Our Auntie Mitzi comes on holidays, birthdays, outings, trips and plenty of days in between. But why is she not with us on Christmas? Mitzi’s friends from the old country summon her for a “command performance,” says my mother, who feels betrayed. She has known Mitzi for 30 years already, but Mitzi won’t introduce her countrymen. Auntie Mitzi gives me a footstool made by a mysterious godson. It is pretty, but don’t step on the ends, or the stool will tip.
