When I was a child, we'd travel now and then to an old iron town on the Ohio river. Not-so-creatively named Ironton, it was full of neighborhoods with amazing Second Empire and Queen Anne architecture. Back in the 70's and 80's, many lay in waste, and their decaying radiance no doubt lay at the foundation of my fascination with both architecture and the macabre beauty of its decay.

The reason for our trips were visits to my Aunt Ellen (my mother's father's brother's wife; I don't remember my Uncle Ray, I believe he passed before I was born). She was a fantastic, traditional hostess; she would sleep in the spare bedroom with me, for my parents got her master bedroom. I remember her as a fairly "formal" lady compared to others in our family; I remember fairly strict routines, slippers, robes, never going anywhere without her makeup. She had a gentle demeanor, which made it all the more hilarious when she was bawdy or excited.

She cooked wonderful meals for us, and those visits are among some of my fondest childhood memories. I adored her house, with it's old charm and style so different from what I was used to. We lived in a rural area, she lived where there were sidewalks to roam and blocks to traverse.

About the only part of her that remains with me, aside from the memories, is a recipe for a spaghetti sauce that is so easy it's ridiculous, and so odd that no one I've ever mentioned it to doesn't laugh. But Scot and I love love love it, and we enjoyed it tonight on top of some very al dente campanelle and thick fluffy slices of garlic bread made from the leftovers of a home-made loaf of bread I made this weekend.

Great way to start the weekend. Not much relaxing to do, as there's an oodle of freelance work to do, and prep for Mom's visit.