Out of breath

My neighbor Boo was tiny, tough, funny and fierce.

I'd ride my pink bike over to her house, which was down the hill from us. I'd park my bike outside her house, which was stately and impeccably maintained, and looked so glamorous on the nights she'd throw parties.

Either Boo or her housekeeper, Ro-Ro, would greet me at the door. I don't remember much about the living room, other than that one time we listened to Synchronicity there over her awesome stereo. Usually Boo or Ro-Ro would usher me directly into the kitchen, because that is where Boo smoked.

Boo smoked a lot. She smoked unapologetically. She smoked when she talked to me on the phone, and at times her voice would trail off. Eventually we learned that when this happened, she was getting a cigarette. She'd put the phone down but keep talking. It's one of those quirks that make you love someone even more.

I don't even really remember what Boo and I talked about those afternoons. One time, when she'd just returned from a shopping trip to New York, she took me upstairs to see her purchases. I don't have an eye for fashion now, and I sure didn't back then, but it felt special to see this other part of her home. I sat at the counter in her bathroom and played with the heavy and expensive brushes and compacts.

Boo loved to let me give her dogs "cookies." She'd grab a couple of dog biscuits from the pantry and lead me out into her garden, which was round and perfectly manicured. One of her dogs was named Damn It. I didn't appreciate the humor of this until Damn It died. They were good dogs. Sometimes I'd go for walks and see Boo's husband, a soft-spoken gentleman, playing fetch with them on the slope at back of their house. He had a good arm. He was quiet, warm and unassuming -- the perfect complement to Boo.

Boo had advantages that most people don't, and she had a degree of generosity that few people have. Boo helped people. She did great things with her wealth and influence. She was a great woman.