My step-grandmother Vonne, venerable and mad and thoroughly fantastic lady, is no longer with us.
In true Vonne style, she waited until a party was being thrown in her honour (76th birthday, I believe), the house full of adoring fans and booze and music, and promptly slipped going down the stairs.
Vonne was my grandfather's secretary. They ran away together when she was in her late teens, and stayed together until he died (before I was born). She was a huge fan of swearing and drinking and dancing and loved to shock people for the fun of it. I'm not sure if she ever got around to writing her life story, but if she didn't, someone surely will.
In honour of Vonne, I will now share a bit of wisdom she bequeathed us once at a Christmas-ish dinner. To be read in the broadest possible accent of your region of choice:
Mah son Billy
Had a ten-foot willy
He showed it to the girl next door.
She thought it were a snake
So she hit it with a rake
And now it's only five foot four.
You will be sorely missed, Vonne.