I remember my sweet mother-in-law every day of my life. She died in 2008, at the age of 98. I often wear her fuzzy bathrobe when I get up in the morning. I wear one of her sweatshirts it the winter, when it is cold outside. Snuggled in my memories of her, I am cozy and warm.
I loved spending time with Dorothy. She was pretty and funny, sweet and a little naive. But Dorothy was also determined and brave. She survived losing her father in the influenza outbreak when she was eight years old. She survived diphtheria and being quarantined at Denver General Hospital for six weeks when she was ten. She was the mother of six children, two of whom died before she did. Even as she approached 100 years old, she was determined to stay in her own home.
For many years, Dorothy and I spent every Friday evening together. Often we would go to the neighborhood restaurant for dinner and a glass of wine. Other times, we would sit in Dorothy’s kitchen and talk about our week. At various times, Dorothy shared her home with her husband, her children, her nephew, her mother, and Jim’s dog, Adolph.
Adolph was a medium-size, brown dog. Not a big dog, but not small, either. He was part Airedale and mostly mutt. Adolph was happy and lovable, but not especially smart. Although Dorothy tolerated Adolph, her real love were her cats. She nearly always had a cat in the house. When one died, usually from crossing busy Grant Street, another one showed up, asking to be adopted.
One Friday afternoon, I stopped in to see Dorothy and I knew something was wrong. Her grey kitty was meowing around the kitchen. Dorothy poured each of us a glass of wine.
“Is everything ok?” I asked. “You seem a little flustered.”
“I am flustered. I had a weird phone call today.”
“Who was it?”
“I don’t know. It was a man’s voice. He said he saw me at church.”
“Are you sure you don’t know him?”
“His voice wasn’t familiar at all. He said he wanted to see my pussy.”
“Oh, my. That’s terrible. What did you say?”
“I was very cross with him. I asked him why he would say such a thing. My cat was right there in the kitchen with me and I wasn’t going to take her outside to show her to him or anyone else.”
“What did the man say then?”
“Nothing. He hung up.”
Dorothy told that same story to everyone she saw that weekend. No one had the heart to tell her why we thought the story was funny.
That was the sweetest story, with the laugh catcher at the end. Bravo for Dorothy.
Thankfully she was naive or she would have been so offended. What an ending to a lovely story about Dorothy. I know you miss her.
You always put such a sweet spin on life. Hoping to come to Denver in the fall
You know, here in the UK a lady would be offended if you asked to see her fanny!
That word doesn’t have the same meaning as in the USA, here it refers to the female genitalia!
Equally, here in the UK you can happily say “I could kill a fag” in a Gay Club without fear of attack, as the “fag” in question is a cigarette and that phrase simply means you are desperate for a smoke!