Elaine Harvey
Aunt Eleanor was just there. As solid as the barn, as sweet as her flower garden, as strong as the January winds that came, when Grandpa died in his own bed. As stubborn as the goats and that was a blessing or Barbara, my mother, would never have made it. It was Eleanor who made her do the exercises to overcome her polio. I never heard her complain when she found the house full of extra children, although she may have; it doesn't matter, because we were always welcomed and always loved. Aunt Eleanor was security. To so many. I loved her.
Saturday November 24, 2012 at 4:59 pm