"Father and I are going out tonight," my mother called from the bottom of the stairs. "We'll be leaving in 15 minutes so get ready, girls."
My sister and I snuck side glances at each other, crouched at the landing, each thinking the same thing: Are we going to Aunt Ellen and Uncle Jim's house?
We slowly turned forwards again, hoping and praying for the ultimatum of tonight's location to be their house. My mother's eyes sparkled as she exclaimed, "yes, it's Aunt Ellen and Uncle Jim!"
They were our neighbors, and my young seven year old brain didn't quite understand anything past: GAMES! ICE CREAM! LET'S GO! But as I grew older, the house we called home (the definition of home being where we could wear our pajamas free of judgment at any time of day) whenever my parents went away-- and more importantly, the people we called home, grew in my heart.
Let's break down a simple ice cream at their house:
Painted, quirkily designed bowl. Ice cream -- always the flavors that my sister and I loved the most. A stitched placemat that was different for every person (the competition was high, let me tell you). A seat at the grand, wood table. Singing in the Rain playing in the Berries -- regardless of the season, they were ther because they knew we loved berries and without fail, delivered dutifully to the 7 and 9 year old guests.
What sounds like simple ice cream is really far from it. Aunt Ellen taught me about how important details were and paying attention to every person uniquely. When I am tired from the trials of school, work, friends, and anything else daily life might bring, I am reminded of the lengths she went to remember our preferences: even as small of a thing as a favorite ice cream flavor for a young child. She makes everyone she meets feel special in a new way, and a compliment from her is of the highest honor.
As my sister and I grew older, we continued building castles out of Magnatiles at their house with high praise from Aunt Ellen for our nonexistent architectural expertise. We also played word games at the dining room table, read the New York Times, completed many a crossword, and learned about the world.
My Aunt Ellen is a leader in a sundry of fields. Her main job as a lawyer is certainly not restricting. Learning the piano as an adult and volunteering at a music school shows me it's never too late to start what you love, and her clear determination in every conquest, from scooping ice cream for us as young children to mastering Mozart on the piano, doesn't cease.
Little would she know that she inspires me up until today, even when we moved away years ago from the quaint, small street that housed many homes. Aunt Ellen, I love you.
YOU ARE READING
Shorts/assorted stories, prompts, thoughts
Losowe1) Just some thoughts I had while watching the snow. Wherever or whoever you are, you are not alone, and I need you here. Stay with us on this beautiful earth. "You are helpful, and you are loved, and you are forgiven, and you are not alone." John G...
