Yesterday, I was going through old photographs and there was Auntie Wilma, her midriff top pulled off her shoulders, in shorts and looking quite glamorous. So, I’m eating cinnamon toast in her honor today. Sometimes after school she would come over and we’d make cinnamon toast and eat until we had finished the entire loaf of bread. It was the same when I went to Grandma’s house when Auntie Wilma came over.

If I could wish for everyone something good, it would be that they grew up with an Auntie Wilma. She drove an all black Ford Fairlaine, totally tricked out in chrome with big fins. The back seat was littered with candy wrappers, empty bags of chips, and empty soda bottles.

When I was in grade school, she worked as a soda jerk in the bowling alley across the street from my school. Mom and Dad forbid us to bother her on the job, but occasionally we’d get to go in to get a chocolate milkshake… on the house. I was so proud of Auntie Willma and loved to see her coming and I loved to tell my friends that she worked in the bowling alley and she was MY aunt.

Sometimes on the weekends, if there was a bowling tournament, she would pick us kids up and take us to watch her bowl and to eat all of the chips, and sodas, and ice cream we could stuff into our mouths. Either on our way to the bowling alley or on the way back home, she would surely stop and buy us hamburgers and milkshakes that we were allowed to eat in her car. If we asked her where we were going, she would always answer with one word, “Timbuktu”. We had no idea what she was talking about but we were just so happy to be hanging out with Auntie Wilma. Later, I found out that Grandpa used to answer her that way when they would go out for drives.

Auntie Wilma had shelves with trophies for swimming, for diving, for bowling, and golfing. She had a great figure and loved showing it off. She loved going out dancing and was an award winning jitter bugger. When I was in high school, she liked coming over, not only to eat cinnamon toast but to show me that she could fit into my clothes. She loved flirting with my boyfriends. I think they liked it, too.

As a child, there was nothing better than having Auntie Wilma come over or to take us out in her big black car. When I was about eleven years old, she adopted a child. Occasionally, I would babysit for her because she was usually working as a night bartender. I thought she was quite lucky and lived an exciting life. And I was lucky because she would bring me home Chinese food or some other food from some bar or restaurant where she was working. She’d wake me up after 2 o’clock in the morning, and we’d share the food and we’d talk. Now, I can’t imagine what we had to talk about, but we were close.

It wasn’t until I was an adult that I found out that Auntie Wilma rarely made good choices in her life. She must have been the source of a lot of pain and suffering for Grandma and Grandpa. There’s some really bad things that she did in the family that I won’t mention here, because I loved her so and this is a post about me honoring Auntie Wilma today with cinnamon toast. It hurts me to think about those things because when I was younger she was magical.

No matter what, she was loved, and she loved us. Only if you had someone in your life while you were growing up, like Auntie Wilma, will you understand what I mean. I don’t even know if she was happy or not. All I know was that she was pedal to the metal. I don’t ever remember Mom and Dad saying one negative word about her, not even to warn us against turning out like her. Before I knew better, I practically worshiped her. I know better, and I’m glad she was not my only role model but only one of them because she was fun as hell.

PS: While looking at more photographs this afternoon, I ran into photos of Auntie Wilma in office wear, looking very professional. Somewhere tucked deep in my mind are memories of hearing that at some point she had office jobs, maybe even before I was born or before I was totally aware that she was my aunt.

To be fair. I also want to mention that she was a great fisher and hunter of, in particular, venison. We often went fishing with her and often went to the beach with Grandma and Grandpa and Auntie Wilma. Dad, Auntie Wilma, and Grandpa would swim out into the frigid Pacific Ocean and have been known to swim with seals.

No matter how much I write about her it doesn’t seem to be enough.