Myrt and Vester

Myrt and Vester are uncommon names. For individuals so named to become a couple makes the monikers more notable. They were Aunt Myrt and Uncle Vester to me though they were no kin. In reminiscing about our connection, I realize its origin is a mystery. I never thought to ask.

Some of my earliest memories center around frequent visits to their St. Louis apartment, a delight to enter. It was one of two on the first floor of a two-story flat. Aunt Myrt served coffee from fancy china. If we ate a meal, the dishes all matched those pretty cups and saucers. Even though we had to be quiet and sit still, it was never boring because there was so much to see.

Aunt Myrt displayed a vast collection of salt and pepper shakers in a large cabinet as well as on open shelves and in all sorts of nooks and crannies in their three large rooms. Now and then it was a grand treat to ‘help’ by dusting them. If a visit was longer, we could play in the back room with permission to rummage through buried treasures in fancy boxes stored under the bed. They had a green parakeet, too. Watching Joe made sitting still easier - sometimes.

Aunt Myrt wore flowered swishy dresses with coordinated earbobs and matching necklaces every day, not just to church. Uncle Vester drove a truck. For some reason I remember his boots, perhaps because one seemed to always have a pant leg stuck in the top of it. They attended the big city church we did, and they were from a town in the Bootheel that my parents grew up around.

Mom and dad loved and trusted them like family. Once for an ER visit with my brother, they dropped me off at their apartment on the way. Another time my brother and I were taken there in the middle of the night for another ER visit, this one for our little sister.

We left the city at the end of my junior year. There were long discussions about me living with them to finish high school, but for some reason it didn’t pan out. When Uncle Vester retired from trucking, they moved back to the Bootheel. We still visited frequently. Aunt Myrt let me use her car to take my driver’s test because it was an automatic like the driver’s ed car.

Several times in my adult life I’ve met others who knew Myrt and Vester. Sharing stories - and salt and pepper shakers were always mentioned - was a sweet experience. I wish for every child such an ‘aunt and uncle’ to love, even if their names are Bob and Sue.