I WAS RAISED BY MY GRANDMOTHER in the Robert Taylor Homes, a housing project on Chicago’s South Side, but frequently stayed at the home of my aunt Rosemary Jarrett, my grandmother’s oldest daughter. When my adoption was finalized, my birth certificate and other documents indelibly amended, my aunt became, legally, my sister, a novel relation that would be indispensable, steadying. 

My aunt had back then a marvelously filthy mouth, supplemented by a full and ribald laugh. She inherited from her mother a talent for entertaining, as well as an exuberant, maximalist approach to the adornment of self