in my life.  I told an anecdote about her in a previous post 'I Remember...'  below. (I hope you scroll down and read it if you haven't already.) But I wanted to tell a bit more about her.

Mary was born November 13, 1920, the fifth of seven kids. As I may have mentioned previously, she was the first of her family to graduate high school. She was also the only one to never marry. For as long as I can remember, she lived alone in an apartment in Indianapolis. I simply knew her to be a secretary in an office but never knew more than that about her employment.

I don't think I ever saw her dressed in anything but skirts and blouses, hose and heeled shoes, a watch and a necklace of some sort. Mary had deep brown, virtually black hair, a thin lipped mouth usually compressed into a line but brightly lipsticked, trifocal glasses which magnified her deep black-brown eyes, worry lines between her eyebrows. She wasn't exactly pretty per se, but she was very striking. She was what would be called 'a handsome woman'. To me, she exuded strength, confidence, knowledge, and a sophistication that came from living in a city. Mary knew what was going on in the world outside our little town for sure!

One thing about Mary was that she never learned to drive. I believe she had a great fear of it. I never heard anyone say that; it's just my instinct. I remember once when I finally got my driver's license and gave her a ride back to Sarah's, she gripped the seat of the car like a limpet to a rock and was stiff as a board. I really didn't think my driving was that bad.

So every other Friday, Mary got on a bus and came 'home' to Bicknell. While my maternal grandfather, Pop, was still alive, she'd usually stay with him, in the house she grew up in, on West Third St. You could see the house from ours, on West Fourth. Or she'd stay with my youngest aunt, Sarah, who also lived on Third a few blocks up from Pop. Later, after Pop died, Mary inherited his house and she eventually gave it to my cousin, Sarah's daughter. Mary always stayed at Sarah's when she came to visit after that.

She didn't stay with us any time that I can remember. My mother was a prickly soul and the devil to try to get along with. Plus there were two of us girls, my sister and I, so there probably wasn't room unless we put Mary on the couch. Or in bed with one of us and put the other kid on the couch... However, she walked down to visit with us for a few hours on those Saturdays, like clockwork, and often as not, she'd drop by on Sunday mornings to say goodbye, before getting on the bus to go back to Indianapolis.

Mary's visits always were momentous to me, as a child, and I always looked forward to seeing her. She was just a special person in our lives and she was always so good to me. When I was little, she always gave me a big pile of pennies wrapped up in a beautiful handkerchief. Sometimes I had to give her the hankies back and sometimes I got to keep them. I kept those hankies for years and years. As I grew older, the pennies began to turn into nickels, then to dimes and when I was a teenager, they became quarters. This was fantastic to me because I didn't get an allowance otherwise.

And Christmas! Mary gave us the best, most exotic gifts ever! It was so exciting to get a present from her because often when you'd get the paper off, whatever it was would be in an L.S. Ayres box. L.S. Ayres was a big department store in Indianapolis, long since consumed by Macy's. We had nothing like it in Knox County--the closest thing would have been Gimbel's in Vincennes but even that couldn't hold a candle to Ayres. Mary always did her best to find us unique and beautiful things and whatever was the latest craze, she managed to get for us as well, such as the Rubik's Cube or Dam dolls (the original troll dolls).

I was an avid reader, even as a young child and went to the library twice a week, usually Wednesdays and Saturdays. On the weekends Mary visited, she'd often 'go uptown' with me on my library forays. Then we'd stop at the corner drugstore, which still had a soda fountain; I'd get a marshmallow coke and Mary always got a 'chocolate nip'. Usually she'd have to tell them how to make it--to the best of my memory it was soda water with a shot of chocolate syrup over ice. Then we'd sit and sip our drinks and chat. Then home we'd go.

Into my teen years, Mary's visits became less frequent. I think she was growing too tired to come every other weekend. Her health began to grow a bit fragile; I think she was having heart problems. But she still came once a month.

It was not long before I left home that I have a special memory of her. In 1972, Helen Gurley Brown broke a taboo and published the world's first male centerfold, Burt Reynolds. I bought that magazine and sneaked it into the house (I was still living at home at 18) and hid it in the bottom of my closet. Mom would have killed me if she knew! Mary was in town for the weekend and we were getting ready to go somewhere. She came into my room as I was getting ready. My closet door stood open and she immediately saw that magazine. As she reached for it, I begged her not to tell Mom. She said, "Oh, no, she doesn't need to know!" or something along those lines. She flipped to the centerfold and feasted her bright black eyes on good ol' Burt and grinned like a possum. And she never said another word about it. I'll never forget that as long as I live!

I was living in Texas when we lost my Aunt Mary in the mid-eighties. I hadn't seen her for many years but felt the loss so keenly, it took me a long time to get over it. Somehow along the way, I became the possessor of one of Mary's robes. I never wore it and I never washed it because it smelled just like her. Hope you don't find this gross! I just kept it folded up in paper and put away. Occasionally I'd run across it and bury my face in it and breathe Mary in.

Mary's 'visit' last night in my twilight sleep brought all of this back to me like it was yesterday!  Oh, how I loved that woman!
Till next time,

"Only an Aunt can give hugs like a mother, can keep secrets like a sister and share love like a friend." ~ Unknown