Good morning and welcome to Summit Up, the world’s only daily column taking an apprehensive look into our crystal ball, wondering just how long we can keep this up.
We read obituaries. You could say we have a “morbid obsession,” but you’d be wrong – twice (morbidity is, by definition, an obsessive state, A, and 2) it’s only indirectly related to death; morbidity has more to do with gloom and unhealthiness, and the word you were looking for was “necrological,” but that sounds too much like “necrophilia,” so let’s forget the whole English lesson and get back to our original point, huh?). Ahem.
Anyway, we were saddened to read Tuesday the obituary of one Rose Nix Leo. Should we have known Ms. Leo, you ask? No, we didn’t, either. But what caught our attention was 1) Rose died at 108 (not too shabby, if you ask us) and that B) she was a journalist – not just a journalist, but a columnist (albeit a weekly one). The most interesting part: She started writing when she was 17 and didn’t stop until she fell and had to quit, one month shy of her 105th birthday.
We did a little research and found all sorts of other interesting tidbits about her teaching in a one-room schoolhouse, being born in Indian territory and mowing her neighbors’ lawns when she was 90, but we couldn’t stop thinking about her – anyone, for that matter – doing anything (much less writing a column) for 88 years.
Some of our dear readers might be disappointed that we’re discussing obituaries where we usually rant about rhubarb and write diatribes on bellybutton lint. But, see, this is exactly the point: Can you imagine us doing that for 88 years?
The beautiful part is, we could slip into senility … and nobody would notice.
If there’s one thing that ticks us off, it’s graffiti in Summit Up Land. If you honestly think you can improve on the painting you see around you, then you’ve got a bigger problem than our uncle who makes us call him “Napoleon” and won’t answer your questions unless you salute him first.
So this Scum Alert!! Scum Alert!! goes out to the god-complex that left the graffito on the bridge over Tenmile Creek at First Street in Frisco. It showed up weeks ago, but since, the “artist” (formerly known as a person) has been filling in the outline. It says “become.” While we appreciate the sentiment and could go into a tirade about the applications of quantum theory results on metaphysical philosophy in the West, we’ll save you all the torture and, instead, direct it at Michelangelo.
Glad we have this Angel Alert!! Angel Alert!! to cover that last bit up. Matt e-mailed us this:
“I’m not sure if this is worthy of an Angel Alert!, but to me it is. I am just recovering from a tonsillectomy – don’t know if you all have had yours out or not, but as someone in their 30s, it’s not a pleasant recovery. I thought for sure I would be able to recover on my own, but it was apparent on the second day that having someone around was a huge benefit. There are three women, Janesse Brewer, Alison Gooding and Mary Davis Hamlin, who took a great deal of their day to basically mother me while recovering; all three women are extremely busy and have jobs that demand a great deal of time, but they all put that aside for a week and ran errands, got me milkshakes and Popsicles, and basically, did everything and anything they could to make my recovery less painful. In my eyes, they are worthy of an Angel Alert! because of who they are. If this isn’t printable, at least you all can be aware of who these three great women in our county are. Thanks.”
We hereby confer honorary wing-and-halo sets on the ladies and, to boot, a never-ending sundae bar when they need them.
Send us your obituary epiphanies, alerts and graffito suggestions at firstname.lastname@example.org, fax at (970) 668-0755 or just tell us we’re already suffering from geriatric dementia at (970) 668-3998 ext. 237.
We’re out calculating all the free stuff and discounts we’d get if we did live to 108 …
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