Dear Prayer Chain, I ask prayers for my mother and our extended family at the death of my aunt, Olga Mae Brunkhorst. My mother's oldest and only sister, and our beloved Aunt Mae, died last night from complications of Alzheimer's disease and other unyet diagnosed intestinal problems. She had no children, so she spoiled all her nieces and nephews, and as they got too old she began on the next generation of great nieces and great nephews. My son Dustin was very fond of her as she was of him--she was a persistent teaser, and Dustin encouraged her with his retorts as they would go at it playfully. In another era Aunt Mae would have been an entrepreneur if not a business tycoon. She was smart and wise and could whip a business into shape and keep it there. Her last job was managing the local lumberyard, and contractors from all around would come to talk with Aunt Mae to help them figure how much and what size lumber they needed for a project, and various pieces of advice about new products, etc. She was gruff and could bring a child to tears if they thought she was mad at them--her love was so huge you could feel a sucking vacuum if she was mad and wouldn't talk to you. But she was also quick to make up, and love us back into her heart. I'm grateful she no longer has to ask where she is, or when she's going home, because she is in the hearts and memories of her family and we will hold those memories precious. With gratitude, Susan Willm k

Olga Mae Brunkhorst ruined sugar cookies for me. Not all sugar cookies mind you. But any sugar cookie that was not made by her skilled hand, in strict adherence to her recipe. During the hot summer months of my childhood spent in Missouri, visiting Aunt Mae was a treat. She was an all too willing co-conspirator in my frequent efforts to subvert parental (and grandparental) authority. She knew, just as well as I, when the watchful eyes would wander. And it as at that point that she'd lean in and say, "Go ahead, Dustin, have some more dessert." The frequency with which four letter words could flow forth from her mouth filled me with glee-I felt such a camaraderie with her when my grandmother chided her, and not me, for a letting an off-color phrase slip out. But most of all, warm and loving thoughts of Aunt Mae have and will continue bubble to the front of my mind, like a Proustian reminiscence, when ever I have a sugar cookie and think, "Damn, nobody can make these like Aunt Mae."