Aunt Stella

Yesterday I walked down Hazel Street and noticed Aunt Stella's car keys dangling in the lock of the passenger side door. I took them out and rang her doorbell. When she answered, I smiled and gave them to her. "I do this too, all the time! I just wanted to make sure you got them." I told her. She invited me in to see her newly painted pink and blue bedrooms. The southern light illuminating the white gauze curtains was gorgeous. We had a lovely visit talking about the Romanians in her National Geographic magazine and she gave me a few cook books. I looked at the old photos of her ancestors. She showed me her beautiful Romanian eggs and her religious shrine. "The eggs are supposed to be good luck and kept for a year." She said. "One year our family egg exploded and my father died six months later! It's superstitious." We talked about the amazing Pope Francis and the Romanian orphans she has helped. Lily was outside patiently waiting, her leash hitched to Stella's silver globe fencepost, like a horse. I kept going to the back porch to check and make sure Lily was still there. "She's fine around here," Stella said. I know, but I'm still a New Yorker!" I said, laughing.