My cousin Dorothy once told me that she wanted the following quote on her tombstone: "She was born with the gift of laughter and a sense that the world was mad." It is a paraphrase of the first line in one of her favorite books: Rafael Sabatini's Scaramouche. I think the quote is as good a summary of her life as any I've read. But she was always pretty sharp that way.


I want to say more about my cousin Dorothy. My last post was pretty short and maudlin. I must honest and tell you that I am not even sure Dorothy liked Robert Burns! She didn't go in for sentimental stuff very often. She preferred wit, action and mystery in her literature. But what are you gonna do? I was in no mood to be witty on Saturday.

I didn't really get to know my cousin until I was in my twenties. She had her corner of the family and I lived in mine and we rarely saw each other. I heard stories about her: the fact that she and my grandmother grew up together (lived right next door to each other) and were as different as night and day (which was which? - depends on who you asked). Dorothy was a bohemian and the first womanto be a reporter for a Tulsa newspaper. She met William Faulkner while working at the University of Virginia. She married an engineer and settled into married life. She had two children who are older than I am. That was about it: intriguing but distant.

She lived in Houston for quite a while and mom and I went to visit her one weekend. To my delight and surprise, she proved to be one of the coolest people I had ever met. Her tastes in art, music, books and movies were very similar to mine. She was prone to saying things like "..and that's why I was Communist in the fifties." She knew the proprietors of several excellent bookstores and knew Anne Perry and other authors on a first name basis. She didn't give a damn about what other people thought or did. She loved food. I made it a point to see her whenever I could get away for a few days. I always hated leaving. She encouraged my writing, and never failed to criticise as well as praise. She was awesome.

When she retired from her job at Houston's MD Anderson Medical Center, she moved to Wyoming. Her kids lived in Jackson Hole but, true to her nature, she decided to live in the corner diametrically opposite from Jackson Hole, not because she didn't love her kids - they are pretty cool too - but because she wanted to redefine herself in a new place among new faces. I admired her pluck but I was sad to see her go so far.

She thrived in Wyoming. She found the perfect place in Sheridan, where she became involved in their art/drama/literature scene. She made some interesting friends and settled into a little house with a screened in porch and creaky wooden floors. I paid a week-long visit during my last year in law school and grew to love the place too. I regret that I was unable to visit her more often.

As is often the case when someone close to you dies, I regret many things. I regret not getting to know her earlier. I regret not seeing her more often. I regret the fact that I was unable to publish a book before she died, for she would have loved to brag about that. I regret that my wife didn't get a chance to grow to love and admire her as much as I did.

But I will never regret the time I spent with her and I will always remember what she taught me. I hope someday that I will be half as cool as she was.