What's In A Name?

Aunt Alice was my mother’s youngest sister. My grandmother died in 1945, when Alice was 19 years old, and she went to live with my parents. My brother was a baby, and neither of my sisters had ‘arrived on the scene’ just yet.

As the story goes, a young Air Force officer named Bill Dalrymple, from a good North Carolina family (this fact is important later in the story) was assigned to my father’s office after returning from WW2. He was single, far away from his family or anyone he knew, and my aunt was still living with them, so my father decided to fix them up. Hoping to marry her off? That was the story and while it doesn’t sound like my father, he wasn’t one to pass up an opportunity.

Aunt Alice later told the story of their first date. He was all southern manners and propriety when picking her up from my parents’ house, and all hands once he got her in the car.

She must have been charmed by the manners, and apparently didn’t mind the hands too much, because she married him.

I didn’t get know Aunt Alice and Uncle Bill (who he was to us by then) until they were stationed at the Air Force base in San Antonio, and we regularly made the three-hour trip for weekend visits. They lived in a beautiful mid-century ranch house, beautifully decorated and modern, which was a far cry from my parents’ hodge-podge-functional-but-comfortable style. My older cousins, Laura and Sharon, were tall and thin (thanks to their father’s genes) and undeniably cool. Their brother, Billy, is six months younger than me and we were fast friends. The youngest, Lisa, was born a few years after they moved.

I loved those weekend trips. We’d inevitably stop at Nickerson’s Farms, a highway restaurant chain with a huge red roof you could see for miles, and its own beehive behind plexiglass inside the gift shop. The bees had a small entrance on the side of the building and the restaurant sold honey and other things no one needed.

In the early 70s the Dalrymple family moved to Taiwan for Uncle Bill’s final tour of duty. When he retired, they move to his family farm in North Carolina and I haven’t seen any of them, except Aunt Alice, once, since they left San Antonio (although we have remained in touch).

All this is a walk down memory lane, so thanks for indulging me, but I wanted to talk about how Aunt Alice reinvented herself. She started by changing her name. She was born Alicia O’Neil (Alice was a family name, but I would have preferred to be called Alicia) and took the name Dalrymple when she married Bill. In addition, she changed her first name to Lee. So, the Dalrymple’s know her as Aunt Lee and my cousins, and I know her as Aunt Alice.

I wasn’t aware of this until a few years after my mother died and I began researching our family history. This was no easy feat in the beginning because I never knew my grandparents, on either side, and while my mother and her sisters remained close throughout their lives, they weren’t in contact with any of their other relatives. Maybe they talked about them when I wasn’t around, but I didn’t pay much attention at the time.

I had the opportunity to ask my mother to tell me about her family in the months before she died, and I’ll always be grateful for those discussions, but as I began to research, I was left with more questions than answers, so I called Aunt Alice. This was when I realized she had two distinct personas (that I know about). I don’t remember who answered the phone, but when I asked to speak to ‘Aunt Alice’, they were confused, at first and it took a minute for them to realize I was asking for “Lee”.

My New-York-City-born-and-bred aunt came to the phone and greeted me with an authentic North Carolina southern drawl. If you’ve ever heard New Yorkers talking to each other, you’ll understand how bizarre this was, and how different from the gab fests I remember when my mother and her sisters were together.

We caught up on each other’s lives for a few minutes and I told her I was working on documenting our family history, starting with the stories and documents my mother left me, and asking her to help fill in some of the gaps. She was genuinely sorry when she told me she didn’t think she’d be of much help, because she “didn’t like those people when she knew them” and therefore didn’t know too much about them.

She did remember a little bit about her father, my grandfather, although she was very young when he started disappearing for months at a time. She mostly remembered when he would return, always dressed like ‘a dandy’ and would take her for ice cream. She also remembered her uncle, her father’s brother, who was a priest, and not very nice to her mother, or any of them. Something about my mother having a bubble bath during one of his visits, which he considered sinful. She didn’t think much of him, that much was clear.

Throughout the years I continued my research and a few of the tidbits Aunt Alice remembered, such as her grandmother’s maiden name, were helpful in keeping me on track. Then, about ten years ago, I was chatting with my cousin Lisa, who was living near and caring for Aunt Alice, and we began exchanging information. Our conversation sparked both Aunt Alice’s interest and her memory and Lisa began transcribing a family gold-mine of memories. I sent a copy of the only photo I have of my grandparents, in a room with at least a dozen other people, and Aunt Alice hand wrote a legend identifying most of them. This was an unexpected treasure, along with the stories she told Lisa to relay to me.

I guess this week’s essay is the indicator that I should capture those messages and record them properly. We are the custodian of our stories. If we don’t share them, they risk being lost forever.

Aunt Alice was proof that there are as many versions of ourselves as we need – whenever we need to find the one that fits. And that sometimes the one we thought we’d put away returns to share stories.

Here's the treasure Aunt Alice left in my care. It appears a couple of our Irish immigrant aunts worked for the Vanderbilts and the Astors. Isn't that something?

If you would like to know more about my ancestral connection work, my Daoist path, or my other offerings such as tarot readings and classes, spiritual guidance, and mindset mentoring, you can find more detailed information by using the drop-down menu on my website:  https://tea-in-the-parlour.ghost.io/

This coming June, I’m presenting a workshop for the Tarot Association of British and International members (TABI). The topic is: Tarot Conversations, Eavesdropping on the Cards. The fee is very reasonable, at less than $10, and the workshop will be recorded if you can’t attend the live session. More information will be posted on the TABI website soon.

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