She was magic. Everybody knew it. What captivated people was her irresistible
personality, her razzle-dazzle looks and the charm she emoted which mesmerized and
bemused even the non-believers so they forgot completely about their concerns and
objections.
She was a schoolteacher. Her principal let her teach first grade year
after year, where she thrived and was cherished. Even though she never had any children
of her own, she really understood them.
She knew how to listen. Listening to
children is not the same as listening to anything else in the world. Children
say what they have to say without words, mostly. To get children to use their
words the world has to be just right. It has to feel absolutely safe.
She knew how to talk to children, too. And I mean really “talk”. There was no beating around the bush with Marguerite
Noel. When she was around you could “say it like it was” without the familiar
critical cloud hanging over you. This created an atmosphere of protection and freedom
where you could let your true nature out to find your voice.
I didn’t have her as a teacher in school. She lived and taught in another
little town. I got to be with her on holidays, though, because I was lucky to
have her as my very own Great Aunt Marguerite. My cousins, siblings and I would
crowd near a window—watching-- in anticipation of her arrival for Easter dinner.
Uncharacteristic loud high-pitched cheers would erupt when her car appeared and
we’d all run out to welcome her.
She was my grandmother’s youngest half sister and there had to have been
at least 20 years between them. She felt young to me---more my mom’s age than
my grandmother’s. That really doesn’t explain it, either. Actually, she felt ageless.
I suspected that she lived in a timeless world where the perception of age didn’t
matter.
She had style and pizzazz. She always wore a large brimmed hat tilted
just slightly to the side. She carried a pair of gloves in one hand and clutched
a thin purse close to her body. Unlike
the other women in the family, she wore make up and had a faint scent of lavender
perfume. Her accessories were meticulously coordinated with some snazzy outfit
complete with a pair of fantastic shoes. She loved shoes so much she married a
man who fixed them. Uncle Bob, who we adored too, would show up looking dapper in
his white Panama hat and 2-toned shoes, dressed to the “nines”, as well.
The two of them would arrive at our dull and boring family reunions
with attitude. We would always look predictably the same: Uncle Glen in his plaid
flannel shirt and overalls, Grandpa in his white shirt, grey pants and blue
tie, Grandma, my Mom and her sisters in their Sunday-best frocks covered with
full aprons and us kids in our nearly- outgrown church clothes. Why did they
want to spend the day with us?
They had class. There was a charge between them, unlike all the other
couples who didn’t even want to sit next to each other at the long table. Bob
and Marguerite weren’t afraid of this magnetism. They clearly adored each other
and when their eyes met you could feel a spark and see a slight blush brush across
their cheeks. Their connection felt like the most natural thing in the universe.
They stood out in a distinctive way. To me, as a child, it was as if
they had stepped out of a fantasy book. Not a book you would find in just any library
or on one of the bookshelves at my house. The way they looked and talked gave
the impression they were not even related to us. They moved among relatives
with charisma looking each one in the eye with a sweet word and a wink.
Aunt Marguerite would cast her spell as soon as she walked through the
door. Her big brown eyes, with long lashes and eye shadow, illuminated with
delight when children came into her sphere. She would open her arms for a hug
and talk to you as if you were the only person on the planet. If you stood very
still when she was near you could hear your brain cells harmonizing and rising to
a higher pitch. Your physical body practically jumped out of its skin at the mere
sight of her. Emotions lost their doled drum heaviness and vanished into instantaneous
happiness. She was the most amazing wheel of fortune, ever!
She would make a big deal with the adults about the seating
arrangements for dinner. Each holiday she would volunteer to sit with the
children in the kitchen to “make certain they don’t run amuck or get too loud”,
she would explain. We all knew her hoopla was just a show to conjure up in everyone’s
minds just how much she loved us. We couldn’t contain our giggles as she took
the chance and negotiated on our behalf. Her dramatic spectacle bedazzled and
charmed us all!
During dinner we heard the adults in the next room making small talk, when
there was actually nothing to say. Eventually they would land upon the weather
and farmers’ gossip—which with any luck lasted until the end of their meal. At
our table, however,conversations were animated and fun. Aunt Marguerite would
not even have to coax us to tell our stories. Stories we didn’t even know were
in us would come tumbling out merely because she was there. We would laugh so
hard milk would run right out of our noses.
After the meal, dishes washed, dried and put away, old clothes on and
men sleeping in front of the TV as football players dodged tackles, we kids tiptoed
down the dark hall and gathered around a small table Aunt Marguerite had set up
in a back bedroom. A black velvet cloth covered the rickety card table giving
an air of fascination and illusion. Sheer curtains were open just a little so a
few light beams filtered through casting shadows on her face. It was just dark
enough to put a sense of the heebie-jeebies on what was about to happen.
She sat behind the table. We waited on pins and needles until she
spoke a low, quiet “abracadabra”, when tarot cards would appear with a slight
of her hand. She shuffled the deck like a Las Vegas dealer while emoting passionately
about the symbols on the cards and how she was going to use them to predict our
futures. It seemed incredibly mysterious! I hadn’t even thought about my future
since last Christmas when she had shape-shifted her alchemy into those cards
and cast the unknown upon us. Now, my future was about to materialize in front
of my eyes again with the hocus-pocus those cards were about to reveal.
Each one of us kids got a “reading”. I found myself holding my breath
every time 3 cards were pulled and placed in a row in front of us. Then her unbelievable
smoke and mirror stories started and went on and on and on, hypnotizing and holding
our wide-eyed attention with unspeakable wonder. We clung to each thought
anticipating astonishment. Her gypsy spirit did not disappoint as she embellished
and lingered on every word. Our imaginations cast us right over the precipice
into the worlds beyond.
Suddenly, in the palm of her hand a black fortune-telling ball
appeared. Answers to our questions floated to the surface at the bottom of the ball
and cast a mysterious aura. She extended the ball slightly away from her body,
adding to the illusion of prophecy.
By the time the Ouija board emerged everyone was sitting on the edge of
their chairs, the little ones resting their arms on the table in anticipation.
She had been bewitching us with the Ouija board as long as I could remember. Each
time it appeared we were taken closer to some way-out apparition. Who would she
choose today to reach into the beyond for an answer to their burning query?
Out of the blue, our mothers call us back to this world, breaking the
spell. Our desserts are ready. We file toward the kitchen in silence, too delirious
to care about what ordinarily would have brought us racing. For, you see, Great
Aunt Marguerite introduced us to the world of Spirit. She uncovered Universal
secrets, revealed unseen truths and brought to light symbols larger than life
that disclosed their meanings in a mysterious language. In some all-seeing way
she had summoned an awe-inspiring image of Paula that, though dreamlike, was undoubtedly
“me”.
I clearly remember breathing deeply, pondering questions I had never
thought of before and smiling in awe as she drove off in their fancy
automobile. Great Aunt Marguerite had graced the day and her presence continued to drape around us like a silk cloak. Full of wonder, we silently
looked into our futures to the next holiday when we would enter her world of enchantment
and magic again.
