Aunt Dora

My daughter, April, made blueberry coffee this morning. It reminded me of Aunt Dora. That was a really nice memory for her to bring back to me. Aunt Dora was the Aunt I could go to when my Mom didn't "get" me or was holding a grudge like she sometimes would. Aunt Dora always understood my point of view, ALWAYS, yet, somehow, when she was done agreeing with me, I found I ended up understanding Mom. What a talent she had for making me feel understood yet being able to get me to see things my Moms way. (I guess I must concede that she must have agreed with my Mom the whole time). When I drove to Boston to see my doctor I'd stop in Stoughton for a nice visit with her. She'd make chutney and cheese crackers and we'd talk and talk and talk. Had to love Dora's house too, quaint little black ranch with a lovely manicured lawn lined with flowers and trees. Her home was meticulous inside and out, and her cooking superb. Dora was sad inside, but she was always the absolute clown and life of the party when my Mom could convince her to come along. Aunt Dora was gabby too. On days that we would pick her up, I can remember her talking without a breath for however long we were in the car. My Mom said it was because she was just lonely after Uncle Harry passed away. I can understand that.

I've been told that Aunt Dora played a lovely violin, but I never had the pleasure of hearing her. She was shy about it, and my mother only remembered from when she was a young woman. At the end of her life she re-joined a symphony, going back to a great joy, and again being too shy to let us listen.

Aunt Dora died a number of years ago now, irreplaceable and unforgettable, that was my Aunt Dora and we loved her.