Aunt Faye

I'm not sure what made me think about peanut butter marshmallow saltine cracker treats this week. Maybe it was because of the book I finished today with the character Nan from Nantucket that reminded me of a warm home and an eccentric gardener much like my Aunt Faye, my great aunt, my mother's mother's sister. The first line of the book starts out telling you that on her bike ride into town, Nan is sneaking into the neighbor's yard picking hydrangeas to place on the table for lunch with a friend later on that day. It also talks about her borrowing their pool when she gets the urge to skinny dip. The neighbors, of course, are off-season owners and are only around during the busy time of the summer. Funny, because I also remember my own mother trying to convince me that we could lay out at a stranger's pool in Destin that was next to Jerry's house because they got better winter sun. It was in December, and we built a wind blocker on the beach instead and then left early the next day because a cold front was coming and we had to get back to MS before the "snow". Ice, rain. Whatever. Regardless, I think of my Aunt Faye a lot. And, really, I didn't know her that much-not after I have been old enough to value someone like her. I just remember swinging on the swing set with my cousin Donna and walking down a trail..maybe to a pond? It is hard to distinguish from stories that I have been told or actual memories. But the one memory that I know without a doubt is real is about the peanut butter marshmallow things. She always cooked them in her toaster oven (which, if you have read this blog at all, you know that toaster ovens now have a warm place in my heart). I remember how they smelled and how they were always perfect. If you've ever cooked these snacks, you know it is easy to leave them in too long and end up with a charred marshmallow! Good Ol' Aunt Faye. Tonight when I looked at my feet, I noticed that they look older, tanned, and exactly like MaDonnie's and Mama's. I wonder if Aunt Faye had these tiny narrow feet that didn't match her strong body. Her feet that took her fishing in the boat with her husband and walked the miles and miles (it seemed like miles anyway) of her bright pink flocks. Oh, how smells can bring back a memory. I remember these sweaty days at her house that my Aunt Rhonda now lives in and keeps the memory of her plants alive. Well, those and about a billion other flower beds growing! This is not a sad memory, but does leave a pang in my stomach that longs to have known her now in my life and be able to ask her if she still tastes that creamy marshmallow goodness.