Aunt Ada’s House

I like this post a lot–and, because I like it a lot, I hope you will, too. And I hope you had an “Aunt Ada’s House,” where you felt as loved and protected.

Mot Juste

Entry Gate - Edited

Aunt Ada’s house had a white picket fence.

Like the zigzag cut edges of a square 1950s black and white photograph, the fence surrounded the entire perimeter of her one-acre property.  Her cozy, clapboard-sided Cape Cod—white with red shutters and trim—occupied a corner of this picket fence photograph.  And although a 60-year-old photo may fade, my memories of Aunt Ada are as sharp and clear as ever.

***

When I was a young boy in the late ’60s Aunt Ada was in her late sixties.  Technically, she wasn’t really my aunt—not my mom’s or dad’s sister—she was actually my paternal grandmother’s sister; but I grew up calling her Aunt Ada.

Short and plump, she had wispy brown and grey hair in a style befitting a woman her age.  She was soft-spoken and amiable.  From even my earliest memories, her face, although slightly withered from age, was always genial, always companionable. …

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