"In Memory of Dorothy aka Dot"

One of my first clients in the area was a wee sprite by the name of Dorothy aka Dot.  She weighed 100 plus pounds and stood a whopping 5' 2".  However, her personality and attitude were a striking contrast to her physical stature. 

Dorothy  always greeted me with "Ladonna--that means the lady, you know" and her wonderful smile.  She praised my strength as I took my mower from the truck, even though a ramp makes that easy. My Calvin Klein sweatshirt was "stylish," even though it is at least a dozen years old and tattered and torn.  She was ever present as I mowed her "meadow," her back yard which had more wild stuff growing than grass. 

Her favorite was to work beside me.  Those times are the memories of laughter and conversation.  She told of growing up in Queens in New York City as "Dot, the youngest of four children."  She regaled me with tales of traveling to Colorado cross country alone as a young woman and attending school there, an experience which opened her up to a wider world.  She talked of meeting her husband and a marriage which lasted over 50 years; the horrific loss of a daughter in a car accident; the treasure and pleasure of another daughter whom she called "Dr. Bergquist, the younger," one who is director of the composition program in the English department at the local university. 

Dorothy's great love and talent was voice.  She was a professional singer, song-writer, and teacher.  Oh, the songs she sang in the garden. 

This lady had a sense of humor, a great wit, and the most wonderful laugh to go along with it.  She loved puns.  Whenever I countered one of her puns, she rolled with laughter.  At her memorial service, tears rolled and heads nodded when the minister spoke of Dorothy's laugh.  It was just so bold and rich.

Over the years I worked for her, things began to change.  The diagnosis was Alzheimer's.  "Have I told you that I have Alzheimer's?" she would ask quite regularly.  "I think you have mentioned that, Dorothy," I'd respond, and we would continue in the garden.  Dorothy dealt with that verdict the way she dealt with life.  She didn't whine or complain, and she continued to laugh.  She felt she had less to think about if she couldn't remember and she trusted those who cared for her.  Her attitude was amazing.  There was only one time I know of that she really got buckled at the knees.  "They" took away her car.  Now the decision was a necessary one, but Dorothy loved to drive, and it was a difficult adjustment to make.  Before long, though, she concluded having a chauffeur had its advantages, and her positive attitude took over once again.

Dorothy began having respiratory issues.  Her energy level was down, she tired quickly, and breathing was difficult.  An aggressive lymphoma was causing fluid around her lungs.  There was no treatment.  When she was told of the prognosis, her response was "Wonderful!"....and she meant it.  She knew what the Alzheimers' road held for her, and she was fully prepared and anxious for this life to come to its end.  She believed in God, in life after death, an eternity in Heaven.  I am quite sure she had lived in anticipation of a reunion with Emily, her daughter as well.  I went to visit Dorothy in the hospital just after that final verdict had come down.  There was no gloom in that room, no despondency, only happiness and peace.  We laughed, we talked, and when I hugged her and gave her a kiss goodbye I made her promise that she would be waiting for me in the next life.  She passed away within days.

I was thinking about Dorothy today.  She is one of those who bears out my position that there is no substitute, no replacement for any of us.  And even though she isn't physically here, I still hear her loudly and clearly.  What a way to live!  What a way to die! 

"On Things"

thing:  n. a material object without life or consciousness; an inanimate object; one's clothes, furniture, luggage, or possessions collectively; stuff

The sturdy, wooden dresser is part of a bedroom set passed on to me as a child of 5 by my parents when they purchased a new set upon moving into the "new house."  67 years later the chiffonier, as it was called, is put to daily use, storing articles of clothing.

Ever a collector and a "saver," the top drawer was filled with my treasures.  A small shoe box was filled with napkins from every event ever attended from weddings to social gatherings and meals at restaurants.  Napkins were often personalized, but if they weren't, I wrote the date and the place on them as I tucked them away.  They held a journal, a diary of my life.  

Another collection included was that of pencils.  Inscribed with a business or company name, they were distributed for advertisement purposes.  None of them was ever sharpened or used--they were saved.

Completing the important things in my life was a stash of Dairy Queen spoons.  Why I felt they were important, I'm not sure, but they had the trademark curl on the end of the handle, and after a Sunday evening after-church treat I was compelled to wash it and place it in my drawer along with the others.

They were just "things," but they mattered to me at that point in my life.  Left behind when I married, I suspect my Mother casually disposed of them.

Several years ago, circumstances came into my life which resulted in the downsizing of my life.  It was then I realized how little was needed to live life as I let go of many of the material items I possessed.  It was a huge step for one who was a saver and a collector, but it turned out to be one of the most freeing experiences I have ever had.  

Consider, if you will, all of the time, energy, and money we put into our "things."  We collect and protect them, insure, display, and flaunt them, categorize and organize them. Often a great deal of our life is spent caring for them, trying to extend their life.  (I have a 1997 Ford Ranger pickup which falls under that description.)

Some hoard their "things;" others sell them for a profit.  Then there are those who compare their "things" with those of their neighbors, friends, or family, attempting to be the one who received the best deal upon purchase or the one with the superior product.  In days gone by this was called "Keeping up with the Joneses."  

Many families have become divided, split to shreds when the estate of a deceased family member was being settled and dispersed.  The source of disagreement can range from a memento to an heirloom, a piece of property or money.  Relationships are irreparably damaged and sacrificed--all for the sake of being in possession of  "things" deemed valuable.

It is not unreasonable to suggest that often we don't own the "things."  Rather, the  "things" own us.

And yet at the end, no one ever has or ever will take any "thing" with him/her when they leave this earth.  It's kind of like "The Care and Feeding of a Pet Rock."  No matter how much you put into it, nothing is going to change the outcome.  

Perhaps this is where an evaluation of priorities comes in.  People matter; spiritual health and well-being matter; the things that money cannot buy matter.  Those are the priceless "things," the "things" worth having.


"Take care!  Be on your guard against all kinds of greed; for one's life does not consist in the abundance of possessions."