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Arlene Nicholson uploaded photo(s)
Tuesday, April 4, 2023
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"A lady always knows when it's time to leave." - Fried Green Tomatoes
She sang, she loved, she fought. She spoke often of her papa's victory garden and the big beefsteak tomatoes that ultimately became sandwiches. She talked about canning the fruits and veggies with her momma, and the big chicken dinners on Sunday evening. She could bake cakes to bring down the self-proclaimed masters of today with just a wink and a smile, never mind the blue streak in the kitchen as she worried the flour, eggs and milk into heavenly oblivion. Her rum balls were a particular office favorite; as the secretary with a candy dish in her office, it wasn't unheard of for special requests to be made for big events. Legend has it, the late Ace himself, was fond of grilling, grampa's company and the Arlene specialty that struck his fancy, especially if she had some pre-made.
She found beauty in the weeds, painting leaves frozen in the bird dishes, and gently cursed the winds that dried out the lilacs as they began to bloom. She praised her iris, roses, vines and the birds that nested in the willow. She hated the snakes that would pretend to be branches and do not ask about the aphids. Snails were her constant enemy, save for the porcelain one she kept on her bookshelf. She never put insecticide out, nor herbicide, and declared cleanliness in the kitchen the best mouse deterrent. She did however slap the fear of God into those cockroaches and I think those generations today speak of her with quiet reverence.
Her watercolor was self-taught, expertly drawing the water to paint what she saw. She loved oils, trained by her aunt, and lovingly envied the ink paintings her younger brother crafted from imagination. Her big brother was brilliant, and they were thick as thieves playing in the woods. She couldn't play the piano, but she could type to beat the devil and she could not be paralleled on the harp. She believed a woman's handwriting to speak on its own of the person, though she was privy to the typewriter for her volumes she mailed to her friends regularly. I know that Nina, Irene and Arlene are chumming it up, just as before, the three rascalteers, getting into mischief. She was not above playing pranks, especially if her brother was involved.
She was the odd one, born with red hair and blue eyes, the family joke being her father must've been the milk man, while her siblings were brown haired and brown eyed. She was in the choir, on the swim team, hated arithmetic but could perform expertly. She was a master of words, paint brushes and etiquette. Her mother was her role model, thus in so many words, mine as well. Her father was a hardworking man, and they were poor, but rich in home grown food and experts in recycling and management. Her mother would have greyed early if she knew Arlene was climbing the trees at 16 in her bloomers to wave to the men as they left for war, but something tells me Great-Grama was inspiration. Not too many years later, her brother made a bet with his best friend that the friend couldn't steal her away from a guy with a horse named Tex. There wasn't any question; the bet was over before it began.
She was a daughter, a sister, a wife, a mother, a grandmother, a great-grandmother, and a great-great grandmother. She was perpetually 15 minutes late to anything and everything, to the point her hair dresser could take his time with the appointment before her, he knew her so well. She could be prickly when she wanted to be, especially if someone was later than she. Of course, she always arrived precisely when she wanted, why couldn't they?
Birthdays, weddings, holidays (especially Christmas) were her days. She hated being the center of attention, when she could do everything that much better. She loved balloons and would comment if she didn't get her balloon. She loved her ice cream, chocolate being her go-to, and fried catfish at Furr's was all she required, thank you very much. You could persuade her to eat some barbeque, but the County Line was where it was at. Garduno's was a favorite, but she loved to be home. She hated to cook, but she would bake if you helped clean up.
She was a lady, who entertained the best of the best, who casually could drop a name without blinking, and was always praising the Master for everything she had. She read her Bible daily, during breakfast, with her view of the Sandias unhindered until the neighbors built their second story and believe me when I say, if looks could kill. She always said flowers were God's reminder of good things to come, although that was questioned when the neighbors first started growing sunflowers and she commented that they were alien, even after they began blooming.
She was my best friend, my confidant, my momma. She took me in and my mom could support me the only way she knew how. We had our jokes, we had our tears, we had our fights (I still wear a ponytail and pair of jeans) and I know she loved me. She missed grampa something fierce, but she never made it about her. She put that love to use, wherever and however she could. She wrote me every week in boot camp. She did write about the trips to Greece and Egypt, lovingly jealous that I would travel to the far east. I sent her letters when I could, though I regret not being the faithful pen pal she was. I do however, cherish what phone calls home I had and am grateful to my little brother for loaning us his skype so I could see her.
I am so grateful she met my son and my husband. I'm grateful she went to our church and was the star of the show. I am grateful for the few things that I have left, the reminders of my childhood, and the kindness she gave me when she didn't have to. I'm thankful for the courage, grace and sweet civil snark she instilled in me. I could sit here and pine for everything I wish, but she would give me that look like, oh please, girl, you've got what you got, now deal with it.
Yes, ma'am.
I will have my days, as I have had for the last ten years. But today, this beautiful day, my watch is over, I am relieved of duty and I will smile when I reach for your books. I love you so much, sweet Arlene, Artie, Granma. You are and always will be, my example of a lady. A fair lady.
I will see you again soon.
All my love, A2
PS.
I fed and watered the birds.
PSS
I still read in bed.
A Memorial Tree was planted for Arlene Doerr
Wednesday, March 15, 2023
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We are deeply sorry for your loss ~ the staff at Riverside Funeral Home of Albuquerque Join in honoring their life - plant a memorial tree
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The family of Arlene Marie Doerr uploaded a photo
Wednesday, March 15, 2023
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