The cards began arriving so early in my life that I have no childhood memories without them. Every holiday without fail until my sixteenth birthday. Valentine’s Day, Saint Patrick’s Day, my birthday, Easter, The Fourth of July, Halloween, Thanksgiving and Christmas. Always addressed in the old-fashioned way to Master Patrick Costello. Always with a few dollars tucked into the card. Always signed from my Aunt Mannie.

I did not get a lot of cards from relatives when I was a kid, so being able to rely on something in the mail every holiday meant a great deal to me. Even more so after my mother explained to me that Aunt Mannie was not really my aunt.

Her real name was Marion, and she was a cousin so distant that to this day I still have a hard time grasping just how we were related. My mother knew Marion when she was growing up, and after I was born Marion decided to start sending me cards on the holidays. Somewhere along the way my mother and I started calling her my Aunt Mannie.

Once I was old enough to understand that Aunt Mannie had no real obligation to send me these cards . . . well, it is hard to put into words how it feels to be loved by somebody who has no obligation to do so. It warms the heart the way a fire in the hearth warms your hands and face. Even the roughest parts of my childhood when ear infections were destroying my hearing and schoolyard bullies were hounding me every day - these times were made easier to bear with a silly card from my Aunt Mannie.

When I was twelve my mother took me on the long bus and subway ride across Philadelphia to visit Aunt Mannie for the first time. It was one of those perfect days in that space between Christmas and New Year’s when the decorations are still up but the pressure of the holiday was over. After what seemed like an eternity of travel we found ourselves at the front door of a little row house. We knocked and Aunt Mannie answered the door.

She was a small woman, but not frail. She spoke in a flat Philadelphia accent. She wore an apron over her housecoat and a sweater over that.

Aunt Mannie hugged us and then rushed into the kitchen to make us some lunch. As she cooked I looked around the place and slowly took the situation in.

My mother had explained to me a few times over the years that Aunt Mannie was poor, but until I walked into the house where she lived I did not understand just how poor Aunt Manie was. She was living with another one of my distant cousins. She had her own room and that was about it.

During our visit it hit me that every card, every dollar tucked into those cards and even the stamps represented a sacrifice this kind lady had made for me.

It was almost too much to process, and the next thing I knew Aunt Mannie was serving us the best grilled cheese sandwiches I have ever had and mugs of hot soup. We enjoyed our lunch and then it was time for my mother and I to start the long trip back home.

As we were leaving Aunt Mannie tucked a couple of dollars into my pocket. I tried to argue but she just smiled and gently shoved me out the door.

Once I knew how to get to Aunt Mannie’s place I went to see her whenever I could. Sometimes I would just get disgusted with school and walk from Havertown all the way to 69th Street Station – usually dragging my guitar. If I didn’t have any money I would busk until I raised enough to take the Market-Frankford line to Aunt Mannie’s. She never looked surprised to find me at her door.

We talked of many things in those visits. She even taught me how she made those perfect grilled cheese sandwiches. The only thing we did not talk about was the one question that nags me to this very day. Why me? Why sacrifice for so long for someone barely related to her? I would ask her, and she would just pat my hand and smile.

On Thursday families across the United States will be gathering to celebrate Thanksgiving. This year will probably be stressful in some households as people are still arguing over the election and other news headlines.

I hope that anybody who reads this will take a moment to ponder the impact Aunt Mannie had on my life with something as simple as some greeting cards, and then hopefully realize that the topics that divide us mean practically nothing next to the love that brings us together and enriches our lives.

I know I said this to you every time I saw you, but I will say it one more time. Thank you, Aunt Mannie. I love you.

This week we have five music workshops for you.

Harmonica Lesson 2 has us playing our first song!

Frailing Banjo Lesson 2 introduces the D7 chord, left and right hand coordination and our first song.

Easy Folk Guitar Lesson 2 introduces the D chord, left and right hand coordination and our first song.

Folk-Blues Guitar Lesson Two introduces the D chord, left and right hand coordination and our first song.

Advanced Frailing Banjo - Phantom Effects explores alternate-string hammers. This technique can bring a lot of cool sounds into your banjo playing.

Be sure to visit us on the web at http://frailingbanjo.com. Also check out The Maryland Folk Musicians Retreat and think about joining us for a wonderful weekend of music on Maryland’s Eastern Shore.

Until next time, keep on picking!

God bless,

-Patrick

Patrick Costello Patrick and Aunt Mannie 1987.