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As a youngster, I would visit Mary Ann and Gran at 505 Mercer Street, join the women in the kitchen, and help prepare for family gatherings. This was the place I felt my familial roots. My Uncle Bunny lived nearby and would visit after work and enjoy a cold beer from the well-stocked refrigerator. I remember gales of laughter from Mary Ann, chuckles from Bunny, and many stories told in the kitchen. As an adult, I visited Mary Ann after Gran had passed away, and she would transmit the lessons of the week: how to select oriental rugs, distinguish china patterns, and trim the small patch of backyard lawn with the push mower. We'd enjoy fixing a small lemon-rubbed chicken and vegetables for dinner, with cocktails created from Canadian Club. She'd frequently bring home magazines and newspapers discarded from the office and circulate them among interested family members. The magazines focused on fine homes, art and antiques. They pictured many items beyond her means, but they informed her taste, helped her pick furnishings for the home, and fired her imagination. "Bones" was Mary Ann's family nickname. It referred to her slender build as a young woman. My mother was dubbed "Mocha" for her love of coffee; and my Aunt Rose was known as "Rosebud." The habitual use of nicknames for people and things in the Rusin clan may have originated primarily from Mary Ann's wit and sense of play. It was a child-like spirit that bubbled from her well into her 70's before she succumbed to cancer. It was in the last few years of her life that I began to appreciate Mary Ann as a whole person. Once she discovered that the breast cancer had metastasized and spread to her bones, I tried to visit 505 more frequently on weekends. I felt I had been given a sacred trust in her allowing me to help her bathe and cream the dry skin on her feet and legs. I saw her vulnerability and I hope she saw that I genuinely liked her as well as loved her. I had the chance to develop some intimacy with her, and became a "daughter" to her in her view. There were a few times when she and I both thought she was going to die at home before her final stay in the hospital. Once these periods passed we laughed uncontrollably-- relieved, surprised, and yet able to see the ridiculous in the midst of life's melodrama. I was able to visit her in the hospital 120 miles away the day before she passed away. She forecast the day of her death, and I called and chatted with her (she was sharply lucid) just hours before she passed. I know her spirit lives on in a reality greater than just my heart. |
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505 Mercer Street, Auntie Mame (continued from front page)