I am grateful for the love of my aunt Charlsie.
Today would have been my aunt Charlsie's 75th birthday. But unfortunately, fate and pancreatic cancer had other plans.
Charlsie was my mom's older sister by 14 months. They were so very different, and at the same time, so very much alike. I use to love to hear them each tell a story about the same event in their childhood. You would get two completely different stories - it was almost like they were in alternate universes as they grew up. But, on the things that really mattered, they were very much the same. They loved their families, would always help someone in need, and were loyal to a fault. And like their mother, they both would follow you out to the car when you left their homes, and wave goodbye from the carport as you pulled away.
As a little girl, I use to tell people that I had two grandmothers and a Charlsie. I thought that everyone had a Charlsie.
Charlsie was the ultimate homemaker, and she had a kitchen filled with every gadget and new small appliance that came out. And a lot of Tab. She was the first person that I ever knew that had a refrigerator with an ice maker. She was also an incredible seamstress, and she made my cheerleading and majorette uniforms. They each had a tag that said, "Handmade by Charlsie." I still have most of them stored in the attic.
In the early 70s, Charlsie began studying astrology and metaphysics. It would later become her career, and by the time she passed, she would have 1,000s of clients from all over the world. As with anything she did, I was completely enthralled and wanted to learn all about it. I was only about 7, so we started out simple - things like palm reading, dream interpretations and numerology. By the time I was 12, she was doing yearly astrological readings for me, and teaching me how to diagram my own birth chart and progressions. My readings with her were like therapy sessions, and no matter how depressed or discouraged I was over some relationship drama, breakup or career misstep, I always walked away from our talks with a renewed sense of hope and confidence in myself and my abilities.
Much of what Charlsie learned was self-taught, and she had a wonderful collection of books. She would make notes in the margins, bookmark important passages, and even purchase duplicate copies of her favorites as she wore out the originals through her frequent use. Whenever my mother and I would visit her home, I would inevitably slip away from the two of them and go sit beneath the big tall bookcase in the living room, where I would pour over her many books to learn more on my own. It was something that I would continue to do over the years, as the one book case grew to two, then overflowed into a closet and finally spread out over her office and into a basement library in her mountain home.
Although she is gone, I still find a way to commune with her through her books, which I inherited and have in my own library upstairs. And it always seems, that on the days that I find myself missing her the most, I will open a book and find a note in a margin that speaks to me at that moment and gives me the hope or confidence that I need. And sometimes, it will just be a bookmark made from a note card with a recipe for pound cake. But either way, she still talks to me and lets me know that she loves me.
And for that, I will always be grateful.
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