EILEEN

EILEEN

I first saw her at church following a talk on William Wordsworth. She was with a group of women; a handsome lady, tall, white hair cut short, defined sharp features and ruddy complexion. Her outfit of wool plaid skirt, beige sweater and brown oxfords suited her, I thought. She was criticizing the talk she had just heard as there had been no reference to Wordsworth’s sister Dorothy, whom she felt played an important part in William’s success.
I introduced myself a little later over coffee and found her name was Eileen McKeon. She told me she was raised in the Lake District of Northern England where the Wordsworth family lived. Her grandmother had been their neighbor. “And,” said Eileen, “My grandmother did not hold William and his cohorts, Coleridge and De Quincy, in high regard. In fact she did not admire many of the men who were visitors of the Wordsworths. They drank to excess and used opium until they couldn’t stand.”
I found Eileen to be an intriguing person, due in part to her British accent and expressions. It was not unusual to see this 70 year old lady riding a bicycle across the bridge at Fair Oaks Blvd. either heading towards or coming from her home on McKinley Ave.
Later that year, Eileen and two of her friends made a trip to India where they apparently ruffled some feathers. In one of her stories, she described their curiosity about whether or not Indian gentlemen wore underpants under their long, white robes. (She had already found that the traditional Scots wore none under their kilts). So it seemed their best approach would be to stand underneath an open staircase. However, the three elderly foreign women were too conspicuous and were asked to leave by an Indian guard.
Eileen’s handsome home faced McKinley Park, with a picture window providing a view of the park from her living room. She told the story that, on one occasion, her bridge group was meeting there for their weekly game. Eileen had just come from the kitchen with coffee refills when she saw the astonished faces of her guests, who were staring out the window. “What’s happening?” asked Eileen, as she turned to see what had startled them.
It was a well dressed man who stood on the sidewalk in front of the house and thought it appropriate to entertain her friends by exposing himself. Eileen called the police immediately; they showed up just after the visitor left. Upon their questioning her, an officer asked Eileen if she recognized the flasher.
“If I had recognized him, I would have invited him in the house, now wouldn’t I? ” she replied. The officers left and her bridge party continued, leaving, I suppose, her guests with a great story to take home.
The last time I saw her was at the clinic where I was waiting for my appointment. She burst out of her doctor’s office flushed and angry. “He told me to stop eating meat, stop drinking wine and eliminate salt from my diet! I have never heard of anything so ridiculous.” I tried to talk with her, but she stormed out the door.
It was two days later that word came to our church office. Eileen had had a stroke, was in the hospital and wanted no visitors, no cards, no flowers. She died within the week.
I miss that lady.