To my godmother, who mothered me in ways my own mom could not. And I say that without blame, resentment or hurt. Love on all sides of this equation. But, you taught me the bliss of the smell and texture of home baked bread before it was cool to bake homemade bread, in the Age of Wonder Bread. You were a kitchen magician to me, assembling things of value out of what seemed like thin air and a dust of flour. Your pantry was a sanctuary filled with baking supplies, pans, tools,provisions and possibility. Being within it's little closet like space I felt held. And that was a lot.
You would sit in the corner bay of windows in your living room hand shirring cotton dresses for your daughters. How I envied them. Your door was always open to me, the latch key kid, frightened by thunderstorms and the sound of a telephone ringing into an empty house. And yup, I never got to tell you what you meant to me. As so often happens in my life. As so often happens in our lives. And I realize today is your birthday. Happy Birthday, Aunt Madelaine. You rocked my world in such good ways.