Libby was the daughter of my father’s brother Willy (Paster). Her given name was Lila, but everyone called her Libby. She was younger than me by a couple of years, but despite the age difference, Libby and I were close. Libby visited the farm a lot. She was the city person while I knew all the ins and outs of the farm. Once I enticed Libby into jumping across a brook. Libby fell in trying to jump across. I thought it was funny. She might not have.
Libby and I had a lot of fun together. I used to go to New York to stay with her and her parents Willy and Ida, and her brother Joe. Once, as teenagers, while Libby and I waited in line to go into a movie theater, someone behind us remarked “oh, twins huh’? Libby and I didn’t think we looked alike.
Willy was like a father to me, kind and fun. For a living, Willy ran the film projectors in theaters. Tragically, Willy died when he was around 50.
I remember Libby and her daughter, Rochelle, coming to visit Joe and I in California. We sat on the patio and chatted. Catching up on all the news. Libby and I didn’t keep in touch much after that. I may have sent her holiday cards. I don’t know if she is still alive today.