Suddenly, Cousin Mary

Tis odd how an image from decades ago suddenly comes to mind.

Cousin Mary lived in our house when I was little. She was my grandfather's first cousin, a true Virginian, a regular attendee at St. James Episcopal Church, appalled when us young 'uns came home one day in 1968 with the bumper stickers and campaign pins heralding "Nixon's The One" we'd gathered from the local campaign office.

For the longest time she had a big old car with running boards and a button you'd push for an ignition.

And she made fudge.

She was always old as far as I could tell, though I imagine she was just in her 60's when I was headed to first grade.

She rented three rooms, including a kitchen, and a bath from my parents. They were all upstairs in our big stucco home on Lee Street.

Lee Street. Lee.

Yes, on the wall of Cousin Mary's living room hung a framed portrait of the great hero of any Virginian of her generation: Robert E. Lee.

For some reason that portrait of Lee jumped into my head tonight. Why? Why?

It's not that it was out of place. Of course, Cousin Mary would still honor the memory of Gen. Lee.

It's not that I think often of Cousin Mary or Robert E. Lee or our house on Lee Street.

But I find a peace in these sudden images of my youth. Like when I think of my grandfather reading Hansel and Gretel to me. Or the sloppy kisses my Uncle Tom planted on us. Or the postcards with art work of the great masters which Mrs. Rust handed out in third or fourth grade.

They've been gone from us for years now. But may they and so many others keep popping back to mind as unexpectedly as Cousin Mary and Gen. Lee.