Even when I was a child, my Aunt Bessie seemed impossibly old.
She was actually my great aunt, but I knew her better than either of my actual aunts. After we moved to Jasper, Ala., so my father could take care of his aging parents, I spent a lot of time at her house. Her husband, Uncle Larkin, had been sick and somewhat cranky all my life, so I spent far more time with her than with him.
Aunt Bessie seemed like the cheapest woman on Earth. She shopped at stores that sold goods with some sort of flaw, because she said it was the only way to get a bargain. She ate the cheapest cuts of meat imaginable. She was incredibly frugal.
Most of all, though, she almost never threw anything away. It didn’t matter whether it was a rubber band or a scrap of fabric or a piece of string. She would store such junk away and say quietly, “I might need it someday.”
Aunt Bessie was only 24 years old when the Great Depression started, but it left an imprint on her which I never understood — and I fear we’re all about to learn what fear taught her.

End of life brought cancer patient to baptism six days before death
THE McELROY ZOO: Meet Thomas, the aloof loner of my menagerie
After 50 years of lonely pursuit and disappointment, boy finally gets girl
Dead things must be cleared away before rebirth has chance to come
Does your life feel wasted so far? Maybe your best is yet to come
I can force child to obey me, but obedience comes with high cost
Suppressing speech you don’t like is a lousy way to encourage tolerance
No matter where I might ever live, the South will always be my home