Miss Alice

If you've read this blog at all, you know that I rarely disclose people's names in here, except for mine ....my own name is in the name of the blog. It's kind of fun, thinking up pseudonyms for the people in my life. Little One is not so little anymore, and has commented that she won't be Little One much longer. (She'll always be Little One to me.)

Today we are breaking that tradition to talk about Miss Alice.

Miss Alice lives across the street in a white frame house, with a perfect yard, and hedges whose leaves are never out of place.

I would eat off Miss Alice's kitchen floor.

When our neighborhood held our membership drive last month, Miss Alice's check was the first to arrive at the PO Box.

Miss Alice celebrated her 91st birthday on Saturday.

Four years ago, when her son-in-law insisted on taking over the mowing of her lawn, she agreed: "Well, you may mow, but you may not trim with the WeedEater. You don't do it right." She weed-ate her sidewalk edges just last week. When she finished, she used the weed whacker as a cane to help her up the porch steps.

I went to Alice's house on many occasions -- usually to seek her guidance. She was a gifted seamstress in her day, and if I were making something complicated, she would advise me as to how to keep the lining from showing, or how to roll the facings inward, or what color thread to use.

When I became President of the neighborhood, I began visiting for her counsel. After 40 years in the neighborhood, she knew the history about as well as anyone. She could predict what the reactions of the neighbors might be if we took this or that action, and she supported my decisions like a trouper.

I loved, respected, and appreciated Miss Alice, and she passed away this morning.

I am sad.

The good news is that it happened quickly. Fiercely independent, Alice would never have wanted to be a burden on anyone. She would never have wanted to be dependent on anyone, and for heaven's sake, she wouldn't want to be sick or incapacitated in any way.

She didn't feel well this morning, and called her daughter in a neighboring town. The daughter asked Alice if she could go on and call 911. She did so as the daughter sped to town.

When first responders arrived, Alice had fallen down with a stroke and they were unable to revive her.

Thank you, Alice, for all your wisdom, your sage advice, your time and caring, and your gentle sense of humor.

I loved you.