Remembering My Great Aunt Rosalie
In honor of my great aunt Rosalie, who passed away recently, at age 91.
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I’m elevenish when Great Aunt Rosalie makes an impression on me during a visit from Norman, Oklahoma to Kalamazoo, Michigan. A visit in which I let my imagination run wild wondering about my aunt who insists on being called “Great Aunt Rosalie.”
We weren’t very close over the years, but for some time we exchanged cards and letters: my great aunt generously sending monetary gifts through my youth and younger adult years. But, the mail I remember most vividly is the first Harry Potter book, which she mailed to me as soon as it was out and she’d read it. She harumphed the fools calling it heathen nonsense and compelled me to bury my nose in the magic of the series. At the time, I was, I believe, a freshman in college.
Great Aunt Rosalie was a genius with the stocks (from what I’ve been told), had a brief singing career (I think), and was a true eclectic. In short, she’s a relative who inspired me often from afar.
RIP, Great Aunt Rosalie. 6/12/1930–5/15/2022
Remembering My Great Aunt Rosalie
Bouffant hair
white and synthetic
piled on top of her head
A cabinet plump
with hundreds of lipstick tubes
I choose Bombshell Red
think about how her lips
frame her operatic voice
singing at Rockford City Music Hall
Silver-white sequin sewn straps
jeweled tassels at the dress edge
dangled
seductively
complimented her cherry voice
the voice of The Depression
risen out of pig side mud in the 1930s
with the coming of a husband
resembling Ronald Regan
the onslaught of shoe shops
fruit cakes
quick knowledge of the stocks
She was my great aunt
enigma
energy to fill a room
childless
by choice?
At 10 or 11 or 8 or 9
she bathed me
slicked vinegar conditioner
through my ropes of thick
frizzy waves
A nurturing, normal gesture
a magic invitation to coax
smooth and shine when you can
