Aunty Kay and her beloved Penny . 19th of June is a day for remembering. It was aunty Kay's birthday. My favourite photograph is the one of her with her cocker spaniel, Penny who I sadly did not get to meet. When I came for Christmas 196…
My favourite photograph is the one of her with her cocker spaniel, Penny who I sadly did not get to meet.
When I came for Christmas 1963, Wendy and Jill had arrived. They were known as the Monsters.
They were totally undisciplined.
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They were the first pets in my life.
On Sundays we all piled into Kay's hot red Sunbeam Alpine and went for a drive along Long Island's north shore.
The dogs barked madly at everyone and everything.
That huge white car was the Ford Fairlane I got second hand for commuting to college and work.
It was a dreadful tank-like vehicle with no power steering. I had learned to drive in the Alpine so the adjustment was considerable.
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The snappy little Alpine was perfect for my beautiful aunt.
Kay was petite, just 5 ft 3. She had such pretty, blond hair and the loveliest twinkling blue eyes.
When I was sent to live with my aunt and uncle, Kay was 47. I've never been certain how the arrangement came about, but it's hard to imagine being willing to take responsibility for a 16-year old girl, having never had any prior experience with children or teenagers.
Kay had only met me once when I was 4 and her husband Ray had never met me until that Christmas.
Kay was the sweetest, most fun person I've ever known. She quickly became my best friend.
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Mum visited briefly the following year. She and Kay had been close and they enjoyed catching up after 14 years.
They had some private giggles which Mum refused to explain, but of course after she left I got Kay to tell me what had been so funny.
As young girls, they were employed as domestic help, in residence.
Mum went out one night and somehow Kay got the blame when their employer found out.
It wasn't naughtiness my mum was ashamed of. She didn't want me to know she had been "in service", as if I would have cared.
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I loved my mum dearly, but she knew so little about me and I always felt I disappointed her.
When she curled my hair, I marched straight upstairs and stuck my head under a tap. For example.
From the age of 11, I was in catholic boarding schools and when it was suggested I should go to live with Kay and Ray, it seemed a great idea.
Kay was wonderful to me. She made lots of clothes for me including the elegant gown I wore to some college function. She was very talented.
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But it was the love that meant so much to me. It was unconditional. I didn't have to measure up.
She was always there for me.
In all the years I was blessed to have Kay in my life, there was never a cross word between us.
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Wendy died a couple of years before Kay and Ray moved to Maine.
That last summer before they left, Ray hired a Winnebago motor home and we drove up to view the new property.
It was a fiasco. Before we got far, the engine began to backfire. It was as if, every time we drove under a bridge the damn thing farted loudly.
Kay and I found this terribly funny. Ray didn't.
It turned into a very long day at the end of which the engine finally failed appropriately, in front of a cemetery.
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We ended up having to stay in a motel while the vehicle was repaired.
Poor elderly Jill peed on the floor and I remember trying to dry the carpet with my hairdryer at about 5 am before flying back to New York.
Jill had passed on before the final move and it was Tammy and Misty who went to Maine.
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After them came Taffy.
Kay had always had a dog, even when she was a WAAF during the war.
So when she lost Taffy, she was heartbroken and lost because there could be no more puppies.
Far away in New York, I could do so little to help. It was unbearable to think of Kay so sad and I allowed my heart to rule my head.
Kay was in her late 70's but she was in good health. I searched online for an older dog in need of a home and found a little blond cocker named Jazz.
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Kay was thrilled and Jazz could not have been more loved but it did not end well, as I've written before.
My punishment for that well-intentioned but foolishly sentimental act, is that I can never think of my beloved aunt without remembering her beautiful blue eyes so full of sadness that last time I saw her.
A stroke had robbed her of the ability to speak, so those eyes were the only means of communication.
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