She was born in the summer of her 67th year, she often joked, making reference to a song that few shy of her age would recall. It was then that she found God and a mate, both belated suitors it might've seemed to her even though in fact both had been waiting for her all her life.
Born prickly, her younger siblings preceded her in death as if adhering to her natural order of things. She would have her way, and her way was not to leave the stage without taking the requisite bows. The wonder of it was how she managed a full social calendar despite her abrasive personality. People just got used to it, or maybe they feared her, figuring it was easier not to make a scene or an enemy. It seemed on the surface at least that she had more than a few friends. Like family, small town neighbors were those you had to get along with since you saw them so often.
She ran an unsuccessful business out of her home because she was the only one who would have her as an employee. Her gloss was that no employer would live up to her standards. Regardless, it was a rare point of agreement: she and potential employers agreed she was not suited to work for anybody but herself.
But all of this changed the summer she turned 67, much to the surprise of the local pastor who'd long ago written her off: "Focus on the young. The old are too set in their ways," he often said. Ironically it was he who was too set in his ways.