1994 – 2018

We had a lot of visitors at my home growing up. Most would come for a week or so, some stayed for months. We had more than enough space, and we loved the company. My mom would explain to me that Aunt Cely was coming for a night, maybe two, while on her way to someplace else.

“Why can’t Aunt Cely stay for longer?” I would ask.
“That’s just her way,” my mom explained. “Your Aunt Cely loves to travel, and she has a particular gift for it. In the time before cell phones she would arrange to take a plane, and then meet eight people to get on a boat that would take her to another plane, to a bus, so that she could meet a driver to take her to a country where she’s never been and doesn’t speak the language. Any number of things should have gone wrong, but they never did!”

It was Aunt Cely who taught me to set the table. “The forks stand up like little soldiers” she told me, a phrase that would never have crossed my pacifist parents’ lips.

I remember visiting her in McLean, making shadow puppets and playing songs from the book “Go In and Out the Window” on the piano.

My mom would say, “Let’s let Aunt Cely braid your hair today. You know, your Aunt Cely never got to have a daughter, that’s why she loves you sooo much.”

On my solo trips to California as an older child Aunt Cely taught me how to wrap a towel around my wet hair and keep it there while I got dressed. “Where did you learn how to do that?” My mother asked.

She taught me that neither seltzer nor orange juice is quite as good as the two mixed together. And that while one should eat a very healthy diet as a whole, you always, always order dessert.

I remember Aunt Cely and her sisters battling over who would wash the dishes after a great shared meal. The competition for the politeness award was fierce.

I was at Aunt Cely’s house in 2004 during the Democratic National Convention. “There’s a young man that’s going to give a speech tonight” she told me. “I really think you should see it. His name is Barack Obama.”

When visiting me at my high school, the principal’s receptionist recognized Aunt Cely immediately, 46 years later. “Celestine Favrot? I knew that was you! I was always so enamored with you at Wellesley! We all were!”

My junior year of high school, Aunt Cely took me on a tour of Wellesley college, her alma mater. She sold the school to me as best she could. “Lots of lesbians go here,” she nudged.

As an adult, Aunt Cely taught me “Always live within your means,” and that it’s okay to change your mind. She told me the story of when she and Tom went to Thailand during monsoon season, and after a few days of trying to make the best of it she turned to him and said “Oh Tom, this isn’t what I had in mind.” Tom booked them a flight to northern Thailand instead, and they had a wonderful time.

In later years, when I would call Aunt Cely on the phone, she would be cautious of my time in a way that was unnecessary. ”Well, I don’t want to keep you” she would say, and so we would end our phone call after only a short while.

Later in life it was always the same as it was in the beginning, beautiful visits that were much too short. And that’s how I feel now. We all got to know Aunt Cely (or mom, or Grandma Cely) but I still wish she could stay just a little while longer.

Much love to you,

Amie Rose