Got news yesterday that my Great Aunt wasn’t expected to make it through the weekend. She is in her nineties. Her health has been slowly deteriorating for the last many years. But she was quite the duck. I never really knew her very well. She was the sister of the grandfather I never knew. She lived alone, never married, and yet was quite an adventuresome spirit.
So if you don’t mind, I’d just like to post a few of the memories I have.
There was a restaurant somewhere in Colorado in or near Denver where she lived. I have no idea what the occasion was; I was six, maybe. It was some kind of woodsy, swanky place, I think. She was probably treating us. She’d made a life for herself, you see, and traveled wherever she wanted—kind of the Sir Edward Hillary of the family, I guess. Anyway, we were at this restaurant thingy, and there were some kind of large fowl wandering around. My great aunt gobbled at them. I think they must have been turkeys; why would one gobble at, say, peacocks. She’s the only person I have ever know—or heard of—who knew how to gobble. Quite astonishing. And she did it rather convincingly.
She came and stayed with us for a while once. I might have been eleven. She brought a few of her cameras and lenses with. She was quite the … well, “shutterbug” might be too cliché for her. She had some nice equipment, and knew how to use it and take care of it. Taught me quite a bit about photography—stuff I still remember to this day without remembering when I learned it or how. Stuff about field-of-view and F-stops; stuff about lighting and shutter-speed; stuff about quality vs. film speed. I’m not quite sure, but I think she enjoyed sharing that little bit of her life with me, and seemed pleased that I found it genuinely interesting.
A birthday party a few years ago … I think it must have been her 90th. I never saw her much during my life. Didn’t frequent the Denver area, and she only occasionally came through, usually just a short visit on the way somewhere else. It had been many, many years. We went to the assisted care facility where she lived, threw her a birthday party. (That is to say, most of us came and partook of the party, and a few that lived closer and were a little more closely related did the throwing.) I’m not sure what she thought of the whole thing. All these relatives—there couldn’t have been more than about thirty of us—showing up to celebrate a milestone few see, and those who do most often don’t realize it. It was a very … different sort of a party, a different sort of a day.
I never really knew my Great Aunt, not in any appreciable way. I find myself occasionally wondering if I’m much like her. She had family, yes, but wasn’t overly … needy of their company. She was bright; she saw through to the heart of the matter as though it were obvious. Which reminds me of something she once told me—and I’m not entirely sure it wasn’t in a bit of an administrative manner:
If you have a difficult job, give it to a lazy man; he’ll find an easier way to do it.
That phrase has stuck with me my whole life. I think it was one of her brief visits—around Christmas time, if I recollect properly—when she shared that with me. I’m not sure, exactly, why.
And now she’s passed on. I’ve never been a good one for going and visiting family. (I’m not a good one for visiting anyone, in general. “Ruddy awful” is what comes to mind, having been watching some BBC television. I’m too much of a hermit, I guess.) She always remembered us kids, even though we were terrible about writing back—even just a Thank You note seemed to be beyond my attention span. I was grateful … I just found it difficult to bring myself to say it. All those years, all the … “support” she gave us, as a family, as individuals. My sister was the one who got to know her best. I think she spent a good portion of a year living with her in her later years, taking care of her. I know it was appreciated, even if they didn’t see eye to eye about things.
Well, I’ve rambled on. I’ve tried to make this read-worthy, and failed miserably. I’ve tried to think of ways to say that I think she was a fantastic lady, and yet I didn’t really bother to seek out that greatness. … And the best I can think of now is to raise my virtual glass and borrow a line, and hope it’s accepted as she embarks on the next adventure in this thing called life:
Dorothy, here’s lookin’ at you, kid.
