That's Life: Sisters From Birth, Friends for LifeBy Phyllis McGuire
iBerkshires Columnist
04:47PM / Tuesday, August 18, 2009
 A tradition long neglected was revived last month when 49 members of my extended family gathered at a Three Sisters Picnic, a title that honors my mother Agnes and my aunts Irene and Lillian.
To know the three sisters was to love them. I, for one, believe none of them had a mean bone in their bodies. Their lives revolved around their families, though they all held down jobs. They demonstrated to us children that whatever we did, wherever we went, family was a constant source of love, encouragement and compassion.
As the oldest, Agnes had responsibility thrust upon her at a young age. For instance, when the three sisters' mother, Mary, became very ill one night and had to go to a clinic to seek medical help she left Agnes, then 9, in charge of her siblings. Before leaving their apartment, she gave Agnes three coins.
"Take your sisters and get the trolley to your aunt's house," she said. "Wait there until I come for you."
Irene and Lillian were always a bundle of nerves, as the saying goes, but Agnes never gave into fear. And even as adults, Agnes' sisters would turn to her when life dealt them a wicked blow.
The sisters always lived within a half hour of each other. How wonderful those years were when we all would meet for barbecues at Uncle Charlie and Aunt Lillian's house. And on steamy summer days, we would swim in the pool to which they had a key, as residents of Levittown.
Uncle Charlie was dubbed the "Baron" because of his distinguished appearance. Aunt Lillian was a beauty with fair skin, sparkling blue eyes and cheeks the same color as the pink roses that grace gardens.
Aunt Lillian and Uncle Charlie were an unlikely pairing — he was gregarious and she was painfully shy. Nonetheless, Uncle Charlie won her over, and one day Aunt Lillian sent a telegram to her mother that read: "I won't be home for dinner. Charlie and I got married."
Uncle Charlie was in the habit of inviting guests to their home, unbeknownst to Lillian, and when she heard the doorbell ring, she would cry out, "Jesus, Mary and Joseph, who is that?" Whenever we dropped in, however, Aunt Lillian would put the tea kettle on the stove as soon as we arrived. Sweet Aunt Lillian.
The Three Sisters Picnic evoked memories of summers gone by when the sisters were raising their families.
Once Mother persuaded Aunt Lillian to let her youngest child, Marilyn, then about 5 years of age, join us when we vacationed in Rockaway, a beach community on Long Island.
Whenever Marilyn did not want to do what Mother requested, she would say innocently, "But my mother doesn't make me do that." Even when Mother spread butter on Marilyn's toast, she would object: "I don't have to eat butter at home." Mother, as always, was patient and did not engage in a battle of wills, unless it was a matter of safety.
One summer, Aunt Irene and my mother rented a bungalow on Staten Island for a month. Since our fathers were working, they only visited on weekends; thus during the week we children — my sisters Gloria and Claire, my cousins Harold and Barbara — were under the sole care of our mothers.
Harold was a terrible tease at that point of his life and told us girls that the bungalow was haunted. "There are ghosts in the attic," he would say. And we girls had trouble sleeping at night, listening for weird sounds. When Aunt Irene caught Harold scaring us with his stories, she made him climb up to the attic to prove that there was nothing to fear up there.
One morning, Mother was cooking breakfast while everyone else was still in bed. She knew we liked to awaken to the mouth-watering smell of sizzling bacon and coffee brewing. But it was not a pleasant odor that drifted to our bedroom that morning for the stove had burst into flames — I do not remember whether it was fueled by gas or wood.
"Fire" Mother screamed as she ran to the stairs leading to the yard, wearing only a slip. We never let her forget that!
Another summer, Mother and Father and we children went along with Uncle Charlie to visit his brother and sister-in-law who lived with their six children way out on Lake Pronoun, Long Island.
We all enjoyed that sunny day, swimming and eating hot dogs and licking ice cream cones, but fog rolled in toward evening, making it unsafe to drive home. We inquired at a motel what it would cost to rent rooms for a night and found out it was more than we could afford.
Uncle Charlie's brother and sister-in-law insisted we spend the night in their home. Well, that was generous, but nine of us plus our dog Candy had to share a bedroom. My father opted to sleep in the car that night, Candy by his side. They probably got more ZZZ's than any of us.
Now it seems fitting and even a bit comforting that the three sisters who were so close in life are together in death, buried in Holy Rood Cemetery on Long Island. They were remembered at the Three Sisters Picnic, as they would want to be, with a smile not a tear. |
