She was a woman who worked for our family. She was part African American, part Creek Indian. She saw ghosts and loved Jesus and especially the Virgin Mary, and she was really good at finding lost objects.
She had one of those Bibles with thin, translucent pages edged in what looked like gold leaf. She had porcelain front teeth rimmed in gold that looked like the edges of the pages of her Bible. She had a dent in one leg from where she was struck by a car. She had very black, very straight hair and very pale skin. She wore gingham aprons and said "Bless you, Angel Boy," when I went off to school.
My memories are vague and impressionistic because I was a little kid. But I remember her eyes, and the way she covered her mouth when she smiled or laughed, and the way she smelled, and how deeply she loved God and lived life.
She was born 100 years ago today. I miss her.
Happy Birthday, Rosie.
--T.A.
She was probably a perfectionistic tyrant to her family--the "hate baby," for example. But I think she was--or is--a saint: for her attachment to another world, for her infinite patience, for the love she gave us all--but especially you, her Angel Boy. She lives in each of us in some unique way. It has also always struck me that we were like 2 parallel families: she and Dad 10 years apart, Lil and I with birthdays in the same month, and I think there were parallels about other birth dates that I can't recall now. It doesn't do her justice to say she was "special." What would you call it, that she was--and Is?
Posted by: Mom | February 07, 2008 at 03:09 PM
Hey, Ma, I was Mr. Wonderful, and she showed up when I was an infant, so I think I was special to her too. But my most honest memory is that we, as a family, didn't always treat Rosie so well. I got really surly with her in her last couple of years with us, because her over-protectiveness was suffocating to a 14- and 15-year-old boy. Rosie was a special person, but in the flesh we didn't regard her as the iconic figure we all (myself included) now seem to feel she was.
Posted by: Ally | February 08, 2008 at 03:35 PM
You may be right -- not about your being wonderful, but about us glorifying her.
But the passage of time and the workings of memory make you appreciate more keenly the qualities of the people you valued, but whom you took for granted.
OK, OK, you're wonderful, in your own annoying way. At least I'm not rendering you iconic . . .
Posted by: David | February 08, 2008 at 04:34 PM
Angel Boy and Mr. Wonderful -- we could make a great gay cabaret act!
Posted by: Ally | February 08, 2008 at 10:30 PM