Aunt Kay is my second mom and the source of nearly all our family rituals. She taught by example, no shoulds or hows. I left for college with life lessons that I’ve passed onto my children, attributing each one to Aunt Kay. She grew up on a dairy farm in Pennsylvania. Her work ethic and strength grew from her daily chores on the farm. One summer day I asked her to teach my children Matt and Emma to churn butter. Matt, Emma and I took turns and made no progress. So, Aunt Kay took over and spun the cream into butter in what seemed like a minute. We watched and felt weak.
My favorite time with Aunt Kay was baking thumbprint cookies. We baked a variety of treats together, but the days we made thumbprint cookies were the best. We worked side-by-side in silence under the kitchen window where the afternoon sun spilled on the counter. While baking cookies with Aunt Kay was its own reward, the sun elevated the experience.
The kitchen was hushed, and I had her attention. I don’t remember a single cousin passing through, not even their dachshund Heywood. We baked with purpose and ease, mixing the cookie dough in a heavy aluminum bowl with a few deft strokes. I would pinch dough from the bowl, roll it round, and dip it in egg whites. Next, I rolled the slimy ball slowly through a tray of chopped walnuts, careful to keep it round, under the palm of my hand. It was a messy process, but I loved standing beside my aunt and feeling useful.
When I lined up twenty-four nut coated balls on a cookie sheet, she popped them in the oven and, like a miracle from above, they came out plump and golden. We waited for them to cool. While I absolutely adored Aunt Kay, I didn’t speak much. I worried about saying the right thing, and I wasn’t sure what that was. The world with my mom was unpredictable. We didn’t do normal stuff together. My conversations with people were always improvisations of what I thought regular kids and adults said.
Putting my thumbprint in the soft dough was my favorite part. I went to work, careful to press my thumb in the center of each cookie. The last step was spooning jam in the well. I waited for a signal from Aunt Kay because I had an age-inappropriate emphasis on good behavior and decorum. When she said, “Let’s try one,” I reached slowly for a warm cookie and took a careful bite. It was rich and nutty and sweet. The jam felt luxurious.
Baking is magical, the way everything transforms, blooming and tasting sweet. For a child it’s a wonder. Putting your thumbprint on a cookie is a bonus and hard to forget. My Aunt Kay baked all kinds of things, but she always made thumbprint cookies with me. She knew I’d have fun, but I believe she also thought the process might make an impression on me, showing me how mothers and daughters can work together in peace and with joy. How being together can be easy. This wasn’t the case with my mom, who lost herself when I was 10.
We are all a little bit broken, and we don’t know as much as we think we do. Having a second mom to spend time with, sitting around or doing simple things like baking cookies, is a tremendous gift. I made thumbprint cookies with Matt and Emma when they were young. While I loved repeating the ritual with them, it never compared to my quiet afternoons with Aunt Kay. When you were with her, the world always felt safe and right.
Aunt Kay passed away three years ago. We got to spend time with her on her final days. I’ll never forget how she lit up and spoke when my son Matt called to say goodbye. Aunt Kay will forever be the foundation of our family. Her recipes, floral arranging, and table settings are legendary. Her love of gardening and bird feeding, her vibrance and enthusiasm.
Family rituals are love in action and become part of your fabric. We’ve heard the phrase, “It takes a village to raise a child.” What we don’t hear is that most of us need a second mom, someone to edit our stories and fill in the gaps. Growing up with a troubled mom is like missing a limb. Aunt Kay couldn’t replace it, but she could teach me how to walk.
Emma Goldman
Our Aunt Kay was the greatest!
Matthew Goldman
We had so much fun when we visited her in the summer.
Mark Goldman
The kindest, most intuitive woman I’ve know.