"Fat-Handing"

For my Aunt Jenny and Uncle Chet. Bless you. May you be in God's warm, loving arms for eternity ...

One of my father's older sisters, Giacoma (Jenny),  was a portly Italian woman who happened to be a great cook and baker with a beautiful soul.  She was very kindhearted and generous and had a gentle, loving way about her.  She was very innocent and didn't have a mean bone in her body.  She didn't have much education, in fact I don't even think she went to High School because my grandmother pulled the older children out of school during hard times to go work in the mills because they needed the money.  She had a difficult life, always struggling with finances and hardships.   What little she had, she always shared with everyone without question.  A truly amazing woman.  Her first husband died in a boating mishap.  There was some speculation that the circumstances involved drinking and a poor decision to steal lobsters from a trap that didn't belong to him.  He is rumored to have been shot by the rightful owner.  After some time, she was remarried to a man named Chester (Chet) Hatto.  They were my aunt and uncle, Jenny and Chet.

Chet was a chain-smoking alcoholic and a diabetic, having lost a leg to diabetes.  He had a prosthetic leg that he could wear.  He had his own upholstery shop (Hatto's Upholstery) but could more often be found at the corner bar where he would 'upholster' himself with booze rather than chairs in the shop.  They lived nearby us, about a fifteen minute walk up a big hill.  When I was a child, we would visit them often.  Either my mother or father would say to the other, "What do you want to do tonight?"  The other would reply, "Wanna take a walk up the hill?"  Their place was sort of the default visiting place of the family.  There would always be coffee and dessert following whatever she had made for dinner that day.  I loved taking the walk with my parents and going there to see them because Aunt Jenny would usually spoil us with sweet desserts and treats.

Oftentimes when we visited, Chet was "feeling good" from having had a few drinks.  He was from the backwoods of Maine and had a deep, booming voice and a real "Down East" accent and way of speaking that we found to be quite humorous and amusing, not to mention the effects of the often inebriated state he would be in.  He had a very colorful way of telling a story or spinning a tale and Lord knows he had a plethora of them.  He would often use words and expressions that we found to be hilarious.  One time we were visiting them on a cold day.  Jenny was in the kitchen, cooking or baking as usual and we were sitting in the living room talking with Chet.  Jenny happened to come into the living room to adjust the heating thermostat.  Upon seeing her doing that, Chet suddenly stopped mid-sentence and in his loud voice bellowed, "Heeeeeeeeeyyyyyyyyyy now, there she goes, 'fat-handing' the thermostat again!"  He had coined a new term and we darn near died from laughing.  Jenny and Chet have long since passed away but we never forgot that and it has stuck with us to this very day.  In fact, whenever my parents or I adjust a thermostat, or even touching anything, we usually refer to it as, "Fat-Handing" ...

The house where my Aunt Jenny and Uncle Chet once lived, as it looks now.

The had a small apartment on the right in the rear.

Author's Note

"We are made happy when reason can discover no occasion for it. The memory of some past moments is more persuasive than the experience of present ones. There have been visions of such breadth and brightness that these motes were invisible in their light." - Thoreau

Reviews

[Onlyme]

Pete, what a lovely insightful story about your family history and your Aunt Jenny and Uncle Chet. And the coming about of "Fat Handling" by your Uncle Chet. Just a normal everyday family that care and love each other. And though the ups and downs of strive and life. They bonded and grow. And have good times too. Like with the coming of fat handling on your visit to see family.

[Pete]

what you point out so true. thank you Dawn for your open, receptive heart ... :)