Buffalo
July 26, 2009
I hadn’t seen my Aunt Ruth since her 95th
birthday in 2007. She lives in Buffalo, New
York, an under-appreciated town, especially when it isn’t winter. Aunt Ruth is a big booster of her city, and
although Denver-born has been a Buffalonian for 70 years. About 30 family members attended her birthday
party, two years ago, and she was by far the most beautiful person there.
Now, at 97, still beautiful, still sharp, a self-professed
political junkie, she is the only living person who has known me since I was a
week old. When we visited last weekend, she told me that she came to meet my
parents with her fiancé, my mother’s brother when I was brand new. She said I was a beautiful baby. (This is dubious, at least according to the
faded photos of me as a new born.)
Aunt Ruth hosted Peter and me in her still-elegant home
where she lives on her own. (She admits
that her kitchen “closes” at noon, and she mostly eats dinner out with friends,
almost all of whom are younger than she is.)
She is still beautiful and as gracious as ever. She thanked us over and over again for coming
to visit her.
On the morning after we arrived, she made us a delicious
breakfast. When we came downstairs, she
was impeccably groomed, her make-up perfect.
The table was elegantly set—no jams in their jars on a table in her home! She refused to let us carry a plate to the
sink. “When I want help, I’ll ask for
it,” she said sternly.
We had a great weekend in Buffalo, even got to see some
cousins and some impressive sights. Aunt
Ruth reminded us more than once that we are quite young which doesn’t happen
much these days.
We didn’t hear a single complaint from her all weekend,
although we know she has some aches and pains.
She told us she hopes to just not wake up one morning.
We hope that doesn’t happen soon.
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