Here's a photo of her with my children (and one grandchild!) taken with her about a week before she passed.She doesn't look much like the woman in my writing. I hadn't realized, until I was helping to write the life sketch and watched a DVD my daughter had made of Dottie three years ago, how much she had changed from the woman I remember for most of my life--certainly all my adult life.
Here's what I wrote:
Sometimes you just get used to a person's clothing.
That's what they wear, what they are. And then, at odd moments, you realize
that the clothing is as much a part of them as their laugh or their voice.
Dottie always wore bright clothes. And not just bright in color but large
bright patterns, too. In the 70s, she wore psychedelic prints--like modern art
paintings in colors that shocked the eye to be next to each other: fuschia and
chartreuse and mustard and lime and violet. She loved to laugh, to feed people,
to give parties. The bright colors seem to reflect her approach to life: full
and vibrant.
Dottie was a large woman, so you'd think that she would
wear tame colors. But she said that if she was going to be large, she was going
to be noticeable at it. And she was. She often changed her hair color--red,
black, and then orange for a while when she tried to bleach the black out.
Whatever she did, though, she did with flash.
Most of her nine children inherited Dottie's love of
color. My husband, for instance, thinks nothing of wearing bright red or yellow
shirts. He has always looked for and purchased bright orange swim trunks.
Although they make him easy to spot on the beach or in the water, most of us
wouldn't pick that color once, let alone for decades. David's sisters wear
bright colors and also large, chunky jewelry designed to call attention to the
wearer.
When I was pregnant with one of my own children, Dottie
gave me a pantsuit--maternity top and bottom--in
a bold red plaid. I thanked her, and tried to keep my face impassive. I didn't
think I could wear it. After all, I was already as big as a house, a barn,
practically. This would just draw attention to it, right? I tried it on. Oh my.
I couldn't wear it. No way. I loved Dottie, and I knew it hurt her that I
wouldn't wear the outfit, but I just couldn’t.
I want to live life with Dottie’s enthusiasm, with her
awareness of herself and her acceptance of that self--but I hope I do it
without the bold-colored clothes.
