Sweet Annie Finnegan was the sole relative on my mother's side whose lips didn't purse when she visited our humble farm.

During our clan's frequent get-togethers at "Chez McClung," it was Annie who invited a cat on her lap, tucked sugar cubes in her pocket for the horses, and, on one memorable occasion, clad in lilac suede pants and a silk blouse, spent half an hour blissfully riding my eldest mare around the small paddock.