Elise Moeller Ostrom, 1927-2023
When her husband my uncle died,
I sent her a note and a mystery novel.
When next I saw her, she said,
"Thanks for your note and for not
sending me a goddamned book on grief."
She has just died, age 95, after decorously
drinking a lot of beer and devouring
crime novels for seven decades.
I never saw her not composed. She
saved that for privacy.
Her opinions firm as tungsten,
she voted liberal and pro-union
but wanted results, not fools
prattling ideology.
Her father was a football coach
and she married one, followed
fanatically the S.F. 49ers. Into old age,
she grew flowers, stacked her own
firewood, shoveled snow, and
fed migrating doves. We liked
each other a lot because, I think,
we liked words. Love? Grief?
Well, sure, but with restraint.
I sent her a note and a mystery novel.
When next I saw her, she said,
"Thanks for your note and for not
sending me a goddamned book on grief."
She has just died, age 95, after decorously
drinking a lot of beer and devouring
crime novels for seven decades.
I never saw her not composed. She
saved that for privacy.
Her opinions firm as tungsten,
she voted liberal and pro-union
but wanted results, not fools
prattling ideology.
Her father was a football coach
and she married one, followed
fanatically the S.F. 49ers. Into old age,
she grew flowers, stacked her own
firewood, shoveled snow, and
fed migrating doves. We liked
each other a lot because, I think,
we liked words. Love? Grief?
Well, sure, but with restraint.
hans ostrom 2023
