Yesterday was the homegoing service for my mother's eldest sister, Geneva, known to us as, Snookie. The first of six daughters, known for such gifts and subcommittees of the beautiful transitioned spirit Thelma Tapscott Alford, known as Queenie by her five sisters, and affectionately as GM, by her grandchildren. We are from the tree of the Tapscott/Collins/Crawford family. A family known for women who love to serve others, natural entrepreneurs, spirit women, beautiful and beautifiers, outspoken, demure, outrageous and humble. A family, now as small as 3 church pews.
Aunt Snookie was always in service to others. Modest yet confident but not flashy or showy. Her life was always a mystery to me and seemed as if she was always going to or coming from work. I mostly saw her at Ant Ceil's house (Cecelia Crawford) for the grand annual New Year's celebration, for which we'd practice setting tables and then polishing silver over Aunt Vivian's house on Saturdays to prepare for that dinner and beyond. As many people were there, this seemed to be my special time with Aunt Snookie. She always sat on this antique bench in the entrance way to the dining room. Unassuming but most definitely where you could see and hear all the action. I liked to sit on the second step diagonal to her seat. I was pretty shy and many people paid more attention to my younger sister, who loved to entertain. I used to hear the collage of conversation and out of my frustration of being ignored, began imitating folk. Sometimes I would snap out of it because of a distinctive, quick jingle of a laugh. I'd eye Aunt Snookie and she'd smile. Then we'd stare at each other. Seemed she'd know what and why I was doing what I thought were my private thoughts. Then we'd both return to people watching: the men and young boys watching football (many of whom died young), the ladies laughing at the table, people in and out of the kitchen with endless courses, my cousins up and down the basement trying to figure how to go upstairs to the other floors to play, someone coming in with long fur coat and dramatic entrance followed by cheers...and then Aunt Snookie and I would look at each other at the same time and have our faces held up by our hands and our feet overlapping. Her smile, laugh and voice remind me of the lush, full time of my childhood. Rest well, Aunt Snookie.
