You knew her well, as we all did,
Our hearts her dwelling place.
But now, bereft, we gather here
Our souls an empty space.
And yet our mem’ries keep us near
The girl so smart and tall.
With sky-blue eyes and coal-black hair,
And smiles that charmed us all.
When I was twelve, we shot some hoops
Against our backyard goal.
The ball would whisk from long red nails
And swish right through the hole.
I thought she was the coolest girl
My brother could have found:
To be so cute and smart
And athletically sound.
She’d dance around and sing along
With a current top hit tune:
“It’s Amore” and “Volare”
And Be-Bop’s old “Blue Moon”.
While making tuna sandwiches—
My God, they were the best!—
Four kids she fed, Pop Layton too,
Yet never did she rest.
The Kenmore washer struggled hard
Red mud to de-corrode.
It jerked and moaned and walked the floor,
And washed each laundry load.
Old Fella stared and scratched his ear
In Vermack’s dirt backyard.
Amazed to watch young Eleanor
Do housework chores so hard.
She’d call to ask me about a book—
Often late at night—
Or play or poem for English class
She taught her students right.
Her students all loved Mrs. Spier
For her clever wit and pleasant air.
Mainly though she tried to be
Firm in rules but always fair.
She loved to put on yearly plays
With lots of song and dance.
The whole school body she would thrill
With comic scenes and light romance.
I used to marvel when she danced
With Steve, how cool they’d be.
They’d mesh and glide and step and whirl
In faultless symmetry.
But then I guess that’s how they met:
A reception dance it seems.
Steve had to ask her for a dance,
She was the stuff of dreams.
Tall and graceful slim and sweet,
Her picture you should see:
An Aztec flag girl in her pose
With boots and lifted knee.
You probably think it odd of me
To neglect her motherhood.
Well, “Mom” she was to four fine kids,
And, boy, she raised them good.
Lori, Dirk and Tanya too,
And Dena were her pride.
She fed and clothed and trained them well
And hugged them when they cried.
How ‘bout Grandma, you might say.
She was the best, I swear.
Just ask young Trevor, Garrett too
And Cody boy and Kinsey fair.
She loved them all, each on their own,
In all their joys and fears.
She’d laugh and hug their touseled hair
And wipe away their tears.
Or make them Snickerdoodles warm,
Sweet crunchy treats for all.
The pungent smell of cinnamon
Their tastebuds would recall.
And lately Great Grandma she was
To fair-haired Owen Haynes.
So, Eleanor the matriarch,
Her legacy sustains.
She was a friend to many folk:
Church members and what’s more,
Teacher friends and workout pals
And others by the score.
She got to travel far and wide
On Steven’s conference jaunts:
Vancouver, Banff and old Peking
And other foreign haunts.
But as she pedals heavenward
Her bike begins to soar.
God is waiting at the board,
A Scrabble game to score.
God has a word for Eleanor
On TRIPLE WORD it’s placed.
EXQUISITE is God’s word her
All worldly pain erased.
We’ll miss you, lovely blue-eyed queen
Thanks for all you’ve done.
Please save a place for us
Beyond the setting sun.