Happy Tuesday; today I'm still on a natural high from our book launch.
It's the beauty of small-town living, to have our launch hosted by our local small-batch ice cream parlor. I got to share with my illustrator's daughter that she has an ice cream flavor named after her. How cool is that?
Called Fancy Frances, it's a blackberry lemon,
because it needed to be purple, of course.
On top of that in this double-decker deliciousness,
a scoop of Grams' Monster Cookie. Simply the best!
Look for a few more pictures {here};
so much kindness from Katie's kitchen.
Now on to something a bit more somber; my dad's older sister,
Aunt Elaine, died peacefully in her sleep last night at the age of 93.
Here they are at my youngest brother's funeral; I snapped the picture
at the time because I was thinking that this ought to be Mipps and me
growing old together and grieving the loss of our elders.
the natural order of things seemed way out of whack.
Dad and Aunt Elaine had such a special relationship. During their younger years, Elaine lived in southern Illinois and Dad stayed on the farm in Wisconsin, so when she'd come visit, they'd spend hours and hours catching up on life and living. Five years ago, she moved back home to Wayside, to live out her days in the Assisted Living home right there in the small town she grew up in, with her extended family nearby. I loved watching them interact with one another, always kibitzing about one thing or another. She often teased about how he would escape from his playpen as a toddler and how she'd have to chase after him to bring him back.
One of the coolest things that happened during her time back in Wayside was a chance to reunite with one of her first loves, a boy named Cliff. She was a freshman in high school and they were sweet on one another, but her Dad had a problem with them dating, so he broke them up by sending her away to a different high school two hours south. The year was 1947. Fast forward to 2022, it came to her attention that Cliff was still alive because a cousin of hers was friends with his brother. She asked her siblings to drive her to his nursing home to go see him and, much to everyone's surprise, they picked up where they left off, as if 75 years hadn't passed. They visited the day away looking through the high school yearbook that they were both in and talking about how they'd spent the last 3/4 of a century before the sun started to set. To hear her tell the story was like something I'd see from Steve Hartman's On The Road series, but it was these four words that brought me to tears: "He still loves me."
Of course he does, Aunt Elaine, of course he does.
It was a special gift that all 8 Natzke siblings could gather for Christmas 2024, especially now that we know it was her last one with us.
When I saw her in August, I told her that if she left this world before I'd see her again, to say hello to Mipps from me and give him a big hug. She promised, but only if I would promise to not spend too much time being sad when she's gone, but instead to throw a big party in her honor. We agreed and I hugged my Aunt Elaine for the last time.
Mitch Albom once said that death ends a life, but not a relationship.
That's a hard one for me to digest, but I plan to keep her memory alive as I go about my daily routines, looking for ways to serve. She was in charge of the school lunch program at her local church for years, and boy did she serve. I always looked forward to her visits because she was going to be bringing some of her sweet treats with her, most notably for me, those caramel brownies.
Aunt Elaine was adept at cooking up kindness in (and out of) her kitchen and an incredible role model whom I'm going to miss so much.
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