Wednesday, August 19, 2020

All Hail Gayle

Well, she gone and done it. Our friend and neighbor Gayle has been close to dead for so long I'd begun to think she'd never get around to it. That it was, in fact, impossible. Sheer obstrepery would keep her above ground for the ages. But she finally died the other day and we are going to miss her terribly. She was one piece of work. She was a riot.

Shoot, it had to have been 25 years ago that she called up wanting to borrow a cup of oxygen off my sister's tank, and she wasn't kidding. She was a complete terror in the hospital system. Nurses feared her, doctors ducked behind her curtains, crossed themselves, and tiptoed away. Administrators wrote her into their budgets. She probably scored steak and lobster with her fruit cup. Same story with any customer service outfit. "Listen, buttercup, I'm retired. I can stay on this damn phone all day long." They knew her at the insurance company. They knew her in city government. If you hate potholes, move on to her street, where they magically heal up. This was a woman who made all her PIN numbers "OH SHIT," so she'd always have the right answer if someone asked.

Gayle had two husbands, one of them twice just to make sure, and easily outlived both of them, which was no accident. "If you're going to have a fight with a man," she once advised me, "have it at the top of the stairs."

If your cat is missing around here, don't look at me. I'm all talk. Gayle had traps and knew how to use them. Nuisances inexplicably disappeared. Just last year, we were commiserating about the latest loud dog on the block. "I wish they'd do something like what your neighbor did. Remember his dog Macy that used to bark? He got a bark collar and trained it out of her in one day." Macy never did bark again, but was known to emit a melancholy, melodious howl for the rest of her days.

"Bark collar, huh? Is that why he thinks Macy quit barking?" Gayle had big, beautiful, basset-hound blue eyes, and they could, on occasion, be very sly.

Her mind was devious, her physique extravagant. You didn't want to be on her bad side. I never had any trouble imagining that her porch contained a trapdoor or her shrubbery hid a man-sized crate. New concrete work was always a little suspicious.

But we had nothing to fear from her. She adored Dave, and thought I was okay too. Early on, Dave volunteered to help her out in some way. Maybe took a big load of stuff to the dump for her, the first of many such neighborly acts. She came over the next day with a huge platter of deviled eggs and radishes for him. He was in raptures. His favorite!

"How did you know?" I asked.

"I know what a man likes," she drawled, in a way that left no doubt of it, and that I needn't pursue it.

She was creative as hell. It was Gayle who showed up at the neighborhood meeting about cell phone towers rocking an actual, homemade tinfoil hat. She also harbored a full-size female mannequin called The Slut who had sleazy outfits to match any holiday. The Slut had her own chair in the bright lime-green living room, in the greeter position right by the front door next to the sign ("The Witch Is In"). Oh. And Gayle was born on Halloween, of course.

Now that she's gone I suspect we'll all find out what else she took care of--the mischief disposed of, the petty vandals vanquished, the community imps and devils scattered to the winds, now free to wander.

Gayle doesn't need a wake, she left a wake. A woman of that much substance could never be all the way gone: one keeps expecting to hear from her still, by some imaginative and no doubt hilarious means. Maybe some day it will rain radishes. But we haven't heard a thing.

We don't expect to. It isn't going to be us she's haunting.

27 comments:

  1. Now this is a tribute to be proud of - and I am sure she is. The Gayle's of this world are never go to let death stop them from knowing what is going on.

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  2. The first order of business may be to excavate her yard and any "suspicious concrete work." Maybe we'll finally find out what really happened to Jimmy Hoffa.

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  3. A woman of that much substance could never be all the way gone

    If I leave out an offering of steak and lobster in a fruit cup, do you think she might do something about my noisy neighbor?

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    1. Oh, I feel for you. I got one too. Unfortunately Gayle was one street over.

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  4. Oh, how you will miss Gayle. I am so sorry that she won't be around for you and her other regulars.

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  5. There must be some kind of magnetic anomaly in your vicinity that causes a clumping of characters. Or, possibly it’s that you create a bubble of attention and appreciation that allows characters to bloom. Anyway, would you please write my obituary? Not yet, but in the event I warrant one. Can’t wait to read it. Don’t forget to mention I was a card carrying member of The Belk’s Bra and Panty Club.

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    1. I was a card-carrying member of the Meier & Frank Bra And Panty Club!

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    2. Murr & Nance remind me of a prominent citizen in our small (25,000 people) town who left instructions that the funeral home was to assure that, as she lay in her coffin she would be wearing her lipstick, her high heels, and her push-up bra. I assume that her wishes were followed; but, as I lived in another state when she died and we were not close friends, I did not attend.

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    3. More of a push-over bra at that point, huh?

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  6. Sorry to hear she's gone. We could really use her talents. Maybe she can apply them from the great beyond.

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    1. You know what? I'm not 100% sure where she landed politically. I know where at least one of her sons lands, and it's nowhere good.

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    1. Dang, that's a good question. I guess the boys are selling the house. I think she should be included in the staging.

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  8. I've known one or two people like Gayle...If I had any influence I'd bring 'em back to sort out a few political incompetents.

    A fine obit for your friend.

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    1. It's a fine image, her lumbering into the White House with her fists at her hips.

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  9. When I moved back to Louisville in 1989, I shared a place with my sister. We lived above a woman named Dorothy Crider. Sis insisted I go down and say hey. Dorothy was in her 70s, a chain smoker. I left her apt six hours later that day and saw her every day after that until she died nearly 20 years later. She became my best friend overnight. Yep, you're gonna miss Gayle. Cherish every memory of her.

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  10. Kind of a shame a woman like her couldn't hang around longer, say another century or so. She didn't happen to teach anyone any of her tricks did she?

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    1. Answering for a friend, who may or may not have learned it from Gayle: it's actually pretty easy to trap feral, bird-killing cats. Just sayin.

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    2. I fear the coming explosion of 'em.

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  11. Yes! I want you to write my obit, too! Golly, this is great. I was a bit distracted by the "Bra and Panty Club" discussion in the comments. WTF is that all about? Really? Huh? (Sorry you lost your neighbor.)

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    1. Mine was a punch card at the local department store. You punch twelve bra purchases and you get a free one.

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  12. Great description as always. I almost feel I knew her myself.

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  13. So sorry for the loss of your neighbor. This is a great tribute to her! We had a friend like this too! Characters like her are necessary in any neighborhood!

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