I was named after my mother’s Aunt Annie. I never knew where my Geraldine name came from and was always called “Gerry Ann” by older relatives when I was little.
In the third grade when I decided to be “grown-up” and call myself “Geraldine” at school, instead of receiving 100 on my spelling paper, I saw a shocking (gasp!) -2 because I did not spell my Geraldine name correctly. From then on I called myself Gerry.
Aunt Annie and Uncle Clarence lived a short distance from my Grandfather Link’s home on Ottowa Street off Crittenden Drive in Highland Park.
Uncle Clarence worked at the nearby L & N Train Yard and he walked to his job early in the mornings. His hobby was growing roses and we would take delight in walking through the side yard where all his bushes flourished. Anytime I am near the scent of a rose, my mind movie rewinds and I find myself standing on a summer day among his pink and red buds and petals.
Uncle Clarence wore a hearing aid and we had to repeat quite often what we said to him.
Aunt Annie baked the most delicious yellow cake I ever tasted although she claimed it was “just a yellow cake”, She pulled the ingredients from storage areas in her Hoosier Cabinet. The bottom half of that cabinet was my art material organizer companion in my Illinois Avenue studio for many years. By far, her Buttermilk biscuits were the best I have ever tasted,
The red table that we sat around at her home spent years of being my kitchen table. Their parlor furniture was also passed on to my family.
I wish I had known to ask the recipe for how Aunt Annie made lye soap, I know Uncle Clarence built a fire for large tubs on the back porch and we were not allowed to go out there during the process.
Not having children, there were no leftover toys for us to play with when we paid a visit to their home so we were occupied with pretend cooking using small dishes from the bottom section of their buffet.
And then there was the Parlor! On the hearth stood a large conch shell which gave us the magic sounds of ocean surf. ” The Big Rock Candy Mountain” and “She’ll Be Coming Around The Mountain” were records we would listen to over and over using the wind-up technology of the much-honored Victrola.
With no children in the home, the Ottowa Street couple did not put up a Christmas Tree under which Santa could display gifts. Sadly to us, the only decoration we saw looking in their front window when we approached during the holidays, was a candelabra. Their annual gifts, a can of talcum powder for Aunt Annie and a mug of shaving soap for Uncle Clarence were placed on the library table instead of under a traditional tree.
The Ottowa Street home is no longer there. Much has changed about Highland Park since the days of my childhood but seeing a Candelabra as does the scent of a rose brings back a walk down that Street and a visit to some of the dear relatives who made my life a pleasure.