Every Sunday morning played out the same.

Church at 8:30 am.

Middle section, second to last pew.

Same exact order in said pew: Dad, Mom, Pop, Me, Gram, Sister 1 and Sister 2. A reshuffling of the order was frowned upon by the entire congregation.

In the pew behind us sat Aunt Agnes and Uncle Jake. Upon arrival to our seat, each of us would be nudged and encouraged to turn around and greet Agnes and Jake.

We belted out some hymns and ran through the routine prayers/chants. Gram would hand out Canada mints at the halfway point. She handed us her handkerchief if we needed a nose blow. Not a tissue. A handkerchief she’d later wash at home with our snots still in it. Bless her heart.

We sat through a long sermon hoping to stay awake and not smash our foreheads on the top of the wooden benches in front of us.

After 467 handshakes outside the front steps of the church post service, we’d head out to one of three homes for “coffee” (rotating each Sunday): our house, Gram and Pop’s house or the home of Jake and Agnes.

Hands down, going to Agnes/Jake was the preference.

I could write a book about their house and the experiences we had there. Creepy yet fun. Weird yet cozy. Hilarious yet terrifying. Level floors and not so level floors. But let me highlight only a few memories if you don’t mind. And if you all ask kindly, I’ll share even more in the future. The supply is bottomless.

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As the parents drank coffee and gouged on frozen Pepperidge Farm cake post church, my sisters and I would explore. And the best means to explore was through hide-and-seek. Finding a hiding spot often lead to fascinating discoveries. I clearly recall hiding in a crawl space neither sister knew existed and they tried to coax me out by announcing they’d given up. Determined to stay hidden for hours and claim victory, I stayed silent until I heard a loud gasp followed by a “Holy S” (clearly a sin to utter on the Lord’s day). I jumped out to check out what had gone down to find both sisters staring into an open refrigerator.

Like out of a horror movie.

A refrigerator lined with doll heads on all of the shelves. The refrigerator wasn’t plugged in. That would be really creepy.

We’d found Aunt Agnes’s storage space for her, um, crafts.

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You know the joke where an older relative finds something in their home, quickly wraps it and gives it to you as a Christmas present? Aunt Agnes did this all the time. Her favorite? Wrapping a used perfume or cologne bottle in tissue. I scored some Acqua Velva one year. My favorite part of it all? Watching my sisters attempt to graciously accept the gift without breaking.

And they never broke.

I’m proud of them for that.

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All holidays at Gram and Pop’s house ended in their family room where we would watch my grandmother play piano and maybe sing along. A great memory. And if we were really lucky, that would be followed by Aunt Agnes playing a tune on the harmonica. Except she never really played a specific song. She just riffed her ass off. And she always appeared one breath away from passing out. The cousins never dared to look at each other in fear of busting a gut. And as a kid, there’s nothing better than attempting to suppress a laugh.

Agnes ruled.

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Our last stop on Christmas Eve was at Aunt Agnes’s house. As I typed that last sentence, I realized we always referred to hit as Aunt Agnes’s house and never Uncle Jake’s house. Most likely because she ruled the roost and wouldn’t have it any other way. Poor Jake. The tales I could tell.

Back to Xmas Eve. Each year Aunt Agnes would give us each a chocolate “letter” as a gift. I’d get a “J” for John. My sister would get an “M” for Melissa and my other sister Alison would get an “E” because, we don’t know why.

After then receiving some hand-me-downs wrapped in tissue and drinking an Apple Slice (RIP that brand) or three, the evening culminated with the grand finale. Agnes would take us into the room we affectionately called the “coo-coo-clock-room” (yes, there were multiple coo-cook-clocks on the wall) and would scream, I think, “Santa Claus” in a strong Dutch accent and throw cookies on the floor. These cookies resembled Nilla Wafers. We’d compete to gather as many as possible and don’t really recall what happened after that. I assume we ate them but have no memory of it. Maybe we handed them back in to be used the following year?

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Agnes and Jake had a winter/fall bedroom and a spring/summer bedroom. All based on the angle of the sun. I thought that was the coolest thing ever.

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Uncle Jake built a koi pond that allowed the fish to swim outdoors when the weather complied and then they could swim back indoors through an opening in an external wall of their basement. I can’t confirm that I ever saw the fish indoors in the winter because none of us ever set foot in the basement. We were forbidden to go down there and you’d have thought that encouraged us to explore but that place felt like pure evil my entire childhood.

I have no proof, but I still like to believe the fish did live down there in winter.

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How does this all tie to today’s DGP? Before Aunt Agnes’s house was knocked down to the ground in order to build a modern home by the new buyers, I snagged a bunch of their slate stepping stones. They continue to be used in one of my garden paths to this day.

I cherish the hell out of them.

All the Agnes memories flood back as I set foot on these and those stepping stones will come with me whenever we leave here.