Her brother, Nestoss, lived with us also. She had a second brother,
Joseph, who's descendants live in the Washington D.C. area.
Uncle Nestoss was a source of amusement to me and my sister,
Mariana, because of his enjoyment of butter milk and blue cheese,
both of which gave him gas. When Uncle Nestoss thought no one
could hear he would pass gas. His other culinary delight was
Campbell's chicken and rice soup with bread in it, consumed
boiling hot. To me and my sister, Uncle's meals were a visual
and auditory curiosity, to be observed in silent fascination.
Uncle Nestoss was a quiet man. He had his own room, a small
one in the back of the house. All that he possessed was in
that room.


Occasionally, I would sneak in to look at what he possessed. Nothing remains in my memory, but the bottle of Old Spice cologne, and Uncle's preference for wearing it. He always smelled of Old Spice. He was thin, bald, and had high cheek bones. When he was unshaven, his beard was bristly white. Uncle Nestoss was a loner; he hardly spoke. I believe he spoke Arabic most of the time; his English must have been heavily accented, but I have no recollection of him speaking at all. He had never married. If he had any women in his life, none were mentioned, and I in my youth never thought to ask.

He always seemed frail and slow. He was slow going up the back stairs of the house to his back room. He would fall asleep in the rocker in the dining room; his chin on his chest. In the kitchen, he would sit at the table with his favorite buttermilk. No one else in the household drank buttermilk as much as Uncle Nestoss did. I know I tried it, but it did not seem as sweet as ordinary milk.

Uncle Nestoss

Uncle Nestoss' life was one of quiet non-accomplishment. I never saw him work, though I was told he was a carpenter, so I must assume he was productive in his youth.

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