...then I'm waiting for the third shoe to drop, cause bad news doesn't seem to stop once it starts rolling downhill for me. First, the pup, then today I found out that a dear and old friend of the family passed away. She was 92 years old, and at the risk of using a cliche, did indeed lead the proverbial full life.
I was, for all intents and purposes, her adopted granddaughter. She and her husband lived two doors down from us when I was growing up, and were pretty much my playmates when I wanted to get out of the house. She taught me how bake cookies, how to make basic quilts and plastic canvas crafts, and how to care for plants both indoors and out. They had two children themselves, one married and had children of his own with whom I got along wonderfully, even though they were 8 and 11 years younger then I was. The other daughter never married, but she and I still exchange birthday and Christmas cards and the occasional letter through the year. She was my touchstone from time to time to be reminded that not all adults were like my parents, she was the one who convinced my parents to get me tested and let me start school early.
Her husband passed away about a decade ago, but she didn't let that stop her. Instead, she did her best to live for two. Even Alzheimers never had the chance to truly rob her of her memories. Farewell, Dee. I'll make sure there are violets and irises on the altar.
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