"I cry every day," Una said as she gingerly set down a serving tray supporting three cups of carefully prepared tea for two visitors and herself, and two plates brimming with delicate sweet treats.
"It happened right here," the 80-year-old woman said of her husband's death, gesturing to an off-yellow naugahyde-covered, steel-framed chair. It was to my left and pushed against a faux wooden table that seats six.
I nearly chose that chair in deciding where to sit. I was secretly glad that I hadn't.
"Maybe I shouldn't be talking about this," she said, unsure.
"No, it's okay" I said. "We'd like to hear your story."
Una's husband, George, passed away in May 2008. On this day, nine months after he left her side forever, she was in the midst of selling us his 25-foot (sailboat) yacht, his pride and joy. To pay for funeral expenses, she said. Steve and I were at her modest, older home to complete the transaction. She invited us in and insisted that we stay for tea and "bickies." (Australian for cookies)
"How long were you married?" I asked.
"Fifty-seven years," she said, after a few seconds of mental calculation. "I was hoping we would make our 60th anniversary...but..." she sighed.
Una and George raised five sons and a daughter on and near the Mornington Peninsula near Melbourne. George was an engineer/designer for International Harvester and General Motors Holden in Australia. I believe that Una was a stay-at-home mom.
George dabbled in photography, created oil paintings which adorn the walls in their home, restored old vehicles, did construction work for others and on his house, and specialized in electrical work among other things, such as raising chickens and keeping a vegetable garden. But, according to Una, one of his greatest joys was setting sail in his yacht, The Liberator.
After listening to these stories of George, Steve said, "It sounds like he was very talented."
Una chuckled and said, "Oh, you have no idea."
Una told us of adventures she and George had traveling Lakes Entrance off the Tasman Sea, sailing around Port Philip Bay near Melbourne and its offshoot Corio Bay, saling into a camping at Malacoota in New South Wales, and a failed trip to Geelong when the wind kept sending them in circles on the sails away from there. They finally ended up at home after several hours of "futile" sailing.
"Oh, it was fun," she said, her blue eyes twinkling. "The wind kept pushing us away, but George was determined. In the end, we just went home. But we enjoyed the voyage."
"It happened right here," the 80-year-old woman said of her husband's death, gesturing to an off-yellow naugahyde-covered, steel-framed chair. It was to my left and pushed against a faux wooden table that seats six.
I nearly chose that chair in deciding where to sit. I was secretly glad that I hadn't.
"Maybe I shouldn't be talking about this," she said, unsure.
"No, it's okay" I said. "We'd like to hear your story."
Una's husband, George, passed away in May 2008. On this day, nine months after he left her side forever, she was in the midst of selling us his 25-foot (sailboat) yacht, his pride and joy. To pay for funeral expenses, she said. Steve and I were at her modest, older home to complete the transaction. She invited us in and insisted that we stay for tea and "bickies." (Australian for cookies)
"How long were you married?" I asked.
"Fifty-seven years," she said, after a few seconds of mental calculation. "I was hoping we would make our 60th anniversary...but..." she sighed.
Una and George raised five sons and a daughter on and near the Mornington Peninsula near Melbourne. George was an engineer/designer for International Harvester and General Motors Holden in Australia. I believe that Una was a stay-at-home mom.
George dabbled in photography, created oil paintings which adorn the walls in their home, restored old vehicles, did construction work for others and on his house, and specialized in electrical work among other things, such as raising chickens and keeping a vegetable garden. But, according to Una, one of his greatest joys was setting sail in his yacht, The Liberator.
After listening to these stories of George, Steve said, "It sounds like he was very talented."
Una chuckled and said, "Oh, you have no idea."
Una told us of adventures she and George had traveling Lakes Entrance off the Tasman Sea, sailing around Port Philip Bay near Melbourne and its offshoot Corio Bay, saling into a camping at Malacoota in New South Wales, and a failed trip to Geelong when the wind kept sending them in circles on the sails away from there. They finally ended up at home after several hours of "futile" sailing.
"Oh, it was fun," she said, her blue eyes twinkling. "The wind kept pushing us away, but George was determined. In the end, we just went home. But we enjoyed the voyage."
Their last planned trip was to the Whitsunday Islands off of Queensland in June 2008 with a son. But George died in May.
Una's favorite memories are of her and George casting anchor offshore somewhere, anywhere, on the salt water, catching fresh flathead fish or a small shark or two and combining the fresh, flaky meat with a salad she had made at home to go with the evening dinner to be pan-fried in the on-boat galley.
"You do plan to camp on the boat, don't you?" she asked me.
"Of course," I said with a smile.
Una seemed pleased.
"Those are the best times," she said. "There's starlight, the sound of the water splashing against the boat, the salt smell on a cooling night, and the rocking as you go to sleep. Yes, those were good times."
For an 80-year-old woman, Una appears to be a young 60s. She's of Scandinavian descent from the Klingsporn family branch. Her great-great grandparents helped settle the Snowy Mountains near Mansfield and Mount Buller in the state of Victoria. One of her uncles helped create skiing areas in that region and took adventurers there on horseback in the mid-to late 1800s. Today, there is a festival by that name. She is proud of her heritage and brought documents out for Steve and I to see as she read them to us and showed us photos.
When she wasn't looking, I studied Una. Her grayish-white hair is thick, wavy, and stylishly cut in an easy-to-keep shoulder-length do. A portion of her curled bangs were pulled back with a bobby-pin adorned with a tiny, purplish, glittery, fake butterfly. She wore purple and gold angel-fish earrings, a mis-match to her light blue t-shirt and darker blue comfy stretch slacks. The earrings were her last gift from her husband. The skin around her eyes is barely wrinkled as is the area around her cheeks...obviously from smiling. Her lips are smooth and uncreased, which is surprising for a woman her age. She could wear lipstick without it getting caught and smeared in ridges, as happens to other women her age. Her hearing is good...we spoke in normal tones...and she is mentally sharp as a tack. I love her breathy, uninhibited laughter.
For an 80-year-old woman, Una appears to be a young 60s. She's of Scandinavian descent from the Klingsporn family branch. Her great-great grandparents helped settle the Snowy Mountains near Mansfield and Mount Buller in the state of Victoria. One of her uncles helped create skiing areas in that region and took adventurers there on horseback in the mid-to late 1800s. Today, there is a festival by that name. She is proud of her heritage and brought documents out for Steve and I to see as she read them to us and showed us photos.
When she wasn't looking, I studied Una. Her grayish-white hair is thick, wavy, and stylishly cut in an easy-to-keep shoulder-length do. A portion of her curled bangs were pulled back with a bobby-pin adorned with a tiny, purplish, glittery, fake butterfly. She wore purple and gold angel-fish earrings, a mis-match to her light blue t-shirt and darker blue comfy stretch slacks. The earrings were her last gift from her husband. The skin around her eyes is barely wrinkled as is the area around her cheeks...obviously from smiling. Her lips are smooth and uncreased, which is surprising for a woman her age. She could wear lipstick without it getting caught and smeared in ridges, as happens to other women her age. Her hearing is good...we spoke in normal tones...and she is mentally sharp as a tack. I love her breathy, uninhibited laughter.
But Una misses her husband, her companion, her adventurer of more than half a century.
"He passed away right here," she said again, gesturing to his chair.
Una described their normal morning routine on the day he died: She made buttered toast and black tea and laid out the morning Melbourne Herald-Sun newspaper on the dining table for him to read. She went into another room to put addresses on envelopes while leaving him to peruse the morning news in peace. A typical day, she thought.
"I heard him call my name, 'Una!'" she said.
That was his last word on earth.
"He passed away right here," she said again, gesturing to his chair.
Una described their normal morning routine on the day he died: She made buttered toast and black tea and laid out the morning Melbourne Herald-Sun newspaper on the dining table for him to read. She went into another room to put addresses on envelopes while leaving him to peruse the morning news in peace. A typical day, she thought.
"I heard him call my name, 'Una!'" she said.
That was his last word on earth.
What a sad but beautiful story. So neat to read the lives behind your yacht...now you will have many memories to share of your times together in it...I love how you ended their story.
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