I spent the afternoon at the Southern Baptist church, behind a cut crystal punchbowl unendingly refilled with sherbet and Sprite, carefullly ladling out cupfuls to attendees of Aunt E’s silk orchid-strewn 99th birthday party--at which the Birthday Girl didn’t sit down for a minute but instead worked the room, incessantly introducing all to all lilke the Southern Lady she has been becoming since 1906 --and I found myself thinking, “it’s in the genes, right?”
aunt e is 101 now and recently sailed through a mastectomy. yesterday she called my phone and hung up 11 times. i couldn’t answer because no voice, and making myself heard in such phone calls is iffy at my best. she left no messages. click. click. click. click…