Aunt Hannah (Vacation)

March 14, 2005

         In this fast paced world of digital this and digital that, it helps to have a place to go where life moves just a bit slower. When the cell phone rings for the umpteenth time and the email wars are taking over your computer; when the seemingly impossible deadline approaches and a part of your mind is frantically trying to think of something to put on the table for your family's dinner; when the month seems longer than the money and your automobile has just lost the mobile part and has long since ceased being auto, it helps to be able to close your eyes and let your mind drift to that special place, that place far from the day to day concerns of your life. I am no different in this respect.

         We have special names for that simple act of escaping – the fifteen minute vacation, - the stress reliever, - meditation, to name a few. I often find myself leaning back in my chair and imagining that I am somewhere where life’s pressures are not so great. I have a few of these special places, but one of my favorites is a small two story house with a tin roof on the main street of a small farming community in rural Pennsylvania.

         That particular fifteen-minute vacation is not special because of the house or the town, though they lend themselves to relaxation very well. That particular escape is special because of who is waiting for me there. My Aunt Hannah.


         When I close my eyes and make that magical trip to my Aunt’s home, I see her walking down the sidewalk from the back of the house towards the barn. There are roses blooming and vegetables growing and grapes hanging from the vines, ripening in the sun. Her smile at seeing me reminds me that I am welcome here. I have always been welcome here.

         When I think of her, I hear her Pennsylvania Dutch voice and her laughter. I hear her good natured chastisement and her, “Aye,Aye,aye.” I feel the wonderment in her voice as she talks about life and all the good things in it. When I hug her, I feel her love, a love so large it overflows into all those around her.

         As I wander through my mental vacation I see her at the piano, playing “That Old Rugged Cross” or some other well worn hymn. I feel her deep abiding faith; faith, not only in her religion, but in her family as well. I see her in the kitchen fussing over a meal and making my favorite shoo-fly pie. I hear the patience in her voice as she tries to teach a rebellious teenager the important things in life.

         As we get older we tend to look back on our lives and contemplate if we have indeed made a difference in the time we’ve spent on this earth. We face our own mortality with some trepidation as well as our own immortality with the same concern. Did we change anything? Were we good? Will we be missed? In our rush to leave our mark, to climb the ladder of success, by which society would judge us successful...or not, we lose sight of what is truly important. But there are those among us that do not.

         Sometimes we make a difference without ever really knowing we have. Sometimes, that difference is made through the memories we leave in other people and the values they have learned from us. Sometimes we teach through example and through love. There are those, that once gone, will live forever in our hearts This is immortality beyond anything the history books could ever offer.

         These 15-minute escapes are over far too quickly and I find myself returning to my world with a desire to remain in that quiet town at my Aunt’s kitchen table. There are times when I can smell the flowers, taste the grapes and even the shoo-fly pie. Still, the vacation has done its trick, for I find myself refreshed and at peace, ready to tackle any insurmountable obstacle in my path.

         On occasion, I close my eyes and imagine that small white house with the tin roof in that small farming community in Pennsylvania. I see the white haired lady with the twinkling eyes and the loving smile walking briskly down the sidewalk to greet me. And I know all is right with the world. I know that there is hope, and faith, and love still present where it needs to be. I hug her and feel all those things and for that I will be forever grateful.

         My Aunt Hannah died today. She was 93 years young. She will live forever in my heart.