St Genevieve's Day

Yesterday was the St Genevieve's Day, honoring the fifth century nun who held off Atilla the Hun in 451 with prayer and fasting and by the force of her faith and personality.  As patron of the City of Light, she holds a special place in the hearts of Francophiles.

I have an Aunt Genevieve who holds a special place in my heart.  Aunt Johnnie was probably not named after St Genevieve, as my mother's family was German and decidedly Protestant.  But along with my other aunts and uncles,  she lighted my childhood.  She was my mother's look-alike sister and my surrogate mom.  When very small, I often clung to the hem of her skirt, thinking I had a firm hold on my mother.  A firm hold on Aunt Johnnie was just as good.

My aunts were ladies who wore face powder and always hand hankies in their purses.  I can hear the rustle of their dresses against stocking-clad legs, a sound of silken comfort.  The aunts never left the house without lipstick, even to go fishing.  They were a lively bunch:  bright, curious, active, outspoken and competitive.  They played cards as if their lives depended on winning, and they took no prisoners. They played to win, a lesson we learned at their knees.

My mom and her sisters influenced all of us cousins, all of our children.  Beacons of light, just as St Genevieve's light shone for Paris, my mother and her sisters light my memories and warm my heart in the cold darkness of winter.