Aunt Sally's eulogy

Webster’s defines the word “lady” as “a woman having proprietary rights or authority especially as a feudal superior, or a woman of superior social position as well as a woman of refinement and gentle manners.” Sally typified all three definitions to me.

What I remember most about her can best be expressed in how I would explain her to my friends. Sally got to 1940 and stopped. Everything she did in her life related to the ways things used to be. Sally was known to start her conversations with, “In my day…” She was the person who taught me to write thank you notes, something you rarely hear about today. She always wanted to know about someone’s family and where they were from, another throwback to days gone by when one was identified by where they had come from. She took great pride in being what she called a “Katie Gibbs girl”, and would frequently tell me how it was to work in the days before copiers and computers. “I had to type 80 words per minute without any errors, my dear…in triplicate!”

Her house was unlike any other home I ever went into; with its overstuffed scratchy sofa, chairs that were for looking only and not for sitting in, china on display, and luncheon, never ever lunch, served on delicate plates along with real silver forks knives and spoons. I was also reminded of the plastic that covered the overstuffed furniture and if you slid on it you were chastised. Yet the slippery plastic remained! Sally’s was the place you went to all dressed up, and she would always be the same way. Holidays brought out coats with real fur trims, hatpins that she actually knew how to use without sticking herself, and good wool skirt sets.

Growing up I would go there with my mom for “luncheon” and it would always be a challenge to amuse myself, as there was not a lot I was able to play with. She wasn’t one to have toys books or games, for there were no children in the house. Instead, I would prop myself on the overstuffed couch and look at the painting in her living room. It’s a print called “The Visit”, but it was how I always thought of Sally. Like a grand old painting in muted tones and colors. I would make up stories about the man in the painting who I always thought was a pirate, and how when I grew up I would wear long skirts like the lady in the painting and meet a pirate and have a little girl just like in the painting. Other times I imagined I was the little girl in the painting and that my dad was a pirate. It wasn’t until a few years ago that I ever told Sally how much I loved this painting. She was very surprised, and said one day it would be mine.

She did many things differently than anyone else. When I would go visit her, you could never drink out of an individual bottle of soda, because “ladies don’t drink out of bottles.” She would not get a chair with a footstool because “ladies do not recline.” When she met a male friend of mine, and was asked what she thought of him, she remarked that it was too bad he was gay. When questioned why she thought he was gay (and he was not) she said, “Well, my dear he did, after all, have a ponytail.”

She also said to Barbara that she thought that I might have a gambling problem because I went to Las Vegas for 3 days several years ago.

One anecdote that all my friends loved was that she would only leave messages on phones for whoever’s voice was recorded on the outbound message. As if they were the only person who listened to messages. With my roommate Stacey, the message from her would go something like this, “Stacey, this is Andrea’s Aunt Sally. Please have Andrea call me. Thank you! Andrea’s Aunt Sally. Love, Sally” She ended every voice mail message with “Love, Sally”, like she was signing a note.

Another one of her signature “Sally-isms” was a voracious thirst for knowledge. She would clip hundreds of articles out of the newspaper, and it was considered the highest form of flattery if she sent you an article from the newspaper that she felt pertained to you, even if only indirectly.

After her husband Joe died, her “companion” was a wonderful man named Roy with whom she had been friends for many years. She took care of him and of his estate when he passed away.

She had wonderful neighbors who always looked after her, especially John Minnick. More than anyone, the person who cared for her was Barbara Beck, who gave herself selflessly for over 13 years. Barbara probably knew her better than anyone, and Sally as well as all of us owes Barbara an enormous debt of gratitude.

This last year of her life was not her best, for she had a very difficult transition to not living at home, but she was simply not well enough to remain in her home. There are countless people to thank for their care and attention to her over this last year, especially the staff at Avery Manor as well as Newton Wellesley Hospital.

Still she managed to keep abreast of all the news, with new babies in the family and new events in all of our lives. When Rob asked me to marry him in August of last year, we went down to visit her to share our good news and she was genuinely delighted, and accepted Rob into the fold completely. She was delighted to receive any sort of treats, which usually involved Twix bars or muffins. When sweets were within her sight, all was right with the world. (And she was much less cantankerous!)

What I will miss about Aunt Sally is her lilting laugh when she was really delighted with something, her love of antiques as well as the finer things, her manners, and her funny quirky ways.