My aunts have always been very important to me.  My mother was the oldest of seven children, six girls and one boy.  My aunts Ruth, Carol and Myrna died too young as did my Uncle Gary.  But, my mother, Aunt Helen and Aunt Marge were constants in my young adult life.

Aunt Marge only lived an hour away when we I was a child so we visited her more regularly.

In fact, when my daughter was born, it was Marge, and my cousins Lois and Stan that delivered me to the hospital.  My labor pains kept getting closer and closer and my cousin Stan drove faster and faster.  I was afraid of going to the hospital too soon and being sent home as “a false alarm” so I almost waited too long to go.  For eleven miles, I bemoaned increasingly closer and harder pains while everyone assured me it would probably be all night before she was born.

Not so!  Less than one and a half hours after arriving at the hospital, my daughter and first child graced us with her arrival.   By the time I was checked in and assigned a room, I was sure it was time.  The nurses fussed at me, telling me to be calm, but Marge asked them to check me anyway.

When the nurses realized my daughter was actually attempting to exit on her own, they slapped a gas mask on me and we rushed to delivery.  She was born just as we passed through the doors even though the doctor and nurses weren’t quite ready.  By the way my daughter is still going full force and showing no signs of slowing.  The interesting thing is she was born on August 2^nd at around 8:30 pm, just 3 ½ hours before my Aunt Marge’s birthday, August 3^rd.  In spite of my Aunt’s insistence that I should wait until after midnight, my daughter had other ideas.

But back to my Aunt Marge.  Whenever we visited, she would always cook our favorite foods.  When I was younger, I loved her hotcakes and hot cocoa.  The pancakes were the size of a dinner plate and the hot cocoa was chocolatey, buttery yumminess!  When my children were born they each developed their own favorites.  My daughter loved her chili beans and my son loved her fried potatoes.  She would always make chili beans and fried potatoes when we visited. No matter how I made those dishes, they just never seemed to be as good as my Aunt’s.

I love the memories of playing Wahoo with my cousins while listening to our Mom’s laugh and giggle as only sisters can.   I cherish those memories of sitting in the floor, listening to the sound of the dice skitter across the wooden board surrounded by the warmth of family.