Kate Simer
In the mid 1980's, when I was about 8 years old, Aunt Myra told me she had a surprise for me. I was to be ready to leave the house around 4pm. With clean feet. Clean feet? Where were we going where I'd need to have clean feet? All day I begged her to tell me but she wouldn't budge. Just smiled coyly, "You'll see." Finally she told me we were going to a fancy new dessert house in San Bernardino where you had to eat with your feet. On our way there, from the back of the car, I watched the city lights go by and wondered if I'd be able to pick up a fork between my toes. Had I scrubbed well enough? When she finally parked the car, we were at a beauty salon and she fessed up - she was taking me to my very first pedicure. Phew! I just loved her sense of humor. The perfect amount of sass and savvy.
She loved Neil Diamond, met Keith Richards, partied with Waylon Jennings, volunteered for the local organizations she cared about and dearly loved her family, friends and neighbors. I admired and respected her. We talked on for phone for at least an hour every week, catching up on every last detail. We talked about our gardens, traded recipes, supported each other with our worries and celebrated the little things that brought us joy. My husband and I, along with our son Fritz, planned to visit her next month from our home in Portland, OR. I'll miss her presence in my life so much. The way she would wrap up a conversation with, "Well, good enough" or describe a cashmere sweater as "yummy". I'll miss how she would always leave her phone number on my voicemail every time she called as if I didn't already know it.
When my father passed away a few years ago, she gave me a piece of advice I'll always remember - "We were so lucky to have known him". At a time of loss, she reminded me to focus on being grateful for the time we had. It brought me peace then, as it does now. But I miss her. She was a supportive, grounding presence in my life, who served it straight up. Just like her little evening vodka cocktail.
I love you, Auntie.