Cookie

It was my uncle's birthday a few days ago.   He is one of the loves of my life and I will surely write about him at some point in this blog.  He would do anything for me and me for him.  I know this to be true.  I love him so much it hurts.  But this blog (probably much to his happiness) is not about him. 

You see, M called him the other day because it was his birthday.  And she left a birthday message.  He texted me back later in the day telling me that M's message cracked him up because it reminded him of Auntie Maffie.  Auntie Maffie is always on my mind.  Always. I miss her every day.  This is Auntie Maffie.

Auntie Maffie was one of my gram's older sisters.  The fourth oldest of the six Pecci siblings.  If you didn't know her, you can't possibly get an accurate picture of her. Not a physical picture.  Not an emotional picture.  Not a social picture.  You truly had to know her to know her.  I promise.  But I will do my best. 

She had closets full of clothes, still with tags on them and yet always shopped like there was no tomorrow.

She baked without recipes and everything always came out nothing short of yummy.

She loved her house down the cape.  She would cry every Thanksgiving when she'd be leaving for the season.  Her cape house is one of the most treasured things in my life.  It connects me to her.  It always will.

She made THE most delicious salad (especially at the cape.)  It was nothing fancy or all that crazy.  But it was delicious.  Every time.

She had trouble hearing and admittedly didn't have much formal schooling.  As a result of both of these things (in addition to the fact that she really didn't care if she was wrong), she called many things by the incorrect (but close) name, no matter how many times we told her.  For example, Wendy=Windy, Davis Thayer-David Thayer, Hannah and Madison=Hannison, Ocean State Job Lot=Ocean State Job Lock, Betsy=Bessie, Cold=Coal, Dupe=Pooxie.  I miss hearing her say those words, right, wrong or otherwise. 

She would call every few days "just to say hi". She'd talk about the weather, what she had for lunch, and how we should wear a hat outside so we don't catch a head cold.  *And if you weren't there to answer and she had to leave a message, she'd always end the message with "Looooove, Auntie Maffie."

She had no shame.  If she needed to use the ladies' room and she was in the livingroom, she'd start pulling at her pants, right then and there.  I know that seems wack, and it was, but man, it was funny too.

She would walk by her husband, our Uncle Louie, (surely post will follow), suddenly start humming or singing a song and dance with him in the middle of the kitchen.  They loved, loved, loved to dance.

Every birthday, she'd call and whether you answered the phone or not, she'd sing the entire version of "Happy Birthday" to you.   * See above.  (As if we ever questioned who it was on the other end.)

When H and M were little, she would say to them, "Hiiiiiii, Cookie".  They started calling her "Cookie".  Always have.  Always will.

We all could, so easily, get on her Shit List.  It was remarkable.  If we didn't call, didn't write, didn't visit, didn't visit enough, didn't visit long enough...you get the picture-you heard about it.  It was just as easy to get off the List, but it wasn't fun when you were on It.  Believe me.

No matter what time of day, if you entered her house (and were of age), you'd be offered a shot of ginger brandy.  "A bukaruch".  I have no idea how to spell it, but many of you have heard her say it.  If you refused, she'd drink by herself.  Even if it was before noon.  That made no difference.  We still do that every time a visitor enters the house at the cape.  You can be sure of that.

When I was a teen, she would often try to talk to me about "boys".  I was so uncomfortable, I blocked it all out of my mind.  I do remember that she always told me and some of my friends to "be sure that we always keep our knees together."  Who says that?!!?  Auntie Maffie did. 

If ever you were wearing something that she liked or had something in your house that she liked, she'd say "Oh, I like that.  Did I give that to you?" or "Oh, that's so pretty.  I gave that to you, right?"  It was so funny.  She always believed it to be true.

She was able to crochet and knit like a champ.  Some of our favorite blankets in our house were made my her.  I often want to wrap myself up in them, just be close to her.

She loved the Red Sox.  And Wheel of Fortune.

She had an amazing sense of fashion.  She knew just how to wear a scarf or a piece of jewelry.   She dressed impeccably and always looked "like a million bucks."

She always called G "the surveyor".  I'm sure she had no idea what he really did for work.  But that's what she always said.  "How's the surveyor?  Good, I hope.  He's so lucky to have you."

She never got a license and yet she would tell Uncle Louie how to drive.  "Wait, wait, Louie, now wait."  I don't know what she thought he should wait for but he did, because he was a smart man.  A very, very smart man!!

She always had a fab tan in the summer.  And crazy long nails.  Oh and great jewelry.  Always.  I wear one of her rings every day.  With love, honor and respect.

She would sit on her front porch down the cape and say "hi" to everyone who walked by on their way to or from the beach.  She knew who was where, who was what, when who was coming.  You get the point.  Nothing got past her.

She taught me to be proud of myself.  She taught me to stand up for myself.  She taught me to love myself.  She taught me to love my family.  She taught me to be a better person.   She was a one in a million lady.  And there will never be another one like her.  Of that you can be sure.

Looooooooove you, Auntie.  Loooooooove you!!!!!