My Dad, as is his wont, sent a very brief note.
Elaine died about 6 PM last night.
Dad
This has been a tough twelve months, especially for my father. Last night, his sister Elaine died. She was 90, and had, like my mother, a good life, well lived.
For some reason, this post came to mind, something I did for Easter two years ago.
She was a school teacher by trade, a professional mother, if you will. And while with me, her teaching didn't always take, she never stopped the lessons! She was trying to teach me to be polite until just about her dying breath.
It took more than she realized - you have no idea of what a ill-mannered buffoon I would be were it not for my Donovan relatives of that generation. My impishness comes from the Meriwether side. The steel is all Donovan, tempered by Meriwether.
I have many fond memories of Elaine and her husband Harold, better known as "Uncle Skeet." Heh. There's a good chance that my interest in ordnance stems from Skeet and Elaine. Of course, it's Dad's fault. At least I think so. When going to visit Aunt Elaine and Uncle Skeet I would home like a Maverick on the training hand grenade (that I assume Dad gave them) they had on their bookshelf, and would play with it (safely, of course). I'd also grab the history books on their shelves (they had more pictures than Dad's books) and flip through and read them - especially the American Heritage Civil War books. Skeet taught me to fish and appreciate the Colorado Rockies, clear mountain tarns and swift-running streams.
Skeet's been gone for many years now, and I'm guessing Elaine was ready to go join him, sure that her two daughters and their families were going to make it, and that her little brother was okay after the passing of his wife, my mother. I'm going to miss her, though not like Dad, methinks.
The music may be a little different, but now is the time at Castle Argghhh! when we dance: In Memoriam, for Elaine Donovan Langford, Aunt Elaine.
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