It’s funny how the simplest thing can unleash a torrent of long-forgotten memories.

This morning I was sitting in a tiny spot of sun on the back porch, contemplating important things like if I should I mix my blueberries into my oatmeal or just leave them floating on top?

Looking down at the blueberries immediately recalled images of my great-Aunt Elmeda, my maternal grandmother’s sister.

One of my earliest childhood memories is when she came to visit. I’m guessing I was all of 5 or 6 years old. We didn’t live near family, so the concept of aunts, uncles, or cousins were foreign to me. All I knew was this short, gruff lady with thick horn-rimmed glasses and overalls was in our house.

Elmeda barked at me to follow her into the guest bedroom so she could show me something. As I timidly came around into the room behind her she let out a big grunt as she heaved her heavy suitcase onto the bed.

It was one of those hard-sided blue leather suitcases with the brass latches that sprung open when the release button was plunged in. She had wrapped a huge old leather belt around the outside of the case to keep it securely closed.

She removed all the fasteners and gently opened the lid to reveal a suitcase filled to the brim with blueberries. It was easily 40 pounds of blueberries poured into a heaping mound inside the case.

I couldn’t fathom who this magical being was that travelled with such yummy treats in her bag instead of clothes?

Others called her Elmeda, but to me she would always be known as “The Blueberry Lady.”

It’s impossible to think of my great-Aunt Elmeda without also thinking of her two sisters. The eldest, my great-Aunt Zelda, and the youngest, my grandmother Clarabelle. I mean, just the names alone are awesome.

Each of them was exquisitely unique.

My great-Aunt Zelda was prim and proper and church going. Visiting her house always yielded handfuls of ribbon-shaped hard candies that seemed to be popular with older folks in the 70s. I had never seen such candies for sale in the store. I was sure they were particularly fancy…which is why I would furtively steal extra portions when she wasn’t looking.

In my memories, Zelda was always dressed in pastel colors, often with ruffles or lace, and her silver white hair was always done up nice and proper. She had the fattest cherub cheeks and as a child I was sure she was the real-life incarnate of the blue fairy, Merryweather, from the animated Sleeping Beauty movie (1959).

Sleeping Beauty was a movie my mother and I often watched together because it held fond memories for her. Her mother (the aforementioned Clarabelle) had to drag my mom out of the theater as a child because she wouldn’t stop yelling at the witch every time Maleficent was on screen.

We’d watched it so much that I fancied myself an expert on the film and would conspiratorially whisper to Zelda that her secret of being a fairy was safe with me. Her cheeks would blush pink and her eyes would sparkle with delight at my revelation.

Clarabelle was tiny, yet larger than life.

Her short and curly strawberry blonde hair was always ablaze with color, as were her outfits. My whole life, I can only recall her wearing culottes that would button closed just below the knee, or gaucho styled pants that flared to mid-shin and would swish-swish-swish as she briskly walked. These uncommon pants would almost always be paired with some brightly colored heeled boots, most often a pair of red leather cowboy boots with long dangling fringe.

From head to toe she’d be dripping with huge flashy jewelry. Gold, diamonds, amethysts, pearls, silver, turquoise – earrings, necklaces, bracelets and rings on most fingers. Even a cuff on her upper ear – which to my 11 year-old self seemed wicked cool.

She probably weighed all of 110 pounds, and I’m guessing her jewelry added another 15. Later, when I was an adult, I learned that she had invested her salary as a real estate agent in this jewelry as a financial strategy in preparation for her eventual divorce from her second husband, who was a horrible man.

She eventually married for a third time to a beloved and funny man, Calvin. My grandmother blossomed when she married Calvin and really let her inner free-spirit fly. As a child (and even now) I thought she was the coolest person I had ever met. She’d take me camping for weeks at a time on the beach in Mexico, introducing me to the joys of drinking margaritas and playing poker by the surf while watching the sun go down.

I remember once my mom and I were at a big event (maybe a ski swap or a Christmas craft market?) at the huge sporting/concert arena where we lived. This was pre-cellphones and texting, and mother got a call over the loudspeaker to come to the main office where she was told Clarabelle had been in a bad car accident. She would live, but had totaled her Porsche.

I recall being equal parts sad about my grandmother being hurt, and in awe because she had been driving her flashy red convertible sports car. Could she have been any more kick-ass?

My grandmother Clarabelle taught me how to make my favorite comfort-food recipes (including hamburger casserole), as well as how to make my way in the world where you use your heart and your head to create the life you dream of. I carry both her, and my dearly departed mother, with me every day.  

Later in life Zelda (a.k.a. Fairy Merryweather) and Elmeda (a.k.a. The Blueberry Lady) lived within spitting distance of one another in a little trailer park in the small town where they were born and raised. These two sisters couldn’t have been more different and they didn’t often get along with one another. A visit to town meant you’d need to go see each of them separately.

Unlike Zelda’s house — adorned with family photos, religious images, pastels, and lace — Elmeda’s house showcased broken down recliners in front of the TV where she, covered head-to-toe in Chicago Bears gear, would be yelling at the football game. There were no ribbon-shaped hard candies to pilfer here. Instead, it was a steady diet of beer, peanuts, and curse words. I LOVED it!

Looking back, I often wonder if Elmeda wasn’t a lesbian? At the very least, she never conformed to what was expected of women of her era. Even her shoes, socks, and belt in the 1930’s photo above foreshadow trousers, overalls and football jerseys becoming her fashions of choice (seriously, go look at that picture again…it’ll crack you up). Elmeda didn’t marry until she was 33 (a veritable spinster by the standards of the day) and she and Gus never had children…but they did have a very prolific blueberry farm!

Blueberries aside, Elmeda was a favorite of mine. I loved her brash, no-bullshit attitude. I recall visiting once when I was 16 and had just gotten my driver’s license. She made me drive her for hours on end through the countryside, exclaiming the whole time about what an “amazing goddamned driver” I was.

Elmeda would take me to the little nearby diner where most of the trailer park residents ate dinner. It was in this diner that she introduced me to the wonders of a patty melt sandwich, but we were only allowed to go at 4:00 PM because she and Zelda had specific times they could each be in the diner in order to avoid bumping into each other.

Elmeda would parade me around to all her early-bird-special diner friends, telling them I had come all the way from California just to drive her about because I was so good at it. This was the first time I ever really experienced what it felt like for an adult to express such pride in me to strangers.

When Elmeda passed away at the age of 91, she left me about $5,000 in her will. I had never inherited anything before and at the time that amount of money was the equivalent to winning the lottery. It was a lovely and unexpected gesture and gave me hope that she had enjoyed our time together as much as I did.

All these memories came flooding back to me as I looked at the blueberries floating atop the milk in my morning oatmeal.

It makes me wonder what folks will remember about me. What sights, or sounds, or smells might evoke a walk down memory lane for my friends and family? I’m guessing it might not be what I expect.

When I retired from work, I got a lot of messages from people wishing me well and sharing memories they had of me. One colleague recounted how impactful their first conversation with me was when we met. I hadn’t thought twice about that interaction, yet for this individual it was a strong memory they carried about me.

It’s such a fun and interesting thing to ponder – the most vivid impressions and memories people will be left with of you once you’re gone. I’m willing to bet that my great-Aunt Elmeda never fathomed that the mythical Blueberry Lady I met when I was six years old would continue to live on through my memories…and my morning fiber.

Special thanks to my dad for finding these old photos for me!