The Virginian Pilot, January 7th, 2000
During the final years of my Aunt Connie's long life - it spanned nearly the entire 20th century, from 1903 to 1998 - I used to visit her once a month in the quaint row house she owned in West Philadelphia. I wrote checks to pay her bills; repaired minor things around the house; and, with her directions, whipped up a shrimp bouillabaisse that she guaranteed would make my tongue slap my brains out.
Her name was Constance Louise Stone, and she was my father's sister. During our visits together, we exchanged mutual hopes for each other, and gads of reminiscing. She told me all the family secre...
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