When I was little, my dad’s only sister used to pick me up for entire weekends. She lived a few towns over and had only sons. I remember the colors of her condo, the whites and golds. I remember how she would fill her jacuzzi tub for me and light candles and pour in bath salts, and even though I was only six, I began to have expensive taste.
But then I grew up and entire weekends turned into brief lunches a few times a year. It’s funny how time does that.
This past weekend when I went over to her home to style a Stella & Dot jewelry party for her and her girlfriends, I found myself wanting to curl up in the comfort of her home, a new one now, that was different, and yet the same. A new color palate graced her walls, one not so distant from my own apartment. We talked about foods that we are both allergic to and about travel and life. She told me how much she always loved my dad’s letters because he had a way with words. It’s funny how time apart, lifetimes apart, can’t change some things.
The “Aunties” (my grandmother’s sisters) came by and we took care of them and made them comfortable and poured them mimosas. Later, my own aunt said, “Aunties are important, remember that when I’m old,” with a wink and a smile.
I decided to stay over and she made me tea before bed and showed me to my guest room with fresh sheets and stacks of books and a little blue lamp on the nightstand. I felt like I was six, and 26 and 106 all at once because family is a time machine and with them you can live a thousand years backward and forward in memories no matter how old you are, no matter how much time passes.