So long, baby sister

ROSI

Listen here: http://jimreedbooks.com/mp3/solongbabysister.mp3  

or read on…

Rose Mari (Rosi) Reed, a native of Tuscaloosa, Alabama, died on June 17, 2012 at the age of 61.  She had resided in Columbia, SC since 1998 and was the daughter of the late James Thomas (Tom) Reed II and Frances Lee McGee Reed of Tuscaloosa.

 Ms. Reed graduated from Northington Elementary School and Tuscaloosa High School, and attended the University of Alabama.  A talented artist and craftsperson, she was a consummate film buff and an active member of the Alabama Wildlife Rescue Center while residing in Alabama.  Rose Mari loved opera, ballet and 60′s rock ‘n roll.  She played clarinet and piano.  Her passions were archaeology, anthropology and helping injured and helpless wildlife.  She was a Girl Scout from elementary through high school.  Rose was baptized at Forest Lake Baptist Church in Tuscaloosa.

Rose Mari’s employers in Alabama were Alford Screen Printing, Warrior Screen Printing and Pier One Imports.  She worked at Sears while attending the University of Alabama. In Birmingham, she was employed by Reed Books/The Museum of Fond Memories.

 

Rose recently said that her favorite place to work in Columbia was Graph-itti T-Shirts, Inc.  She had worked at Graph-itti for six years and planned to retire in 2016 at age 65.  She embroidered sports and business clothing using computerized sewing machines.

 

Rose Mari loved Halloween, Christmas, birthdays and any other excuse to have a party.  She was shy and quiet with strangers. Those who were fortunate enough to know her, met a humble, kind, sensitive and intelligent person.  

She is survived by sister Barbara Jean Reed Partrich, Columbia, SC, and brothers James Thomas (Jim) Reed III, Birmingham, AL; Ronald Lee (Ronny) Reed, Houston, TX; Timothy Ray (Tim) Reed, Chattanooga, TN; eight nieces and nephews and eleven grandnieces and grandnephews in Alabama, Texas, South Carolina and Idaho.

Knowing Rose Mari was worth the effort it took to break through the shyness. When she spoke of subjects and people she loved, her face and voice came alive. She was knowledgeable and-well read, but kept opinions to herself unless asked for. She listened and noticed things most people missed. I loved conversations with Rosi. She has left an irreplacable space in my home and heart.” –Barbara Reed Partrich

 

 

Rose Mari’s family requests that in lieu of flowers, donations may be made

to:

Alabama Wildlife Rescue Center

100 Terrace Drive

Oak Mountain State Park

Pelham, Alabama

         or

www.awrc.org.donate

(c) 2012 A.D. by Barbara Reed Partrich and Jim Reed

http://www.jimreedbooks.com

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Those who love are always around

Listen: http://www.jimreedbooks.com/mp3/thosewholove.mp3 or read on…

I can’t seem to rid myself of all the long-ago formerly-living people who have filled my life, fleshed out my life, enriched my life.

You’d think that, once people you know die, you’d be able to put aside your memory of them and get on with meeting new people, having new experiences.

Just doesn’t work that way.

There are many dead folk who continue to influence my life:

Helen Hisey, my 8th grade speech teacher, taught me not to be afraid of speaking my passion in front of audiences. She taught me that it’s OK to slow down and respect the crowd, have faith in their ability to absorb worthwhile information when it is delivered to them with  zeal and humor and love. Helen still guides me, all the way from my starring role in the play Tom Sawyer  (at age 13) to my role as Gabe in the new John Marc Green film Lipidleggin’  (at age 70).  

Sadie Logan, my 2nd grade teacher, brought me up from a very deep and fearful place to a position of importance. She never, ever stopped believing in me and letting me know that I was the most special kid on earth. Fifty years later, I learned that she made virtually every student she’s ever taught feel the same way. We are all the offspring of Sadie Logan.

Jon Charles Palmer and Elmo Riley and Pat Flood were my childhood playmates who just plain accepted me as their friend and never had any reason to harm or dismiss me, no matter how stupid I acted, no matter how far away and out of touch I became. I still hang out with them in memory ever fresh.

Frances Lee McGee Reed, my mother, always laughed at my corny humor, always knew I was special, never let me get away with a lie or an exaggeration or a misdeed, forever believed that I was Number One in her book—even though my brothers and sisters felt the same way. She taught me that the greatest entertainment there is, is people-watching, and I spend most of each public day doing just that, with her invisible presence setting me straight.

James Thomas Reed Jr., my father, taught by quiet example. He was clumsy aloud, but his image as a learned and wise man was powerful without words. He was my earliest example of what a real family man does—earn the living, bring home the pay, sit silently in an easy  chair after supper, reading books great and books seedy and books wise, from Mickey Spillane and Zane Grey and Edgar Rice Burroughs to Eric Hoffer and Harry Truman and Ogden Nash. A most educated man, though never a graduate, he set the example of steadfast tranquility.

Other dead people who look after me:

Pawpaw Burns was my elderly neighbor who showed me that if you really pay close attention to children, you can get through to them by simply noticing, simply respecting them for where they are at the moment. They can always tell.

Adron Herrin and Jack McGee and Brandon McGee and Pat McGee and Annabelle Herrin and Evey Hartley and Effie McGee and Georgia McGee and Gladys McGee and Matty Wooten and John McGee and Dinah Hassell and Elizabeth McGee and many other kinfolk accepted me, warts and all, and treated me with respect and good humor, making me react in horror when anybody tells me they are separated from their kin, cut off from the nurturing care that can come from kindly people who share your blood, if you will only let them.

There are crowds of dead people in my head and in my life and that’s OK.

Even better news: there are scores of living people who have helped me, too, many without even knowing it.

I see living people.

And, because of the wisdoms and comforts and joys left me by the deceased, I am better prepared than most to carefully weed out the unwise and hang only with the people who trust and accept me and make no judgements.

Thanks to those long-ago-passed, I have become a good student of life, and the lives they lived help me manage the bad days well, and enjoy the good days even more

(c) 2012 A.D. by Jim Reed

http://www.jimreedbooks.com

 

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