Hilda and Irene

My Grandmother Hilda lived just a few houses down the street from her sister Irene. Two sisters could not be more unalike except when it came to the keeping of their homes. Where Hilda wore sensible shoes and house dresses as she went about her day's work, Irene could be found listening to the radio on her kitchen windowsill, her toe tapping in a stylish pump as she dried the dinner dishes.

The sisters had only the kindest of compliments for each other and their homemaking skills, but this first grandchild knew whose home was truly the best.

My grandmother would say to me as she handed me a cookie from the Dutch Boy on the counter, "Take this plate of cookies to your Aunt Irene and tell her there is not a lighter crumb than in these cookies.  Down the street I would skip to Aunt Irene's kitchen door where she would usher me in, a thickly frosted piece of cake held on a waiting plate. She would say to me as I took my leave, "Take this cake to your grandmother and tell her there is not a moister crumb than in this cake"

 

In the evening my grandmother would prepare the bathroom for my bath. The heater inside the pink tiled walls would glow a warm orange. Fluffy white towels would be handed to me from a glass fronted cabinet. My grandmother would say, "The next time you are at Aunt Irene's look to see if her bathroom grout is as white as mine."

Back and forth I would go all the days of my visits to see my grandmother. Even as a newlywed I would be sent down the block to Aunt Irene's to make some comparison that would cement just who truly was the best homemaker. With each trip I would be pampered and hugged and kissed and made to feel under any circumstance that I was loved the most.

I just had to add this sweet three color planter to my collection. It reminds me so of my grandmother's and Aunt Irene's white clapboard homes on Colbert Street in New Orleans.