One Dark Pink Rose

All the rest of my dozen roses have long since faded, turned brown, disintegrated. This one lone rose, which never fully and completely opened, is still vibrant with color even though its petals have dried to parchment. Its a beautiful rose, mostly white with the edges of each petal tinged a deep ruby pink. The overall effect is the delicate, fragile beauty of Victorian gentility, a rarity even in the extraordinary beauty of the world of rosedom. It puts me in mind of Miss Keck.

Miss Keck was something of a conundrum to a tomboy teenager like myself. Her ladylike composure, her unflappable behavior in the face of excitement, her careful attention to comportment were missing elements in my upbringing. Yet there was something appealing about her, something that caught your attention and made you stop for a conversation with the grand dame of the little church my Father pastored at the time.

She never would have dared enter church without her stylish pillbox hat, often with a touch of veil that hung just so over her eyes. She inevitably wore a stole of real fur which varied with the seasons and was either loose or attached to her winter wrap. Gloves were also a must, white in summer, black in winter and they always matched her purse and shoes. Her fingers were tastefully attired with jewel bedecked rings, her silk dress ornamented with a sparkling brooch. She always smelled faintly of roses and you wondered if she lined the drawers of her bureau (she would never own a dresser) with some exotic sachet.

She was never in a hurry about anything, but took her time about walking, which she did with solidarity, assuredness, and a sturdy wooden cane. She never wasted her energy on useless endeavors, but was usually in the pursuit of those activities befitting her station in life. Though she never married, she was the quintessential matriarch (back when that word meant something more than a rock group), and those who knew her trusted that if she chaired a committee, things would be done RIGHT!

She was neither extravagant nor miserly, never gaudy nor plain. Though somewhat dated in appearance, one did not disrespect Miss Keck for she represented a bygone era of elegance and old world charm that had long since crumbled and faded save for small glimpses preserved to remind those of us without such upbringing of what we were missing and what we could achieve if only we put our minds to it.

Though we never had conversations (I was admittedly a bit scared of her), still, I appreciated her representation of womanhood. She held out an example of refinement and genteel behavior that I seldom had exposure to elsewhere in the rapidly changing era of the sixties. She did not care that she didn't keep up with the times or stay in vogue. She was happy with who she was and liked the world in which she was raised and continued to live by her own insistence. Though her parents had long passed from the earth, and though I rarely saw her with others of her social strata, she seemed content and at ease with others, even loud mouthed brassy kids like me.

Yes, I see this not fully opened rose that has outlived its time, still vibrant in color, still offering a hint of fragrance, still beautiful to behold even in is anciency, and I think of Miss Keck and her wonderful example of a quality of life worth keeping well after others have moved on. Here's one scrufty little kid still affected by her charm.