MY AUNT JUNE: A RELATIONSHIP THAT ENLARGED MY LIFE

 

A series of essays….

TA DA…. MY AUNT JUNE!
HAPPY 100TH BIRTHDAY, SWEET LADY!

Photo courtesy Linda McWilliams

….as seen through my eyes!

By: Jacqueline E Hughes

She’s a legend. She’s an icon. She is the Queen of the Purple Salad! She has helped to keep me sane for these past fifteen years by listening to me vent within my particular world of insanity. She is my aunt; my Dad’s only sister. Her name is June. And, this ‘special lady’ turns the venerable and brilliant age of 100 years on the twenty-third of this month! 

My Mother’s birthday is October 15th, and would be turning 100 years old, as well. Aunt June has told me that she used to play the game of Ha, ha. You are older than me, with Olga (my Mom) when October rolled around and, I will assume it was always in playful sister-in-law gest and good hearted ribbing. My Mom and Aunt deeply cared about one another and June once told me that she felt lost after my Mother passed away at the early age of sixty-two back in the mid 1980’s. She said,  I had lost a good friend who’d been a great part of my life since marrying my brother, Jack, in 1945. 

Uniquely, my three brothers and I mirror Aunt June’s position with her own siblings and I am her counterpart in the established rank and order. Jack, June Gerry, and Leonard formed her pack while Ronnie, Jackie, Larry, and Denny form mine, a generation later.

My cousin, Linda, is Aunt June and Uncle Louis’ only child. Growing up with Linda while attending family functions, watching her walk by our house coming home from school with her friends, always gave me a genuine thrill because I wanted to be just like her. Being a few years older than myself and seemingly very exotic, independent, and glamorous (Linda was wearing makeup and very stylish clothes), I wanted to be a part of her inner circle in every way.

Celebrating Christmas at Grandma and Grandpa’s house was the icing on the cake (the whipped cream and cherry atop a chocolate sundae). Not only did we get to feast on Grandma’s wonderful cooking, but everyone I loved was sequestered in my grandparent’s big, white house and we mingled together on the three-season porch where the giant Christmas tree lived. The brightly wrapped presents spilled out from under its low hanging branches like a colorful lava flow into the sea of grey painted wood flooring.

Pretty Aunt June was there with Uncle Louis, Mom and Dad had smiles on their faces, Uncle Gerry and Aunt Joyce held hands, and Uncle Leonard and Aunt Phyl leaned into one another as Grandpa Marion said grace before our meal. Did I say meal? I meant to say…feast! Grandma could have fed an army with the steaming bowls and platters of goodies on display down the center of the long, wooden table. For one day, differences set aside, everyone rejoiced in joy and goodwill. 

(So much capitalization. So many loved individuals.)

My parents moved often due to my Father’s job with Sinclair Oil Corporation and subsequently with Quaker State Motor Oil and for several years of our nomadic lifestyle, we lived in South Bend and about a mile from my Aunt June’s house. I shared a very widespread paper route with my older brother, Ronnie, that happened to include my Aunt’s house. June would invite me in for a little snack, small talk, collect her newspaper and then see me off on my bike laden with rolled South Bend Tribunes waiting to be read by my customers that evening.

I would never have allowed my daughters to take on a paper route at age eleven. Stop it. What were my parents thinking? We can say that times were different then. Perhaps our way of thinking was, as well. But nobody thought twice about a little gal slinging the daily paper up onto their porch before dinner time rolled around.

Aunt June never learned to drive a car. My Mother tried to back in the late ‘60’s, did receive her license, but never pursued full-time driving after that. I believe my two favorite ladies were part of the ‘rule’ and not the ‘exception’ back then. If the man was there to drive you around, what good reason would you have to get your own driver’s license? Certainly there was fear of the road and lots of anxiety swirling in the mix, too.  I can’t even imagine not allowing this huge slice of independence to become a part of my life. Again, this was the sign of the times; a grand flaw in our society and the history of the world.

Another yearly fête I looked forward to, annually, was my Dad’s family reunion! Oh, the genuine anticipation of food, cans of pop bobbing up and down in large ice-filled coolers and galvanized tubs, playing softball with cousins, watching the men sling horseshoes and hearing them ping against sunken metal rods in the dirt pits. The younger kids would anticipate the penny pirate treasure game and egg relay that often proved to be messy but lots of fun.

Sitting with my own family at picnic tables placed end-to-end to eat after standing in line to fill plates with heaps of potato salad, my Mother’s coleslaw (never creamy but with oil, vinegar, and spices folded neatly into the shredded cabbage the night before), Grandma’s thick baked beans laced with pork belly bacon, crispy fried chicken, and, of course, the infamous Purple Salad made each year by Aunt June. The food table would never be the same without it. 

The color purple can dominate most things: clothing, bedding, a mountain sunset, and….food! After Aunt June and I reconnected down in Florida over fourteen years ago with Dan and I living and working in Orlando and she and Uncle Louis vacationing in Winter Haven, she offered me her priceless Purple Salad recipe after all of these years. You bet I felt honored. I believe it was her way of sanctioning our reconnection with love, trust, and many wonderful memories.

This heavenly bowl of fluff, tinted with the juices of sweet, dark cherries and blended with cool whip, cream cheese, pineapple tidbits, nuts, and copious amounts of miniature marshmallows, represented my youth; lulled me back into a world of feeling safe and protected while sharing good times. 

The color purple is often used to symbolize femininity, spirituality, royalty, and creativity. Aunt June epitomizes the feminine touch with her softness of speech and genuine kindness. Her spirit and mindfulness reaches out to everyone who knows her. Soon to become a member of the ‘100 Year Old Club’, she has surly earned royal status within her lifetime! After all…she is the Queen of the Purple Salad! Having created her famous Purple Salad for those she loves throughout the years symbolizes the great joy and passion she finds from life. Happy Birthday, Aunt June, with all of my Love!!

Author’s Note: Warm 100th Birthday Greetings being sent ‘upstairs’ to my Beautiful Mother. I miss you so much and think of you, often.

OLGA MOSHAK GRUBBS—
HAPPY HEAVENLY BIRTHDAY!

Copyright © 2023 by Jacqueline E Hughes

All rights reserved

LE JOURNAL: TOO HOT TO HANDLE?

 

A series of essays….

CHIPPING CAMPDEN, MY FAVORITE COTSWOLD VILLAGE,
KNOWN FOR ITS ANCIENT MARKET HALL,
BUILT IN 1627 AND NAMED IN THE NATIONAL TRUST

….as seen through my eyes!

By: Jacqueline E Hughes

Taking a seat in a far corner of the dining room, I closed my eyes and stretched my back against the stone wall all in a futile attempt at cooling down. We arrived in The Cotswolds and settled in at the Burford House Hotel amid a heatwave that shriveled our energy output as we walked High Street in discovery mode. 

Deciding to get a cold drink at our hotel before having dinner there sounded prudent; cooling down was, most certainly, our primary objective. Dan went over to the bar to order our drinks and, with my eyes closed, I overheard the other couple in the room carrying on their private conversation while enjoying a pint and a tall gin and tonic. I couldn’t help but listen in…

Leaning over her gin and tonic to draw closer to the man: You know that you’re going to have to give a few talks while on this latest tour, don’t you? The people will want to hear your stories. It’ll be good for you, Alan! Don’t look at me like that.

I know. I know. I just haven’t done that for a little while. I’ll get back into it, looking a bit somber and dejected.

By this time, I had opened my eyes and glanced over at the bar to see if Dan was on his way back to our table.

Suddenly the beautiful, blond lady was addressing me. What? I apologize for this heatwave. But, you know, we locals are cherishing it right now. We know what waits for us, weather wise, right around the corner so, we are eating this up for as long as possible.

Oh, please don’t apologize for something you have no control over. Thank you for thinking about us, though. Peeling my cotton skirt away from my legs in a feeble attempt to look more civilized, I remained smiling as Dan brought me my own tall gin and tonic (Fever Tree Tonic) and a pint of Guinness for himself.

Alan and I are taking a small break after shopping at the antique dealer’s across the street for our son-in-law’s birthday. He’s into old maps and we found one of North Umbria where he is from. We hope he likes it, she said. 

Later, we discovered that Alan’s son-in-law is English comedian, Ben Miller, married to his daughter, Jessica, from his first marriage.

Finally, it was good to hear Alan speak to us. Thought we’d take a little break here before heading out to find a bite to eat, he said in his rich, English accent. It’s a terrible shame about Jimmy (Buffett) passing, isn’t it?

Yes, I’ve been a huge fan of his for a long time, Dan said.

Alan, she inquired, you know Jimmy, don’t you? You see, Alan is a music producer, now, and has worked and been friends with many musical artists throughout the years.

I did meet Jimmy several times during his career. My take away of him was that he was the wisest business man I’ve ever known. Yes, his music was phenomenal, but Jimmy made his mark through his business acumen. And, he loved his life; enjoyed himself to the fullest extent. He will be missed.

ALAN PARKER — 1960’S

TODAY: ALAN PARKER, 
BRITISH GUITARIST

                               Photos courtesy of You Tube

Alan’s career as a credited sessions guitarist had him playing with several groups. He spent quite a lot of time with the French singer, Serge Gainsbourg. But you wouldn’t know of Serge, she intimated.

Oh, you’re looking at one of the world’s most faithful Francophiles, my friend! I have probably three of his CD’s at home which includes his most famous cut with Brigitte Bardo,

Je T’aime, I was quick to inform her.

She was surprised that I even knew of Gainsbourg. Well, Alan and Serge were quite close for many years. Alan followed his tour and played guitar. Those were very interesting times back in the ‘60’s!

I knew Serge very well, Alan interjected, both professionally and privately. And, I will admit to anyone that he was a very, very nasty boy.

As the four of us sat talking while still trying to cool down, I could see how protective of Alan this elegant lady was. It was easy to see that his (their) surname was carefully avoided and caution was the protocol for this encounter. It was obvious that they had, given Alan’s work and reputation, been down this road before not knowing to whom they were speaking or if it was a strategically planned encounter. With my sweaty hair still dripping down my face and clothes hermetically sealed to my body, I was in no mood to do much more than sit and talk. Shaking myself out of this mini-revelation, I can hear Dan relating the story of our ‘lost day’ and the American Airlines role in this bitter scenario.

After listening to my husband’s sad story, Alan began a similar one of his own: We had taken an Alaskan cruise a few years ago. Everything went along smoothly until a problem arose with the boat and the crew was texting all of us (passengers) with updates too infrequently, according to my calculations. I was quickly getting upset with their handling of the situation. Finally, a crew member came up to us and exclaimed, Mr. Parker, we are doing our best. Please be patient. 

My husband, phone in hand, instantly picked-up on the full name of Alan Parker and proceeded to look him up online. Dan saw that he’d been credited for playing electric guitar for the singer Donovan’s “Hurdy Gurdy Man” and David Bowie’s “1984”. Alan was known to have owned Jimi Hendrix’s Epiphone acoustic guitar given to him by Hendrix in March of 1970.

Dan mentioned Alan’s full name in conversation and the lady bristled at this revelation and asked, How do you know Alan’s surname? Dan explained how Alan himself had revealed it within his story about the Alaskan cruise and curiosity took over for Dan and he had to see who this fascinating man was.

Finally. Finally, proper introductions were made. Jessica Parker dropped her shoulders, lightened-up, and truly began to enjoy and take pride in sharing their life together with us. Alan’s daughter’s name is Jessica, as well, and is known in the family as Jessica #1 and I am known as #2, she told us with a loving smile on her face.

Jessica had been living and working in South Africa for over twenty-three years when she met Alan and they, eventually, married. She was by his side when they traveled all over the world and lived in several exotic places, while meeting many interesting people. Alan’s long career has aligned him with Cat Stevens, Frank Sinatra, Joe Cocker, Donovan, David Bowie, Sonny and Cher, Ella Fitzgerald, and The Walker Brothers, to name a few.

They purchased their latest home in my favorite Cotswold village of Chipping Campden, known for its ancient Market Hall that’s named in the National Trust and built in 1627.  I would live in this village if I could. Like most villages in this gorgeous area of natural beauty, they were built on the money from the wool of sheep farming and each village has a street named ‘Sheep’ in it for this reason.

Alan had taken their grandchildren to The Cotswolds Wildlife Park & Gardens the day before and highly recommended it for us. We were dismayed about not having enough time and that we were leaving the following afternoon for the States. 

We delighted in the fact that he felt very comfortable with us and the interesting stories of his celebrated past kept us entertained for a while longer. Given his public exposure in the world of musical enterprise at the beginning of rock & roll, the Beatles (yes, he met all four), writing songs for stage and big and little screen, Dan and I could have listened to them all night long. But fatigue was placing its shadowed hand on me and hunger beckoned to all four of us.

There are so many other places to eat here in Burford. There’s ‘The Lamb’ just up this side street with limited menu but very unique entrees and several other restaurants we like up High Street, Jessica pointed out.

As badly as food was calling to me, a nice, warm shower was, as well. I discovered that being overheated is a very uncomfortable state of being and I, at least, was in no mood to go restaurant hunting when a good, hot meal could be placed before me in a matter of minutes without having to walk to find it. For the record, my wild mushroom risotto wasn’t as good as my risotto experience in Stirling, Scotland, five years ago—but it was exactly what I needed at the moment.

Sadly, it was time for the four of us to part ways. I plucked one of my cards from my purse to hand to Jessica explaining that I was a writer and Travel Blogger and, unless they had any qualms, I would be writing about our experience together, in the midst of a heatwave, in a beautiful Cotswold village at the beginning of September close to our 50th Wedding Anniversary. What a wonderful treat having met them had been for us.

Hugs and good-byes proclaimed, we waved back at them as we followed their progression up High Street.

THE BURFORD HOUSE HOTEL
DATING BACK TO THE 1600’S

Just after ordering our meals at the Burford Hotel’s restaurant, core temp nearly reaching normal, I saw Jessica quickly walking past the front windows and make her way inside the building. She must have left something behind, I told Dan. Looking up, she was headed directly towards me. Abruptly stopping, she leaned down to whisper in my ear. Alan and I remembered that ‘The Angel Pub’ right around the corner from here has excellent food! Pulling back, she smiled and just as swiftly, left the hotel. I had no time to respond and sat there, mouth open, for several seconds.

Dan, I think she was inviting us to have dinner with them at ‘The Angel Pub’ if I’m not mistaken. My heart sank. We were caught in an overlapping time scenario with no satisfying way out. Wanting to leave and knowing we couldn’t, we sat staring at one another, mouths open until our very cheery waitress said, I have Mushroom Risotto for the lady and Chicken Marcella for the gentleman. 

Things do happen for a reason. We have been deeply sorry, however, to have missed continuing our marvelous evening in the company of this exciting couple. I can only hope that Jessica finds my card in her purse or pocket of her long vest one day and remembers the two, friendly Americans they met, and by chance, shared life stories with in the Burford House

Hotel in the Cotswolds. If you do find it and remember us, Jessica, won’t you please let me know?

MOVING ON….2013 - 2023

Copyright © 2023 by Jacqueline E Hughes

All rights reserved