I Call Her My Aunt

She is my mother’s friend, but I call her my aunt. She had three red-haired boys, so my mum, having the luxury of one boy and three girls would lend me to her from time to time.

Her kitchen was her own, everything had a place. Her weekly routine, never diverted from, kept it spotlessly organized. My family’s was a family activity centre.

She taught me about making jams and jellies, knitting, sewing and crocheting. She wasn’t particularly creative, but saw these as activities she had to do. I wanted to learn these things and my aunt welcomed me because she wanted to spend time with a girl.

She worked in the kitchen with a different intensity than my own mother. She wiped down the cupboards every Friday, laundry on Mondays and Wednesdays, ironing on Tuesdays and Thursdays. She had developed a weekly menu from which she never strayed. She had very specific routines for the week where my mother seemed to wing it.

She was actually disgusted by mashing fruit and thought that her yearly batch of marmalade was the most horrible food in her house until we made red current jelly. She kept mumbling how vile it was to mash the fruit with the stems.

The adjoining room was also hers, dedicated to fabric arts. She made lots of beautiful things never straying from a pattern, she taught me to follow the directions. I made an intricate baby blanket of granny squares and a pair of knitted gloves that fit my hands perfectly.

Going to visit her was always a whole day event and quite tiring. I might have stayed overnight, but for her habit of talking about politics or morality at the dinner table, which always made me cry. I couldn’t resolve my love of her help with her lack of charity. Also, her boys were terribly uncomfortable around me.

It was like a holiday for us, removed us from the distraction of our own families.
Occasionally, I still visit her. I bring any projects I’m working on including sometimes my daughters. But I am always careful to steer the conversation away from politics and I never bring her my latest jam or jelly.

by Helen Spaxman March 26, 2010