Jean, Jean, roses are red All the leaves have gone green And the clouds are so low You can touch them, and so Come out to the meadow, Jean This is the song that I have hummed for years whenever I think of my favorite auntie, Jeanne. My first memory of Jeanne was her pulling off my shirt, letting me run around the yard bare-chested. Those were the simpler days; days spent crawdad fishing at the damn, swimming at the junction, or in Forest Pool. Of course Jean would not get in the water, no matter how we pleaded. However, she was one of the bravest, determined, tenderhearted, sentimental and most self reliant women I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. despite the ravaging and paralyzing affliction that gave no notice. She was a survivor who never once complained. There were art classes at the school, and making macaroni necklaces with Jeanne. Getting an ice-cream cone at the local Tasteefreeze, or walking downtown to get the mail, Jeanne she knew everyone by name we came in contact with along our journey. There was Mrs. Haines, and everyone between Mrs. Haines, to Johnny Montenarri to Mrs. Locatelli in the house behind. She knew the neighborhood children passing by the church, and Johnny at Johnny’s market, and Johnny the bus driver. Boulder Creek was her town. Then there was Sven, who’s Swedish pancakes were a wonderful delight, not to mention the harmonica he player for her. I have memories of giving bags of pennies away at Halloween, and scarring the bejesus out of her whenever possible. Jeanne was so fun to tease! As I grew older, we’d visit on the phone, or I’d go visit. She never let you leave unless you had something to eat. We’d talk; she’d listen, and engage in the conversation. Jeanne had quite the sarcastic sense of humor, was quick to laugh, and full of love. There was nothing it seemed could get by her though, I love her for that. She was real. I will carry her in my heart, and miss her for as long as it takes before seeing her once more. I can still hear that old screen door close. I love you Jeanne.