Visiting my Aunt (pronounced Ant) Margie (Marjorie), the Youngest of my Father's Sisters (all of whom, in their various ways, were delightful, and nice) about sixteen years ago--She died a half dozen years ago at the age of eighty-five--

She vividly recalled our first meeting sixty-eight years ago, when I was but four years old and she was just four and twenty:  Suddenly and atypically bashful, I hung back, and pulled my mother down to talk to me, and asked her in a stage whisper, "Mommy, who is that Beautiful Lady?"  How I recognized her as such is still not clear to me.  She was dressed for a hot summer afternoon in jeans shorts, with a tie-over blouse, bedroom slippers (We didn't have flip-flops in those days), and had her hair done up in a bandana.  With a shout of laughter she dropped to her knees and enveloped me in one of the Nozière Sisters' signature peculiar Auntly Hugs, in which painful boniness strove with blissful warmth, leaving one paralyzed.  And then she proceeded to teach me how to make "Googly Eyes," so that I could talk to any Beautiful Ladies I might meet, all on my own, without having to ask my mother.  Did I say my Aunt Margie was nice?  And funny.