A Note On My Family

Posted on Jun 14, 2018 | 6 comments

I was going to write more about EMDR.


I’m not going to.


I’m going to talk about my Aunt Lottie.


My Great-Aunt, my Grandpa’s sister.


She’s a humor-point in a lot of my stories about my family.

I wish I could share her voice – imagine the voice of an elderly, sweet, somewhat stereotypical New England Jewish lady.


She’s a Jewish mother & Grandmother through and through.


My mother and I would joke that if someone robbed her house she would ask them if they were hungry.


Her first words upon seeing guests (or meeting anyone) would be seeing if they had eaten, and then she would ask how you were doing – or introduce herself. Whatever.


That voice…


When I was younger, she would call me and let me know who she was – even though I had caller ID, but even if I didn’t, that voice is UNMISTAKABLE!

“Hello, David? This is your Aunt Lottie.”

“Really? I thought it was Ed McMahon!”


This is a short story from my youth that still makes me laugh.


This was years ago – when Vanilla Ice made it big, and every white Jewish kid was sagging his Docker knock-offs & wearing their clip-on bowties slightly askew…

I was with a couple of my cousins in one of the bedroom at Aunt Lottie & Uncle Paul’s house – we had a cassette of Mr. Ice playing, and right at the end we echoed his sentiment:


“Word to your mother.”


To our shock we heard that unmistakable voice from the doorway…


“What word?”


How great it that, am I right?!?!


Aunt Lottie’s the kind of lady who – well into her 80’s and going blind from diabetes, she was still knitting, crocheting, and sewing blankets – and winning local competitions with it! Also, her pickled herring was somewhat world-famous in Central San Diego.


My mom let me know that Aunt Lottie passed last night.


I haven’t seen her or spoken to her since I left San Diego and moved back to Idyllwild.


I miss that voice. That was a voice that will be in my memories for a long time (I hope). That was a voice that made me laugh, and that always held a piece of home for me.


I remember being at all ages and stages of my life, sitting around that dining room table in Aunt Lottie’s kitchen, talking, eating, being annoyed with my family or laughing with them – sometimes both at the same time.

I remember coming home to visit at 19, being with a good amount of my cousins and sitting at that table – having my mom tell me to show everyone my new (first) tattoo (a guitar with wings). Not something you usually brag about in a Jewish family, let me tell you… Haha.


She never made you feel unwelcomed.

And she was always happy to see you.

And she pronounced burrito with a Y towards the beginning in such a way that I can’t even spell, but was adorable as hell.

If I close my eyes and think about her, I can smell her walk into the room.


There’s no morals here.


I just wanted to share these stories.

I’ll leave them here so I can find them again later.



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