“Ha.”
“She was evasive.”
“Yes, but evasion can be a form of aggression.”
“Come again?”
“You heard me.”
Bluebirds, Pioneer Girls in Service, GSA, Tudorettes, History Circle, Christian Endeavor, Alpha Zeta, Quarry Club, United Church Women, Mothers’ Union, The Arrowroots, Mutchmor Home and School Association, Ottawa Horticultural Society, Beautiful Glebe Committee, Carleton County Heart Fund, Rideau Luncheon Series, Ontario Seed Collective, Bay Ladies Craft Group, The Flowers.
“No definitely, I do not want to have any of her body parts donated.”
“It was just a thought.”
“Everything about her was worn out anyway.”
“I just thought—”
In Laving Memory of Daisy Goodwill Flett 1905–199—In Loving Memory of Daisy Goodwill Who in Sound Mind And without malice And Over the Objection of her Family Made the Decision After Prolonged Reflection After Torment With Misgivings With Difficulty With Apologies With Determination To Lie Alone in Death
“She left you what?” Joan shouted over the telephone. (A bad transatlantic connection.)
“Her trug,” said Alice, grimacing.
“What in God’s name is a trug?”
“That old gardening basket of hers. That old mildewed thing with the huge hooped handle?”
“I think I remember. Vaguely. But why?”
“I don’t know. Same reason you got the silver asparagus server, I suppose.”
“Lordy.”
“And you know what Warren got.”
“No. What?”
“Her old notes from college. And her essays. All hand-written.
Pages and pages. A big cardboard carton of them.”
“She really kind of lost it at the end, didn’t she?”
“Maybe just a joke?”
“She wasn’t exactly one for jokes.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“Victoria has the lady’s-slippers.”
“Gawd, what’ll she do with those old things?”
“She wanted them. At least she said she did.”
“Well everything else is in order. Her assets, and so on.”
“We can thank her accountant for that.”
“And her lawyer. Although he seems to have dipped in pretty deep himself.”
“What about Canary Palms!”
“Oh boy!”
“I feel guilty even talking about this. Even thinking about it.”
“So do I.”
“But I suppose everyone feels this way.”
“Of course they do.”
“So what can we do?”
“Not one little thing.”
Seventy-four percent of American households spent at least a thousand dollars to improve or maintain their dwellings this year.
It was on the radio, the news — or else I dreamed it. Tell me, why do I need to know such a thing? Is the mind sweetened by this useless pellet of knowledge? No. Not when you’re already at the stuffed, blunted end of life.
Isn’t there anything else you can tell me?
The Bridal Lingerie of Daisy Goodwill Hood, 1927
2 three-piece bridal sets of crêpe-de-chine and Valenciennes lace with fine hand embroidery and drawn work, shell pink, ivory 12 slips 12 two-piece French sets, chemise and step-ins, peach, cream, blue, tea 6 night gowns 6 negligees, georgette and chantilly lace 2 robes, 1 wool tartan, 1 corded cotton 6 “Flaming Youth” brassieres “Pansy” brassieres of silk jersey and mercerized cotton 3 camisoles in pink jap silk 2 Gossard Dancelette girdles of silk jersey with elastic side insets 12 pairs silk stockings 12 pairs cotton stockings 3 beach pajama suits, orange satin, copen blue, ochre 6 kimonos, black, blue, red granite, rose, peach, and mauve 2 Kellerman bathing suits (all wool), black, copen 1 knitted beach cape 1 bathing cap 6 aprons, assorted styles “I never knew she could embroider.”
“This is beautiful.”
“Are you sure she did it?”
“There’s this tiny little daisy in the right-hand corner.”
“You’re right, there is.”
“A signature, sort of like.”
“Hey!”
“The nurses were always saying how good-natured she was, a smile for everyone.”
“Except that time she broke her radio. Threw it on the floor.”
“It could have been an accident.”
“True.”
“What I can’t figure out is why she never told us about this first marriage of hers.”
“She must have known we’d find out after she was gone. I mean, the papers are all there. The marriage license and the report and everything.”
“Hoad! His name was Hoad.”
“Harold Hoad.”
“Rhymes with toad. Give me strength.”
“But look at that picture, will you. He was — he looks like a movie star, silent movies I’m talking about. Gorgeous.”
“But why weren’t we told?”
“Think about it. How could she talk about anything so — so perfectly awful.”
“I don’t get it. Was she embarrassed about it or what?”
“This beautiful man fell out of a window. Her lover. Her brand new husband. Think if that happened to you. Would you want to talk about it?”
“Probably she was just so, you know, broken up by it, she couldn’t bear to think about it, never mind talk about it. Imagine being on your honeymoon and—”
“And at her age.”
“Repression. Sometimes repression’s a good thing. How else was she going to continue with her—?”
“He looks handsomer than Dad.”
“And younger.”
“By a long shot.”
“Surely Dad must have known about — about him.”
“He must have. I mean, she may have been secretive, but—”
“It gives me—”
“What?”
“Goose bumps.”
“What does? Thinking of Mr. Hoad falling on his head?”
“No. Thinking of her. Her. All those years.”
“All those years — saying nothing.”
“She must have been reminded every year, on the anniversary of his—”
“Remember how sometimes she’d just want to lie down on her bed in the middle of the day. Not sleeping, she’d just lie there looking at the ceiling.”
“Keeping it all in her head. Remembering.”
“I know.”
“Oh, God.”
Garden Club Luncheon, 1951
Ham Rolls / Cheese Pinwheels Mixed Pickles Melon Balls and Seedless Grape Salad Jelly Tarts Assorted Cookies Coffee Tea
I’m still here, inside the (powdery, splintery) bones, ankles, the sockets of my eyes, shoulder, hip, teeth, I’m still here, oh, oh.
“If she’d lived in another age she might have been Ms. Green Thumb with her own TV show.”
“Prime time.”
“Somehow I can’t imagine it.”
“This mean old sentimental century. It smothered her. Like a curtain. The kind you can’t see through.”
“She could have divorced Dad.”
“For starters.”
“What? What are you talking about?”
“Why would you think that? I mean, the two of them were reasonably happy together, all things considered.”
“You honestly think so?”
“Well, as happy as most.”
“Whatever happy means.”
“Tell me about it.”
“All I know is, the past is never past.”
“Is that supposed to be profound?”
“Hmmmmm.”
Aunt Daisy’s Lemon Pudding 4 tbs butter 1 cup milk 1 cup white sugar 2 tbs flour 2 eggs separated juice and rind of 1 lemon Cream butter and sugar, add egg yolks beaten until thick and lemoncolored, stir in flour and milk, lemon juice and grated lemon rind. Beat egg whites until stiff but not dry. Fold egg whites into mixture. Bake twenty-five minutes in buttered baking dish set in pan of hot water.