More Cool Little Old Ladies
By Mark S. Darrah

“Now she was a cool little old lady,” Bill Cosby once said, “you see, that’s the only way you get to be a little old lady — by being a cool little old lady.”

Beatrice was born in Oklahoma’s No Man’s Land a few months after our state was admitted to the union. She had outlived her husband by more than a decade.

As Beatrice approached her 100th year, she hired me to meet with her and her two children to explain to them how she wanted her final affairs handled and her estate distributed. A gentle woman with skin that looked like wrinkled alabaster, Beatrice had no patience for nonsense and wanted none after she was gone.

Her son had flown into town from Chicago. He had retired a number of years before from a Fortune 500 company, but not before rising to its upper management and wealth beyond most people’s imagination. Beatrice’s daughter lived near her mother and had recently ended her work as a human resources manager at a local manufacturing company.

Beatrice, her son, daughter and I sat down around a table in my conference room. I did what Beatrice had asked me to — explain how she wanted her affairs handled and her estate distributed. And that she wanted no nonsense.

Beatrice remained after her son and daughter left. “Did you notice the look on my son’s face when you were speaking?” she asked. “Today was the first time he had ever considered my mortality.”

~~~

Bob was Hazel’s second husband. Like many men, he liked to build things with his hands and he liked to fish. When Bob retired after years of hard work, he and Hazel had a choice. Bob wanted to build another room onto their house. Hazel wanted to buy a bass boat.

They bought the bass boat and just about every day they could for the following year, they went fishing.

Then Bob had a stroke.

For the next eight years, Bob lived in a nursing home, unable to care for even his most basic needs.

Now Bob has passed onto the other side, and Hazel says this, “If Bob had started building that room onto the house, it wouldn’t have gotten finished before he had his stroke. He would have never gotten to enjoy it. We had so much fun with that bass boat, the two of us. That time together, I’d never trade. So, if you have a choice between buying a bass boat and building a room onto your house, always choose the bass boat.”

~~~

Bonita Jane lives alone in a white wooden house on 40 acres of farm land in Okfuskee County. Her husband, Buddy, has now been gone for the last eight years. Until his last day of life, he wondered why he had survived the Battle of the Bulge when so many good men had perished.

Bonita Jane has never been over five feet tall and as the years pass, she seems to shrink. Her eyes shine as clear as a teenager’s. She has never had a broken bone, and she’s never taken any prescription medications. Her skin is the color of fresh cut lumber with about as many narrow little lines. Bonita Jane remembers picking cotton when she was 8 years old with her sharecropper parents. She won’t forget how hot the sun shone on them and that river bottomland.

“I am the only one of my family still living,” she tells me. “My husband and my only son are gone. My parents died so many years ago. My sister, my older brother, and now my younger brother — my best friend — have all passed on.

“The next time your family gets together for Thanksgiving or Christmas or for any reason at all, look around the table and remember that someday there will be only one of you remaining.”

~~~

The stories shared here are true, although the names have been changed. The first stories about cool little old ladies were published in 79 OBJ 80 (Jan. 12, 2008).

Mr. Darrah practices in Tulsa.

Editor’s Note: Have a short funny, intriguing or inspiring story to share? E-mail submission to carolm@okbar.org.