Dear Aunt Kate,

My father’s older sister, Kathryn, was, in the parlance of the day, a spinster. She was a nurse by profession and was for a time the head nurse at a large Catholic hospital in Milwaukee.

We knew how to have a good time, didn’t we? I remember our yearly trips to Clark’s Camp in Vermillion Bay, Ontario. We always stayed in that little cabin right on the lake, lounged around all day reading drugstore novels and playing canasta, and walked up to the main lodge for our meals. Your friends who lived across the lake had a yellow seaplane that used to land right on the shore outside our front door.

When it was time to back to Chicago, we used to take the long way, driving on blue highways and stopping in little towns along the way. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I was receiving some excellent training on canvassing “junque” shops for treasures and bargaining. By the time we got back to Chicago, there was barely room in the Rambler for the two of us!

And I will never forget that it was you who came to stay with me for a week after I had my son, Richard. His father and I were college students at the time, and you taught us how to care for a new baby. Later, when Richard decided to wail like a siren through his christening, it was Great Aunt Kate who soothed him to sleep.

I could go on and on with so many more memories. I feel I never thanked you properly for everything you did for me and encouraged me to do. I hope you recognized the sheer delight and love in my face at the time.

I recently reconnected with my cousin Bobby. We talked about you a lot. You’d be happy to know that both of us remember the little poem you used to recite to us when needed:

A gum-chewing girl/boy

And a cud-chewing cow

There is a difference

I will allow:

The intelligent look

On the face of the cow.

Love, Jane