When I was growing up in Erie, everyone I knew was a Republican.  Everyone but Cousin Marie, that is, who lived in New York.  She was my mother's cousin, the daughter of my grandmother's step-sister Jennie, the maven of our Swedish clan.  Marie was a tall, handsome woman who dressed always in conservative suits and sensible shoes.  She adored New York where she lived for many years in a tiny 3rd floor walkup at 156 W. 10th.  She had one close friend named Birdie who lived nearby I guess --I never met her or visited her apartment -- with several cats.  I would bet my last dollar that Cousin Marie and Birdie were lesbians, but in those days the closet was tightly locked.

When she wasn't working at her job as a secretary in a mid-town law office, Marie volunteered at a hospital in the Village, and spent a lot of her money on opera tickets.  She was also greatly amused whenever she visited Julius's, the gay bar across the street.  Something was always going on at Julius's which she would report with relish, like the man dressed in a pink tutu who had come flying through the place on roller skates one Halloween.

She didn't particularly like to travel, but occasionally in the summer she would hop on a plane and visit her Erie relatives.  She was eager to escape the heat of the city and drawn to the prospect of sinking her teeth into luscious ripe peaches hanging from the trees in our yard and playing countless games of bridge in the evening.

When things got dull -- trust me, not much was happening here -- she or my father would start in with the puns.  "That's a nice clock you have, John.  Let's FACE it."  And my father, straight-faced would respond.  "Good idea, but I don't really have the TIME."  This type of exchange could go on for hours, interspersed with the bidding and playing of hands.

One evening, after all the puns had run dry, Cousin Marie decided to try a different tack.  "I think Harry Truman was a great man," she opined.  I think my father half-lifted off his seat before the words came out of his mouth, the words he always used to describe Truman:  "That S.O.B.!"  I was never sure just why he thought so little of Truman, other than that he was a Democrat.  And that would be enough for him.

He would be unhappy to know that his daughter has gone to the other side.  It was W. who pushed me over the edge, but that's another story and another blog.