My great Uncle Harold and my great Aunt Florence were my de-facto grandparents growing up in an idyllic suburb just north of Chicago. Their house was just a few blocks from mine and it wasn't unheard of for me, while riding my bike around the neighborhood (this was back in the day when it was safe for children to do so alone), to stop in on them just to say hi. When I was probably about 10, we all flew out west along with their children and grandchildren to celebrate their 50th anniversary. They were staples at every family occasion and major holiday. To this day we reminisce about Aunt Florence's Thanksgiving gravy, which we could never quite do on our own after they moved to Oregon.
Uncle Harold and Aunt Florence truly lived life to the fullest which I could say is the ultimate Au Naturale lifestyle, in a way. It's certainly one that I hope to emulate as I get older. Uncle Harold-- who I took to calling "Huncle Harold" as a little girl and eventually got shortened to simply "Hunk"-- was quite the joker. For as long as I can remember he always greeted me with "Hey, it's ol' Whats-Her-Name!" even though he knew perfectly well what my name was. As my dentist growing up, he would make a point to first fill my mouth up with flouride and then ask me how my day was. I would get so frustrated when he then imitated whatever drooly incoherent response I gave back.
The Hunk played tennis and could whoop anybody's ass well into his 80s. Once they relocated to Corvallis, he joined the local gym and took a cross-training class on a daily basis. He was the only man among a throng of younger-ish women and after class they sat around and had coffee and chatted. We took to calling those ladies "Harold's Harem". He was eventually the star of a television commercial the gym made, where he proclaimed loud and proud that he was training for a triathalon. (He wasn't, but we loved it anyway.) When we visited those early years, he always invited me and my brother to join him at the morning class. My brother went a few times, but I always declined, loving to sleep in the way I did. I always said "maybe next year". Uncle Harold passed away a few years ago at the ripe young age of 92, I believe. To this day I regret never getting up and joining him, even just once.
Huncle Harold also loved music and played in an ensemble. He took his martinis seriously: "Pour the gin and then just wave the vermouth bottle over the glass." He also baked a mean bran muffin that was a staple of our legendary breakfasts out in Corvallis, accompanied by jars of marionberry jam, locally roasted coffee, fresh fruit, and some sort of herbed or infused butter. Just this last trip, I learned from Aunt Florence that when Uncle Harold first retired "he couldn't boil water", in her words. He needed to take up a hobby, and baking was the one he fell into with great success. Our waistlines have always forgiven us his muffins.
Aunt Florence- or Flo, or Flush, depending on your mood- was equally a renaissance woman. She threw a mean pot and our family still has many of the plates, bowls, and flowerpots that she expertly crafted. She was in acting classes with the legendary Studs Terkel. And she was a total chocoholic. No trip could be started without my mom bringing her a tin of truffles. Aunt Florence made and appreciated good food, too. Before the airlines got too annoying we started a tradition of bringing her a pound of classic Chicago corned beef, a loaf of rye, and a jar of pickles. In the evenings after we left town she would go into the kitchen and totally chow down, then admit it with just a touch of guilt when we next spoke to her on the phone. We assured her there was nothing to feel guilty about- we've all done it, too! On one trip out to Corvallis when I first started growing herbs on my deck, I had lamented to her that I had more basil than I could handle. She immediately went to her recipe book, pulled out a piece of paper, and copied a pesto recipe down for me. I still have that recipe, on a the lined paper that is beginning to brown, and use it at the end of each season. This past trip I brought her one of the strawberry basil muffins that I packed as a travel snack. Looking back, I feel like the basil had come full circle.
The thing that amazed me most about Aunt Florence is that even as she got older and weaker in the body, her mind remained as sharp as a tack. This past trip she "held court" as she rested in bed and we gathered around and updated her on our lives. Inevitably she would tell her own stories that our stories had triggered. Someone had told her a joke that she wrote down and repeated for us with perfect comic timing. I'm trying to remember it now, but I can't quite get it. It was hilarious, and I dare say a little raunchy.
I don't think I fully understood truly how much the two of them contributed to that grandparent role in my life until a few years ago, while I was thumbing through some old photo albums at their house and came across one that I instantly recognized: Aunt Florence and Uncle Harold, sitting at those tiny one-piece desks in a classroom at my Sunday School, staring very intently and with great interest at some sort of art project that a very young me had made. I remembered that day instantly as I looked at the picture.
"Uncle Harold and I were so flattered that you invited us to attend that day," opined Aunt Florence, as she looked over my shoulder at the photo.
"Really?" I asked, somewhat confused. "Why?"
"Because you invited your great Aunt and Uncle to Grandparent's Day," she responded matter-of-factly.
I was confused. Yes- so what? And then I realized what she had meant: technically, they weren't my grandparents. But they were the ones I wanted at that day dedicated to grandparents. And I knew it was Grandparent's Day- I remembered the event, and what it was called. But it seemed so natural to me that they should be there, and it never occurred to me that they were technically not my grandparents, even though I always referred to them as "Aunt" and "Uncle". It just simply made sense. That conversation was truly the first time it hit me in such a literal sense.
On August 14th, exactly 3 weeks after we returned from this year's trip out to see her, Aunt Florence passed away. She was 96 years young.
I miss her and Uncle Harold more than I ever thought possible. I have more memories of them than I could possibly fit here. They lived and loved life to the fullest, and if I can find the supply of whatever Fountain of Youth elixir they must have hidden somewhere in their house, I'm chugging it all.
In honor of their extraordinary lives, below are the recipes for Uncle Harold's bran muffins and Aunt Flo's pesto. Should you ever get around to making either one of these, please raise a glass in their memory, and know that these recipes were shared-- and enjoyed-- with love.
Harold's Bran Muffins
Ingredients:
3/4 cup salad oil
2 beaten eggs
2 1/2 cups buttermilk
2 1/2 cup all purpose flour
1 1/2 tsp baking powder
2 1/2 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp salt
1 1/2 cup white sugar
1 1/2 cup bran
Instructions:
Pre-heat oven to 375. Combine salad oil, beaten eggs, buttermilk and stir well. In a separate bowl, mix together flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt, white sugar, and bran. Mix well.
Make a well in the center of the dry ingredients and add liquid. Beat together, but do not overbeat. Bake in tins at 375 degrees for 20 minutes.
Notes: muffins supposedly come out better if batter rests in refrigerator overnight. Batter will keep for 3 weeks in refrigerator. Baked muffins keep well in the freezer. Also, for a different twist, add 3/4 cup chopped dates or 3/4 cup raisins.
Florence's Pesto
Ingredients:
3 garlic cloves
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/2C olive oil
2C basil
1/4C pine nuts
1/2 cup parmesan
Instructions:
Put garlic, salt and oil in blender/processor- process smooth.
Add basil and nuts and blend.
Transfer to bowl and stir in parmesan.
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