After Uncle Franklin's Death, Aunt Eleanor no longer needed the spacious apartment and staff that she had kept on Washington Square in New York City, so she moved into a two bedroom hotel apartment.  It had a room for her, a room for her secretary, Tommy, two bathrooms, and an office.  All her life she spent at least part of every winter in New York, the focal point of the serious work she did, the city that connected her with social and political events of the day. 
    In the autumn of Aunt Eleanor's first year alone--and every year until her death--I received a note inviting me to spend a week with her in New York City after the excitement of Christmas was over.  The stipulation remained the same every year: I must come alone.  The children were invited to Val-Kill in the summer, but the winter vacation was a solo engagement.  Exhausted as I was raising four children by myself, as well as by the holidays, I considered it a special gift, a very thoughtful gesture.  It was also good for my children.  I have always maintained that you don't know what you are doing until you are in the midst of doing something else.  Then you see the picture in better perspective, and you feel refreshed when you return to it.
    But the habits of home remain strong to both parents and children.  My idyllic days in the big city were punctuated by phone calls to or from Michigan, where we were living at the time.  One early morning, as Aunt Eleanor and I were about to leave for a television interview, the phone rang.  A small voice asked Aunt Eleanor if Ellie was there.  (My children have always called me "Ellie.")
    My four children, five hundred miles away, were getting ready for school, and one of the boys was in distress.
    "Ellie," he wailed into the phone, "where is my other shoe?"