I think this is Port Townsend
I fell in love with this town when Scott drove us there on our
trip to Washington
When I was a kid, I had the good fortune of having witches for Aunts on my Dad's side of the family.
My Aunts probably weren't proper witches, they weren't that disciplined, they were teenagers in the sixties, having a hand in raising us as they grew into adults into the seventies.
They had witch qualities, they shared with us kids.
They believed in communicating with people who had passed over, animals too, casting spells, lighting candles, holding seances and dabbling in the world behind the veil.
When we were in elementary school, My Aunt Cathy and My Aunt Mary packed us along with them as they went about on their adventures.
One such outing, I will never forget, my Mom hopped on this one, was looking for and rescuing one of my Uncles who got kidnapped by the Moonies.
The Moonies are a religious order led by a Reverend Moon of The Unification Church. Back in the seventies, the Moonies were considered a cult at the time in San Francisco. Young people disappeared into the church. Families hired deprogrammers, who waited "at the ready" to help the lost family member who fell into the cult's spell. They were experienced at applying methods to the rescued family member in order to "deprogram" the belief system and the power the cult had on them.
My Aunts hired a deprogrammer for my Uncle.
They took us with them to search for him. Aunts, my mom, me, my sisters, and my cousins packed into the station wagon and headed to the San Francisco Neighborhood where Reverend Moon housed his followers. Parking the wagon, we continued on foot. We walked up and down hills, from Victorian to Victorian until we found the right one.
All of us kids, hid behind my Aunts and my Mom on the doorstep of the Moonies' house. We barely all fit. We held our breath as my Aunts knocked on the door. Surprised, we found, a young blond hippie woman, her arms covered in goopy wet flour dough batter from fingers to elbows answer the door. Eyes wide, we watched as the sticky dough plopped from the door knob and her fingers onto the floor.
As my Aunts interrogated her, gently of course, no need to be hurtful or aggressive. The young moonie with sleepy wandering eyes, twirled her fingers in her hair spreading the dough, creating more knots, making what my mom and aunts called bird nests about her head. I don't remember the young woman making any sense of her words.
My Aunts and my Mom raised their eyebrows and looked at each other. Looking back at the young woman, her arms covered in dough, her thoughts a muddle, they decided we were getting nowhere.
I don't remember the rest of the search that day.
I do remember the day my Uncle came back home.
All the way from Texas back to San Francisco, I believe he hitchhiked. He hadn't been kidnapped, just coerced into giving up his van and all his belongings to Reverend Moon. He didn't need a deprogrammer after all.
Everyone relieved, a party was thrown welcoming him back into the fold.
My Aunts loved throwing parties. After someone died, the parties turned into all nighters sometimes lasting up to three days, with lots of food, wine, maybe a little pot and endless story telling into the night with scattered sleep all over couches and beds, spilling onto floors, then, continuing into more storytelling with pots of coffee, bacon and eggs in the morning after sunrise.
Tonight, my nieces are coming over, Grandma (my mom is driving up) to be here too, and my sister is making homemade pizza. We are having a slumber party.
There will be no booze, pot, or wild shenanigans. There will be family here to share stories, a movie, food, and much needed company.
I will have my room, my own private room to retreat to when I need to cry and be with myself. It's important for me to have friends and family, not all of the time, some of the time to bring me out of my grief for a bit.
My Aunts won't be here tonight, they have scattered about the states like wild seed.
Scott met two of my Aunts before COVID. Driving through their town one weekend, I dug up their address, we knocked on the door, unexpected. Excited to see us, it's been years since I last saw them, Jackie and Jeannie invited us in.
The next day they threw a party.
At the party, they made us a banquet and baked a carrot cake with piles of frosting. Scott and I dove into the taco bar, had drinks, shared stories, laughed, and had a great time for hours until we couldn't stay awake any longer. They didn't tell us it happened to be their birthday until the party was over. They are twins.
My Aunts prepared a bed for us in a room at the end of the house. In the morning, they had the coffee brewed waiting for us. We talked and talked for hours more.
We didn't want to leave, but we had plans we couldn't break.
Scott loved my Aunts, he planned to ask them to go camping over the summers (they love camping), he got along great with my cousin and her husband, the kids, and one of my Aunt's new boyfriends. He connected with them right away, that is who Scott is, he gets along with everyone as long as they aren't hurtful.
Scott wanted to visit my Aunts again after COVID wasn't a threat.
I know my Aunts loved him too. They told me.
How could they not, he fit right in.
Scott and I were headed to San Diego after the New Year to spend time with a good friend of his and to meet two of my other Aunts. That would make four of them. There are still more Aunts out there. All of them still here except my Aunt Cathy who crossed over years ago.
My Aunt Cathy knew how to throw great parties too with the best food ever, and I am sure if she has anything to do with it, she is throwing a huge one on the other side for Scott now.