She Was A Grand Lady (Part Five)

And now here we are.

There’s so much more I could say . . . legions of tales.  I haven’t even MENTIONED the wondrous place her house was, filled with treasures that she and my Uncle had gathered throughout two lifetime’s worth of a love of fine things and even finer bargains.  They restored and sold most of what came to their attention, but even what they kept was enough to fill the house to overflowing.  I always felt what remained should be donated to a museum (particularly her plate from Martha Washington’s wedding set), but that decision wasn’t mine to make, and I’ve no doubt various blood relatives of theirs will pick the house over like a yard sale, and I can only hope at least one of them understands how precious those things are. 

For myself, I have a few mementos here and there . . . a beer stein they made when they were going through their crafting phase, a pair of my Uncle’s boots that I’ll never wear but asked to keep when I found them because they fit well enough for me to at least consider filling his shoes someday, a straight razor my Aunt told me could have slit a hobo’s throat at some point, and a large ceramic lion that I made the mistake of admiring to her once, and found it coming home with me (I kept my mouth shut after that.).

So much I could go on about.  I still haven’t mentioned the dogs other than Tuffy, or her skill at playing the pump organ and her habit of playing Reveille on it if she thought you were sleeping too late.

But I won’t . . . because I need to return my heart to my work, and to do that, I need to stop keeping my heart here.  That’s what my Aunt would be telling me now, at least, and I never made it a habit not to listen to her, so I’m hardly going to start now.

Goodbye Aunt Marian.  You truly were a grand lady, and if there’s no such thing as life after death, then there damn well should be.

Because I want to see you again someday.

This candle is for you.


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