My M.O.

I've been an Anglophile for as long as I can remember. I blame it on weekly exposure to 'Monty Python's Flying Circus' (watched every Sunday morning while the rest of my family got ready for Mass) and that my next-door neighbor, Vivienne, was from the Motherland. England.

After WWII, Vivienne came to the United States with her husband, Doc (guess what he did for a living). Despite years of living in Iowa, she retained her lovely, melodious accent.

Viv and Doc's granddaughter would come to visit them every summer, and we'd run around, thick as thieves. She was an out-of-stater, and I was a massive dork, so we got along just fine together. We read Frances Hodgson Burnett and C.S. Lewis books entirely too many times, and played with all the cool things that Doc and Viv accumulated on their world travels. Then, when we'd get tired of running around their huge old house, Viv would make us tea and serve us biscuits on her mother's Spode china.

Due to growing up, their granddaughter and I lost touch, but I tried to always check in with them when I'd come back home from college. Viv was thrilled beyond words when I did a study abroad in England. (I didn't tell her it was "The History of British Rock and Roll").

Doc and Viv have been in a nursing home for some time now, and I meant to go see them sometime this spring. Well, that wasn't to be. I was crushed today to learn that Viv passed away last night. I hope she knew how much she meant to me, and how much she helped me become the person that I am today. Well, maybe not the latter.

Isn't it amazing how others can affect our lives? I miss you already, Viv.

also at Oh, Beehave