The Power of Aunts

What good are aunts? In my life, it is impossible to imagine growing up without them. You can read all about my great-aunt Violet throughout my blog, her influence on my early years, but I have not mentioned the influence of her longtime companion, Ivah. That is my failure. Ivah had a great influence on my life.

Aunt Vi and Ivah owned the house I lived in from birth to age 10. My mom, and 2 older brothers lived in a nice sized apt. on the lower floor. Aunt Vi and Ivah lived with Ivah's elderly widowed mother, Lane, on the entire large top floor.

Since my mom's husband divorced her for his mistress shortly after my birth, my mom was in a pickle with no job, 2 boys 7, 8, and a baby. Aunt Vi helped with money and food. She was not wealthy, in fact she worked as a retail clerk all her life, always at the same department store Ivah worked at. Two incomes, no kids, there was enough extra to help family. Lane was a third owner in the house, at least she always paid her share of mortgage, utilities, and food. A newborn in the mix was great fun for the three women. They were happy to help out.

Ivah bought a crib and placed it in her bedroom, just for me. Lane babysat when Mom looked for and found a job as a typist. As a baby, I lacked for nothing. The women provided me with constant attention. "Look, Violet, " Ivah loved to joke as she would hold me up after a diaper changing, "Something got cracked!" This joke made them both laugh. Don't ask me how, but I got the joke.

Whenever they took car trips, I got to join them. When I started walking, and I started early, Ivah liked to call me, "Sister." Once at a grocery, Maloney's, Ivah called out to the wondering off Diane, "Sister!" Two nuns were standing inches from me and they both turned around. That made for a laughter-filled car ride home, and the story would be repeated many times.

At some point (all this took place before age 5) there became concern for my soul. I'm pretty sure Lane started it. Lane's father was a Lutheran preacher and Lane's Bible was never far from her side. She showed a displeased face when I wanted to drive like Aunt Vi, wear Ivah's cool manly jacket, you get the picture. I once overheard her scolding them that they better watch how they act around me. I wondered what she was so worked up about. Anyway, soon after, Ivah started walking me to her Lutheran church a few blocks away, every Sunday.

My mom was not big on church-going. She was tired after working all week and caring for kids after work, plus none of her kids liked to go and miss Sunday fun outside playing with friends. So my soul was left in the hands of Ivah, since Aunt Vi was mostly attending FOR Ivah (Vi was raised Baptist) and missed a Sunday when she felt like it. Walking to church with Ivah was fun, especially because she gave me root beer life-savers. Anybody ever heard of them? I can't find any mention on line...)

The Lutheran preacher was a humdinger. I called him "the screaming preacher," which the adults found hilarious. I listened intently. Ivah and I would talk about his sermons on the walk home. Ivah had a sweet, soft voice, rosy cheeks that plumped when she smiled. Her eyes usually closed a bit when she smiled and she was never cross. Often she would sigh at Aunt Vi and say, "Violet!" But that only served to make Aunt Vi smile and it was their dance.

Ivah played with me whenever I asked. She had a tin box full of buttons and I loved looking at them--so many! She also played games with me: CandyLand, "I Spy." "Add," and many others that she made up. My favorite was "Add." Ivah would call out numbers "4+2+3-2-1+3..." and so on, while I listened and then came up with the right answer. This impressed the adults so much that I became many an evening's parlor trick. "Faster, faster!" I would say. Great fun.

Then Ivah started teaching me boxed games. One was 4 or 5 flat, transparent levels that you screwed on top of each other and your chips had to make 5 in a row, while your opponet defending. I won a lot and this was broadcast to the adults as well. Come to think of it, it sounds very much like the game I play at my retirement home, Sequence, but without the levels. Hmmm. Anyone familiar with that game Ivah and I played? I can't think of the name of it.

Lane read to me almost every day, but Ivah suggested I tell my own stories. Being verbal, or as my mom would say, "She never shuts up!" right before threatening to comb my hair which sent me racing upstairs on all fours, I quite enjoyed telling stories---just like the screaming preacher did. Then Ivah suggested I make my own books. That was fun too.

Ivah let me play mailman, where I would collect clothes line pins as if they were mail, and the bag my mailbag. (Didn't hurt that it helped speed up her laundry work.) Fireman was great fun! I held the life saving bucket as Ivah climbed the ladder to the tall building and gently tossed down the survivors (cherries from their cherry tree in the back yard.)

Well, you get the idea. For a woman with no children, Ivah had a great ability to make teaching one big game. Obviously, I did not need or attend "pre-school."

I never thanked Ivah properly for all she did for me. My loss.

Ivah, those lilacs are for you.