This is the time of year my two old aunts will reappear with bouquets of lilacs and glads, and for hours they will waddle back and forth between the graves. My timid aunt will read the names and dates aloud and then translate the past. My worldly aunt will nod or shrug and not believe one word. Then she will wad her hankie into her purse and reach for her chocolates. My timid aunt will talk and water the plants and straighten the pots. My worldly aunt will smile and yawn. Then they will waddle to the car. My timid aunt will be lively and confident; and my worldly aunt, convinced that life is over, will shake her head and appear almost lovable.