Mid-Winter

One  life's celebration



In the cerulean blue formal dining room, unearthed, excavated, having  been buried for decades under Pompeian-like layers of hoarding deposits, a  paneled mirrored wall and  modest but dainty crystal chandelier shed light on the remains of a woman's arc, on the occasion of her memorial service.

The startling blue color of the wall  is as deep as her unexpected complexity, the 93- plus years in the making of goodness, unvarnished beauty, effortless grace and spirited clarity that was Dottie.

The gardens, the cats and the let-it-be and love-it presence, that was Dottie. The geraniums would bleed red and die on top of the old station wagon all summer long, never  allowed to stretch their feet in soil other than their nursery pots that they came in, for many summers in a row. The countless plastic  pedestal bird fountains, presents to the feathered friend folks of hers, that  would  disintegrate in the brambles of the front garden. The cat hair bunnies that would multiply and accumulate on her decades' old clothes, comfortable, like another ratty sweater. The yellowing teeth that would still color a smile warmer than any disingenuous greeting and hug of the young; that was  Dottie, year in and tragedies- parade out in our household, she would be a constant, a stalwart rock of our Crown Hill journey.

A red lacquered Chinese chest was the only companion to the mirrors and chandelier, supporting a bevy of photos, a pastiche of times gone and lives unraveled and worn out, on the occasion of  viewing her life's reminders and remains. Why that strange artifact there? Why the love of music and the poetry musings? A vivid brushstroke, of no explanation, of  a woman's life of 93 years.

Music and mustiness, warmth and unknown faces, love and tears - was the essence of that evening, a dark, dank and damp NW night, filled  with a smattering of brilliant oranges and reds: the color of compassion, the shade of the marigolds of death, paying homage to Dorothy.
 A woman that wore  such crazy-colored hippy dresses unapologetic- ally, when they were no longer in vogue, styled with her flowing, pure white, elegant hair that  she refused to let anyone mess with, a symbol of her free heart and happy soul..
Clarity, simplicity, daring-ness, her gifts of inspiration to us, the busy, mousy, determined and exhausted females of our era.

A quick glimpse, and then it is gone. Just like the wonder of Dorothy.


Rest in peace and have a great laugh with Stevie boy sweetie..