San Antonio Rose


Deep within my heart
Lies a melody,
A song of old San Antone,
Where in dreams I live
With a memory,
Beneath the stars all alone.

When I put on the  Auffaellige Rosen  dress from Schoën I immediately think of my great-aunt. She sang the background vocals to that song with Tex Ritter at the Grand Ol’ Opry and it was one of many songs I enjoyed listening to her sing. She was what is commonly called “a pistol”  – a woman who lived life to the fullest from the day she was born to the day she died and that was a long time. Born in the 19th century she lived to enjoy the 21st century’s arrival and promise. From horse and buggy to manned space flight in her life time. She buried three husbands during that lifetime – oddly enough while they all had different names, their names were homophones. So while she changed the spelling, she never changed the pronunciation. She was 92 when she married her 3rd husband, a youngster in his 80s. 


Her greatest sorrow was that she also outlived her children and many of her grandchildren. I come from a family who lives long lives – with many living into their 90s and early 100s. Or more accurately the older generation lived long lives. Their children and grandchildren – not so much. They happened to be of the generation that smoked – unaware of how real the risks were.  Smoking and its child, lung cancer, cut through her children and grandchildren like a scythe. Her great-grandchildren will do better  – in part thanks to the American Cancer Society and its efforts to highlight the causes of cancer.



But don’t cry for her,  she was stronger than grief .She enjoyed life until the end. I remember when I was in college. She was sick and at the University of MN hospital in Minneapolis. Mom called me and said I had to go visit her because she had no family and would be lonely. I bought some magazines and murder mysteries and went off to visit. When I got to her floor, the receiving desk was empty. There were no nurses, no aides. It was ghostly except for some noise, so I followed the noise down the hall and, of course, found my aunt sitting up in her hospital bed, her glass eye in a glass on the hospital tray/table, playing guitar and singing while the staff on that floor clapped and sang along. Lonely!

Even when she died, she was a pistol. She was sleeping and my mother and her siblings were whispering by her bedside. She opened her one good eye and said, “Why are you whispering? I ain’t dead yet.” and those were the last words of her life.



So that is the way fashion is like art – it can  evoke memories and emotions. And the art of this dress is exactly that, bringing forth a rich treasure of memories of a wonderful woman – the San Antonio Rose of Minnesota.

Store info at Blogging Second Life
Poses: oOo Studio
Skin: Center Ville Skin Aimi Milk
Tattoos: Lipstick Cinnamon, Eyeliner Louis Vuitton
Eyes: [UMEBOSHI] Eon eyes Duo Green (med)
Lashes: Lelutka
Mani/Pedi: SLink Mesh Hands & Feet with FLAIR mani applier
Hair: .:EMO-tions:. * CHLOE*/flames
Clothing: Schoën  Auffaellige Rosen /
Shoes: Essenz – Detroit (Fatpack)
Jewelry: Donna Flora Julia Ruby
Location: FFL Amble

this post has 2 plurk responses, click here to plurk page[+][-]
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Blue RoxWhat a lovely story and your aunt sounds like what we in Maine called "a real pisser" - meaning one who feared no one and lived on her own terms.
SuchANastyWomanyeah I think pistols and pissers are essentially the same

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