thanks for the Chicken Soup

Nothing about Auntie Esther was traditional

- CAROL FLEISCHMAN

When I was growing up, Thanksgiving Day meant a houseful of people. So when it looked as if my husband, Don, and I were going to be eating alone, it just seemed natural to invite Justin. He was an international student working toward a degree in physical therapy and had an internship at our gym. “He’s so far from his home in Hong Kong,” I said on our way to work out. “We could use some of his youthful energy at the table.”

Don thought it was a great idea, and Justin happily agreed. A few days later Justin called to ask if he might invite two of his student friends—one from Korea, one from Iran. The more, the merrier. “They won’t be the most traditional Thanksgiving guests,” Don said, “so all the better.”

In my experience it was the untraditional guest that made the party. In our family it was my aunt Esther. Nothing about her was traditional! Not her bright red hair or her outfits trimmed with beads, studs and rhinestones. Auntie Es was glamour on steroids, a smalltown movie star. I idolized her style as a teenager. It took me years to be able to feel dressed up in an understated outfit. Auntie Es was a petite woman, but she made a big impression.