A Christmas homecoming

Our friend Connie made it home for Christmas.

What a celebration that will be!

At 97-years old, our neighborhood’s Cookie Lady has been anticipating this trip for quite some time.

“Just roll me in there,” she once called out to the construction workers paving the street in front of her house. “You can throw some flowers over the road. It will save on the funeral costs.”

To be clear, the woman was perfectly healthy when she said that. She later invited the startled workers in for some pizza and cold beverages and they all had a raucous good time.

For such a wild beacon of joy in this life, Connie has had her eye on the next one in a way only the most faithful people can. She knew exactly where she was going and with whom she would spend time when she got there.

In light of such steadfast faith, it seems selfish to mourn Connie’s passing. In fact, in the obituary she wrote, Connie said, “Do not mourn for me. I had an incredible trip. Thank you to my dear family and friends who travelled with me and made the journey such a joy!”

It’s the joy we’ll remember — the impish twinkle in those bright blue eyes and the way they winked when she flirted. The Cookie Lady winked a lot.

“I can’t talk right now,” she once called over to me as she wheeled a giant stroller filled with her three of her young neighbors, the Walsh boys. “I’ve been walking the redheads for miles!”

A grown-up and gifted Steven Walsh later showed up at my house one memorable St. Patrick’s Day afternoon, led by our leprechaun.

“We have a surprise for you!” Connie yelled through the screen door. “Come on out!”

Thankfully, I did step outside because the memory of Steven playing Danny Boy on the bagpipes for Connie will stay with me forever.

I have her hand-written molasses cookie recipe and we’ll probably bake them this week. But, they won’t taste the same as they did when she made them, iced with her under-the-table secret frosting, dusted with seasonal sprinkles, slid into various tins she saved throughout the year, and handed out randomly to mark special occasions and sweeten ordinary days.

Two weeks ago, we hung the giant Christmas stockings she made us, as we have every Christmas since she presented them. In her later years, Connie became famous for those Christmas stockings. She knitted thousands and transformed the mantles of countless families. Connie’s giant stockings, like her huge heart, inspired us all to be more generous.

While we’ll miss the wittiest leprechaun, the Murphiest of the Appleton Murphy family, the chicest fashionista, the most pugnacious porch sitter, the eternal hostess with the bottomless candy dish, the faithful Catholic who walked to mass every day for most of her life, the funniest, punniest friend, the Queen of Circle Street, we rejoice in her homecoming and the culmination of a genuinely admirable life.

May flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.

And may a bagpipe accompany them.