IT’S SO SO SAD
OLIVE’S SEVENTY FIRST POST
Mike
Dear friends of Olive, I’ve just come back from the trip to Europe to find Olive almost faded away, alive but only just.
Eric, who has been blogging for her in my absence, had warned me that our dear friend was sinking. She has developed a chest infection that could easily spell the end any day now.
Katya and I went to visit her yesterday, Friday July 11th.
I had phoned Amber, to see if a visit was possible. You might remember Amber, the young carer to whom Ollie is so attached.
It was Amber who came with us as carer when we all went off to Broken Hill to make Olive’s movie, which some of you have seen.
All about Olive, we called the documentary, and so it was, all about this amazing person who became not just a movie topic, but our dear friend
Olive had insisted she wanted no one but Amber on location and since then I’ve always relied on Amber for news.
She confirmed the sad situation and suspected that we might not be able to see Olive , and that if we did, there might be no recognition.
“She’s hardly eating now,” Amber said, “and often not talking at all. Also, her relatives visited from Queensland last week and found much of her memory gone.”
Hearing this, I knew Katya had to come with me.
Olive adores Katya (go back in the blog and see Katya explaining Russian dolls to Olive in not so distant days. You’ll see the great rapport between them. See post 57. Marvelous Matrioskas )
So we arrived at the nursing home Friday at 10.30 am sharp, following Amber’s suggestion, and checked at the front desk.
They knew we were coming but were very hesitant to let us go in. Last time they’d asked, Olive had said she wanted to see no one.
“We just want to sit with her briefly,” we explained, “hold her hand perhaps.”
Permission given, but where was she?
In the last few weeks Olive has been moved from her private room, her little kingdom with her own phone, bathroom, to a small ward for the very frail.
Katya was one of the last to get through to Olive before that phone was cut.
In her own room, Ollie’d reigned like the queen of the home, holding court with her admirers. There, I filmed her singing, there I did many interviews.
There too, Eric read her your comments each week which she so enjoyed. There her blog was born and thrived, no computer in sight.
Now she had no phone and just a cupboard for her knicknacks it seemed
So into an unfamiliar part of the nursing home we went, looking for another desk, another control point which could tell us where she now was.
We caught glimpses of the much frailer oldies, women mostly, small cranes hoisting them in and out of bed.
Surely this was not her place to be, our feisty Olive?
I thought of her charging down such a hall, waving to the stay-at-homes in their doorways, promising to be in touch, to bring them back Sturt peas, as she left for her big adventure in her home town, Broken Hill.
That was all just yesterday it seemed.
In my mind, I had her still with that flashing smile, that twinkling eye, and I felt somehow her happy-to-see-us grin would miraculously light up the room as we came in. But it wasn’t to be.
…………
……………..
I’d phoned her from Europe two weeks ago, found her well enough, eager to hear the news of our travels, curious as to how the exercise of me bonding with my 15 year old daughter, Ellen, had worked out.
Olive had been full of advice about how to handle Ellen before the trip.
“Now, don’t you take no nonsense.” she’d finger wagged me.
But she’d heartily approved of our unusual move, me taking Ellen out of school with the idea that a sweep through Europe with her aging dad would open the girl’s eyes to a whole world beyond the hedonistic beach culture in which, for better or worse, we live.
“In there to the right,” said the staff at the second desk.
We came into a room, bathed in greenish light from the filtering curtains and saw in the far corner, a little lump, lost in a crumple of coverlets.
As Katya’s sweet voice called; ” Olive, Olive, we’ve come to see you,” the tiny head moved slightly and watery eyes blinked twice before closing slowly.
We were both shocked. She’d become very tiny in both head and body. “She lost so much weight,” Katya whispered, before calling to her again, calling to someone almost not there, it seemed.
The tiny head sunk further, the eyes closed, the jaw crumpled, as if her whole body had sighed away.
Then I realized the reason for her head seeming so small. She did not have her teeth in and thus did her mouth purse on nothing.
Sitting there awkwardly as Katya spoke softly, telling news, I remembered the many talks we’d had about those teeth of hers.
If you go back to the beginning of her blog over a year ago, you’ll find the story of how she got rid of her real teeth and got her “pearlies.” as she called them. (See the third post. War and teeth)
……………..
……………….
It’s an outrageous story actually, but so typical of Olive. She had all her teeth out one lunch time, she claims, (this was some time in 1930) and all because one of them was bothering her, and well; “why wait for the others to play up?”
I remembered more recently we’d talked about death and how she said she had no fear of dying except for one thing, that she’d go without her teeth.
“I want to look like a decent corpse,” she said with a laugh. “I gotta have me teeth in, Mike.”
“But how will you manage that?” I asked her.
“Well, I keep em under me bed,” she confided, “and if I feel I’m dying, I’ll just whip ‘em in and be pretty as a picture!”
I’d refrained from observing that the moment might not be conducive to a swift ” whipping in” of dentures.
My mind was wandering like this over our happy times together as Katya kept trying to get a reaction , but Olive’s eyes stayed closed and her breathing rattled. The cold was deep in her chest.
But she’s done this to us before, been on the brink and bounced right back to life and it’s adventures.
“Off we go to Buffalo,” was a favorite expression of hers as you’ll remember from the film, and off to Buffalo, we’ve gone many times.
I thought too of her cheery wave that we see at the end of same film.
She’d been at the Westmead Childrens Hospital for the day, volunteering to cheer up some sick kids, and as she left, mission accomplished, she’d given her brave wave and called to the nurses; “She ya later, Girls. And if you need my services again, don’t hesitate to ask!”
All delivered with such style and verve, a queen forever.
Earlier that same day when hospital staff were hanging her carer accreditation around her neck, she’s said. “And you can rest assured, girls, I’ve got no criminal record.” What prompted that, I’m still wondering.
I came back to the sleeping person before us, her body hardly lifting the bed clothes with its shape.
How strange to be remembering a 105 year old as a force larger than life, and now to see this 108 year old, so faded away.
Her hair was strange too I noticed. She’s always, since I’ve known her, been very particular about her hair which she’s proudly dyed from the age of 30 onwards, she claims.
Many times I was sent out for her favorite coloring, Revlon No 7, dark golden blonde and sometimes I’ve come back with medium golden blonde, 6.5. all I could find, but which she insisted would not do at all.
Back I’d go to search further for the elusive shade.
It was not always so. When she began coloring her hair, it was a flaming red she went for, having been a redhead as a child and teen.
You remember perhaps the chant; “Red for danger, danger on the field,”
That was the taunt of a classmate who teased because Olive of her dazzling mop and because her maiden name was Dangerfield
You remember too how Olive socked that tease, a solid punch to the jaw, laid her low and left her on a railway line or in a dam, depending on the version of the event Ollie chose to tell.
I remembered how nervous I was, loving this tale, but fearing it would keep our film out of the schools, punching bullies being a “no no” these days.
Now, on the pillow, her hair was a strange very dark red, shooting up in a clump
What had happened, I wondered? Had she lost control these last weeks? The wrong hair color, the missing teeth, the lost private room, all seemed to say so.
Was it just possible that she wasn’t responding to us because she did not want to talk without her teeth in, knowing she’d slur words and not look nice. A girl has her pride after all.
What did Katya think? Not sure either. Ollie was so frail, so different, it was true.
Thus we grasped as straws at the bedside, and asked no one if it could be true about the teeth.
Eric arrived and was sad too. We agreed the staff had done what they could to make her tiny corner homely.
A “Go the Swans” poster was on the cupboard door beside her. You know perhaps that Ollie is an avid Swans fan.
I wonder if we ever told the story of the time we got free tickets to a final Swans game at the Homebush stadium.
We’d driven underground, into a labyrinth of concrete roads under the stadium, feeling very special.
We’d been were waved into a VIP parking place, been whisked up in a VIP lift to the VIP stands, been ushered into a VIP box.
We sat like royalty indeed, the Swans playing their best on the intense green astro turf, way below us.
Though we three cheered ourselves hoarse that night, (Katya was with us, her first football game in Australia) the Swans lost and Ollie got no chance to shake hands with the team as she done on occasions past, she being a mascot for the players.
“They must be too depressed about losing” I remember she opined.
On the same cupboard as the poster was also a small painting Katya had given her, a peaceful landscape, and higher up, a photo of her Mum and Billy.
What had happened to the large collection we’d put together for her, I wondered, all those family photos I’d blown up to A4 and mounted in the book for her?
There’d been twenty photos at least of her beloved son, Barnie, who passed way 6 months ago. Missing Barnie is part of the deterioration, I’m sure.
Photos too of Evelyn the eldest of her three kids. ” Was Mum a good cook?” says Evelyn in the film, “You better believe it! She was a station cook. You cant get any better than that, Luv”
And snaps of the youngest too, Bonnie, who nurses some grudge and doesn’t want to see Olive, even now.
It was strange that the only family photo in the new room was of her mother who she didn’t like.
Olive says that her Mum was always cold and cruel, and, worst of all, would not let the young Olive become the nurse she had her heart set on being.
Why was that pic. on display? . But then in the same photo I noticed Billy, the young giant who’d been adopted, and was Ollie’s favorite, apart from sister Emma who died young of course.
You may remember Ollie telling the story of how she rescued Billy from the adoption people. (See 32nd post. Olive steals a baby)
Billy was the illegitimate child of someone the family knew well. (To this day Olive wont tell who the mother was) and being unwanted, was put up for adoption in a distant town.
But when the adoption agent came for the baby to take him off by train, Ollie, then about 7, ran off with the bundled baby and hid him in the bush till the man was gone.
She did this twice. At last her Dad had said, “We’ll it looks like we’ll have to adopt him ourselves.”
Another photo, even more important, had made the move from her private room to this ward. It was a color photo of the stone we put on Emma’s grave. You see it at the end of the movie, the last shot.
Emma, you remember was the older sister Olive loved so much but who died of an ear infection when Olive was about 9. Olive never got over that.
While filming in Broken Hill, we found Emma’s unmarked grave and arranged for the stone in the photo to be placed on the gravelly earth, decorated with a poem Ollie wrote for her sister.
The text is somewhere in the blog. You may be able to find it if you look hard.
This was such an important closure for her and I was glad to see the photo was still with her.
Indeed, the staff has done a good job of keeping her precious thing near her.
On the highest shelf was a yellow animated doll someone had given her. She loved to turn it on and let it strut its stuff, singing and whirring and twisting…..
“Singin’ in the rain, Singing in the rain.
What a beautiful feeling, I’m happy again.”
But that of course is not the song you remember when you think of Olive, is it?
It’s, Pack Up Your Troubles, surely. Here she is again
……………………
Dear friends of Olive, I’ve just come back from the trip to Europe to find Olive almost faded away, alive but only just.
Eric, who has been blogging for her in my absence, had warned me that our dear friend was sinking. She has developed a chest infection that could easily spell the end any day now.
Katya and I went to visit her yesterday, Friday July 11th.
I had phoned Amber, to see if a visit was possible. You might remember Amber, the young carer to whom Ollie is so attached.
It was Amber who came with us as carer when we all went off to Broken Hill to make Olive’s movie, which some of you have seen.
All about Olive, we called the documentary, and so it was, all about this amazing person who became not just a movie topic, but our dear friend
Olive had insisted she wanted no one but Amber on location and since then I’ve always relied on Amber for news.
She confirmed the sad situation and suspected that we might not be able to see Olive , and that if we did, there might be no recognition.
“She’s hardly eating now,” Amber said, “and often not talking at all. Also, her relatives visited from Queensland last week and found much of her memory gone.”
Hearing this, I knew Katya had to come with me.
Olive adores Katya (go back in the blog and see Katya explaining Russian dolls to Olive in not so distant days. You’ll see the great rapport between them. See post 57. Marvelous Matrioskas )
So we arrived at the nursing home Friday at 10.30 am sharp, following Amber’s suggestion, and checked at the front desk.
They knew we were coming but were very hesitant to let us go in. Last time they’d asked, Olive had said she wanted to see no one.
“We just want to sit with her briefly,” we explained, “hold her hand perhaps.”
Permission given, but where was she?
In the last few weeks Olive has been moved from her private room, her little kingdom with her own phone, bathroom, to a small ward for the very frail.
Katya was one of the last to get through to Olive before that phone was cut.
In her own room, Ollie’d reigned like the queen of the home, holding court with her admirers. There, I filmed her singing, there I did many interviews.
There too, Eric read her your comments each week which she so enjoyed. There her blog was born and thrived, no computer in sight.
Now she had no phone and just a cupboard for her knicknacks it seemed
So into an unfamiliar part of the nursing home we went, looking for another desk, another control point which could tell us where she now was.
We caught glimpses of the much frailer oldies, women mostly, small cranes hoisting them in and out of bed.
Surely this was not her place to be, our feisty Olive?
I thought of her charging down such a hall, waving to the stay-at-homes in their doorways, promising to be in touch, to bring them back Sturt peas, as she left for her big adventure in her home town, Broken Hill.
That was all just yesterday it seemed.
In my mind, I had her still with that flashing smile, that twinkling eye, and I felt somehow her happy-to-see-us grin would miraculously light up the room as we came in. But it wasn’t to be.
…………
……………..
I’d phoned her from Europe two weeks ago, found her well enough, eager to hear the news of our travels, curious as to how the exercise of me bonding with my 15 year old daughter, Ellen, had worked out.
Olive had been full of advice about how to handle Ellen before the trip.
“Now, don’t you take no nonsense.” she’d finger wagged me.
But she’d heartily approved of our unusual move, me taking Ellen out of school with the idea that a sweep through Europe with her aging dad would open the girl’s eyes to a whole world beyond the hedonistic beach culture in which, for better or worse, we live.
“In there to the right,” said the staff at the second desk.
We came into a room, bathed in greenish light from the filtering curtains and saw in the far corner, a little lump, lost in a crumple of coverlets.
As Katya’s sweet voice called; ” Olive, Olive, we’ve come to see you,” the tiny head moved slightly and watery eyes blinked twice before closing slowly.
We were both shocked. She’d become very tiny in both head and body. “She lost so much weight,” Katya whispered, before calling to her again, calling to someone almost not there, it seemed.
The tiny head sunk further, the eyes closed, the jaw crumpled, as if her whole body had sighed away.
Then I realized the reason for her head seeming so small. She did not have her teeth in and thus did her mouth purse on nothing.
Sitting there awkwardly as Katya spoke softly, telling news, I remembered the many talks we’d had about those teeth of hers.
If you go back to the beginning of her blog over a year ago, you’ll find the story of how she got rid of her real teeth and got her “pearlies.” as she called them. (See the third post. War and teeth)
……………..
……………….
It’s an outrageous story actually, but so typical of Olive. She had all her teeth out one lunch time, she claims, (this was some time in 1930) and all because one of them was bothering her, and well; “why wait for the others to play up?”
I remembered more recently we’d talked about death and how she said she had no fear of dying except for one thing, that she’d go without her teeth.
“I want to look like a decent corpse,” she said with a laugh. “I gotta have me teeth in, Mike.”
“But how will you manage that?” I asked her.
“Well, I keep em under me bed,” she confided, “and if I feel I’m dying, I’ll just whip ‘em in and be pretty as a picture!”
I’d refrained from observing that the moment might not be conducive to a swift ” whipping in” of dentures.
My mind was wandering like this over our happy times together as Katya kept trying to get a reaction , but Olive’s eyes stayed closed and her breathing rattled. The cold was deep in her chest.
But she’s done this to us before, been on the brink and bounced right back to life and it’s adventures.
“Off we go to Buffalo,” was a favorite expression of hers as you’ll remember from the film, and off to Buffalo, we’ve gone many times.
I thought too of her cheery wave that we see at the end of same film.
She’d been at the Westmead Childrens Hospital for the day, volunteering to cheer up some sick kids, and as she left, mission accomplished, she’d given her brave wave and called to the nurses; “She ya later, Girls. And if you need my services again, don’t hesitate to ask!”
All delivered with such style and verve, a queen forever.
Earlier that same day when hospital staff were hanging her carer accreditation around her neck, she’s said. “And you can rest assured, girls, I’ve got no criminal record.” What prompted that, I’m still wondering.
I came back to the sleeping person before us, her body hardly lifting the bed clothes with its shape.
How strange to be remembering a 105 year old as a force larger than life, and now to see this 108 year old, so faded away.
Her hair was strange too I noticed. She’s always, since I’ve known her, been very particular about her hair which she’s proudly dyed from the age of 30 onwards, she claims.
Many times I was sent out for her favorite coloring, Revlon No 7, dark golden blonde and sometimes I’ve come back with medium golden blonde, 6.5. all I could find, but which she insisted would not do at all.
Back I’d go to search further for the elusive shade.
It was not always so. When she began coloring her hair, it was a flaming red she went for, having been a redhead as a child and teen.
You remember perhaps the chant; “Red for danger, danger on the field,”
That was the taunt of a classmate who teased because Olive of her dazzling mop and because her maiden name was Dangerfield
You remember too how Olive socked that tease, a solid punch to the jaw, laid her low and left her on a railway line or in a dam, depending on the version of the event Ollie chose to tell.
I remembered how nervous I was, loving this tale, but fearing it would keep our film out of the schools, punching bullies being a “no no” these days.
Now, on the pillow, her hair was a strange very dark red, shooting up in a clump
What had happened, I wondered? Had she lost control these last weeks? The wrong hair color, the missing teeth, the lost private room, all seemed to say so.
Was it just possible that she wasn’t responding to us because she did not want to talk without her teeth in, knowing she’d slur words and not look nice. A girl has her pride after all.
What did Katya think? Not sure either. Ollie was so frail, so different, it was true.
Thus we grasped as straws at the bedside, and asked no one if it could be true about the teeth.
Eric arrived and was sad too. We agreed the staff had done what they could to make her tiny corner homely.
A “Go the Swans” poster was on the cupboard door beside her. You know perhaps that Ollie is an avid Swans fan.
I wonder if we ever told the story of the time we got free tickets to a final Swans game at the Homebush stadium.
We’d driven underground, into a labyrinth of concrete roads under the stadium, feeling very special.
We’d been were waved into a VIP parking place, been whisked up in a VIP lift to the VIP stands, been ushered into a VIP box.
We sat like royalty indeed, the Swans playing their best on the intense green astro turf, way below us.
Though we three cheered ourselves hoarse that night, (Katya was with us, her first football game in Australia) the Swans lost and Ollie got no chance to shake hands with the team as she done on occasions past, she being a mascot for the players.
“They must be too depressed about losing” I remember she opined.
On the same cupboard as the poster was also a small painting Katya had given her, a peaceful landscape, and higher up, a photo of her Mum and Billy.
What had happened to the large collection we’d put together for her, I wondered, all those family photos I’d blown up to A4 and mounted in the book for her?
There’d been twenty photos at least of her beloved son, Barnie, who passed way 6 months ago. Missing Barnie is part of the deterioration, I’m sure.
Photos too of Evelyn the eldest of her three kids. ” Was Mum a good cook?” says Evelyn in the film, “You better believe it! She was a station cook. You cant get any better than that, Luv”
And snaps of the youngest too, Bonnie, who nurses some grudge and doesn’t want to see Olive, even now.
It was strange that the only family photo in the new room was of her mother who she didn’t like.
Olive says that her Mum was always cold and cruel, and, worst of all, would not let the young Olive become the nurse she had her heart set on being.
Why was that pic. on display? . But then in the same photo I noticed Billy, the young giant who’d been adopted, and was Ollie’s favorite, apart from sister Emma who died young of course.
You may remember Ollie telling the story of how she rescued Billy from the adoption people. (See 32nd post. Olive steals a baby)
Billy was the illegitimate child of someone the family knew well. (To this day Olive wont tell who the mother was) and being unwanted, was put up for adoption in a distant town.
But when the adoption agent came for the baby to take him off by train, Ollie, then about 7, ran off with the bundled baby and hid him in the bush till the man was gone.
She did this twice. At last her Dad had said, “We’ll it looks like we’ll have to adopt him ourselves.”
Another photo, even more important, had made the move from her private room to this ward. It was a color photo of the stone we put on Emma’s grave. You see it at the end of the movie, the last shot.
Emma, you remember was the older sister Olive loved so much but who died of an ear infection when Olive was about 9. Olive never got over that.
While filming in Broken Hill, we found Emma’s unmarked grave and arranged for the stone in the photo to be placed on the gravelly earth, decorated with a poem Ollie wrote for her sister.
The text is somewhere in the blog. You may be able to find it if you look hard.
This was such an important closure for her and I was glad to see the photo was still with her.
Indeed, the staff has done a good job of keeping her precious thing near her.
On the highest shelf was a yellow animated doll someone had given her. She loved to turn it on and let it strut its stuff, singing and whirring and twisting…..
“Singin’ in the rain, Singing in the rain.
What a beautiful feeling, I’m happy again.”
But that of course is not the song you remember when you think of Olive, is it?
It’s, Pack Up Your Troubles, surely. Here she is again
……………………
…………………….
Sunday, July 13th, 2008 at 1:53 pm
This post is filed under Uncategorized.
You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.
You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.
36 Responses to “IT’S SO SO SAD”
Leave a Reply
July 13th, 2008 at 2:16 pm
Oh Mike and Katya, I am glad you went to see Olive. It is said that hearing and touch are the last senses to go. I am sure she heard you and felt your touch. I am so glad of this blog. I am glad that I have gotten to know Olive and all of you. Hugs and prayers from New Jersey. Linda
July 13th, 2008 at 6:15 pm
Mike and Katya, I’m so very sorry to hear the sad news that Ollie has gone from Eric’s blog. You must be very glad you went to the nursing home when you did. She was a very feisty lady, and she will be missed by all who “knew” her through her “blob”. Thankyou for recording her memories and “sharing” her with the rest of us.
All the best to you and Katya for the future,
Christine in Sydney
http:/missmuffettwo.blogspot.com/
July 13th, 2008 at 7:48 pm
Oh Mike, I’m so sorry to read this. I was away from bloghopping for a while because my mom was here visiting, and I had hoped to find much better news here regarding Ollie. Thank you for sharing this final visit with her, difficult as it was I’m sure. I feel like we were all able to say our good-byes through you. May Ollie rest in eternal peace.
July 13th, 2008 at 9:30 pm
I’m sorry I didn’t get to know Olive before she passed away. I spent some time at Silverton as a geology student and my grandmother lived in Broken Hill - in Tin Street - I wonder if she knew Olive. Sleep well, Ollie.
July 13th, 2008 at 9:41 pm
That is so so sad but what a wonderful job you have done of recording Olive’s memories for posterity.
She is with her sister and son and so many others now.
Thanks
July 13th, 2008 at 9:58 pm
Thank you and Mike for letting us go on this amazing ride with you. I dreaded this day because I knew one day I would click on your blob and there it would be….
Peace be with you Ollie and God bless.
Linda, St. Simons Island, Ga, USA
July 13th, 2008 at 10:01 pm
Condolences to you, her other friends, and Olive’s family.
Olive, where ever you are, congratulations on a live well lived and wonderfully long! You’re earned your rest and hope you are at peace now.
With great appreciation to Olive and you for letting us to get to know such a unique individual and document her for the future. A snapshot of a time long past.
July 13th, 2008 at 10:32 pm
Know that all of us in “blob-land” are by your side. Much love to all of you!
July 13th, 2008 at 11:39 pm
I cannot tell you how saddened I am to read this. Olive seems so immortal, so full of sass and verve.
My family and I send Olive, Katya, and you our prayers.
July 14th, 2008 at 1:57 am
[…] om nog op regelmatige basis met haar reaguurders te kijken naar haar leven, en te discusssieren. Op haar blogje staat nu een in Memoriam van haar kleinzoon, die haar kennis liet maken met het bloggen. Haar “legacy” zal de 70 […]
July 14th, 2008 at 5:13 am
I for one am joyful that Olive has continued her adventure….
She lived a long, good life. Her attitude was so unique. We all learned so much from her. She would have loved to know how much. I don’t think she did, really.
If I had one word to use to describe Olive it would be “guts”.
That is a legacy.
But I’ll miss her more than I should.
July 16th, 2008 at 11:57 pm
How very bizarre that I, a 29 year old man in the Republic of Ireland should have tears in his eyes reading this post. Like so many others I was saddened to hear of her passing but thanked all of you so much for telling her story. I appreciated the emails from you Mike back last year when she was introduced to this side of the water. I pray for you all. Please do continue the blog, as lost indie above said, it’s a legacy.
July 17th, 2008 at 12:27 am
Dear Mike,
I’ve only come to know about Olive thru online news of her passing. I’ve only read your latest entry & would appreciate it very much if you could keep this blog alive for a long while more, for children like us (I’m in my 20s), to read & know more about the life of a centenarian.
let us learn her legacy & be inspired. And also to find the strenght within us to go thru the hurdles of our lives.
July 17th, 2008 at 4:24 am
Im sorry to know this sad new. I didnt know that fantastic woman that posted in a blog whith her age, but … thats life. Tenho a certeza que foi uma grande e importante pessoa em vida, e que gostou de todos e todos gostaram dela, so lets remember her whith her smile.
see you Olive
July 17th, 2008 at 9:36 am
Oh my. I just found this. I am in love, weeping at the gorgeousness of Olive, of your gift to her and thus to us. Please I beg you leave this blog up. Let it shine for a long while, and us know her even now. How blessed you two were - and all that knew her in life. Thank you. Thank you.
July 17th, 2008 at 2:21 pm
Only stumbled across this story when logging in to my own blob, such an uplifting, inspiring yet sad story. Sending our thoughts and best wishes to you and all that knew Olive.
July 17th, 2008 at 3:23 pm
She was in my coutry.
I am glad, because she was old lady, but she was move on with her life like she was teenage girl.
A lot of ‘old’ people must learn from her and her philosophy.
July 17th, 2008 at 4:01 pm
What a wonderful, wonderful story Olive’s life has been.
She’s left us with a wonderful memory - and I’m thankful for the others who’ve helped make it possible.
July 17th, 2008 at 6:48 pm
I’m from Portugal and I saw this blog here: http://news.maxima.xl.pt/?s=11&n=19903&nivel=3
I’ve just read this post but I’ll got back to read all the previous one’s. The internet can be a good thing and this blog shows it.
Congratulations.
July 17th, 2008 at 9:18 pm
She was a great woman and inspired many bloggers.
Rest in Peace Olive! God bless you!
Condolences to Olive’s family
and
to you Mike and Katya! You both did great job!
July 17th, 2008 at 9:42 pm
Please accept my condolences from Finland.
I wrote about Olive today in Finnish when I found out that she was gone.
She was a really fine lady with a great long life. I will read all the blog stories.
Warm regards to you, Mike and to Katya!
July 17th, 2008 at 9:51 pm
SALUDOS Y MAS SALUDOS DESDE ARGENTINA.. NO SPEAK ENGLISH SORRY!!! BSOS Y FUERZA ES UN PLACER ESCRIBIR AQUI!! BESOTES DESDE CORRIENTES
FROM ARGENTINA
July 17th, 2008 at 9:56 pm
Condolences to you and Olive’s family.NO SABIA LO Q HABIA PASADO HASTA QUE LEI UN DIARIO ARGENTINO..
CONDOLENCES DESDE ARGENTINA
July 18th, 2008 at 3:24 am
My Dear Heart, you are much loved. Our hearts have been warmed by your fires, and your gifts are treasured respectfully in our souls. Because you gave, we shall live richer lives. Because you died, we will gather hope that we, too, can be as generous in our times and live as well. My Dear, it is hard to let you go, but let go we must. It is time for us now to find our own paths and make a legacy worthy of the gift of life that you have given us. Let us live well!
July 18th, 2008 at 5:18 am
I was the lucky winner of the DVD “All About Olive” from the contest on Ronni Bennett’s blog Time Goes By. I have watched it many times and it mad me feel like I knew Olive.
At the age of 83 I believe that Olive would be the first to say, “It’s time to move on, Mate.” She will be missed and this blog will be missed, but although Olives’ life was hard it was a full one. Perhaps that is what contributed to her longevity - she was a fighter and surmounted any and all obstacles.
God speed, Olive.
July 18th, 2008 at 1:04 pm
Oh to be half the woman as Olive would be enough for me. Thank you for taking the time and care to create this. It is good to live to be old.
July 19th, 2008 at 1:57 am
My deepest condolences to all of you on the passinng of Ollie. I was so hoping that Ollie would hold on till you returned and heard all of your marvelous stories that you would have to tell, but it was not to be.
Ollie lived a fantastic and adventurous life, and in the last 3 years that you knew her, you allowed all of her readers to see it through your writings of and for her. As one poster said, she was one gutsy lady in her heyday.
She’s now with her beloved Barnie and Emma and regaling them with all her stories, and I’m sure she’s holding court in heaven. She would be just the type to do it too!
I’m thankful that I had the pleasure of getting to know her through your writings. I feel as though I’ve lost a dear family member of my own.
Peace be with Ollie, and God Bless.
Sandy in WI(US)
July 19th, 2008 at 7:47 am
We will never forget dear Ollie.
July 20th, 2008 at 5:39 am
What an intense life! Really a person to look up to! I feel thrilled for knowing Olive, yet posthumous. May her soul rest in peace.By the way, have you seen this?:
http://globalvoicesonline.org/2008/07/19/saudi-arabia-what-if-olive-riley-had-blogged-all-along/
All the best from Peru.
July 20th, 2008 at 9:58 am
I would love to see you do more posts about Olive. I am hoping that you won’t remove her blog entirely, as there are many people who wish to read all of her posts, starting with Post Number 1, including myself. It is the best blog reading I have seen thus far, and so very interesting and amusing, too!
So, yes, please post more!
Thank you.
July 21st, 2008 at 5:23 am
I am so sorry to hear of Olive’s passing. I have been reading her blog for the past 6 months or so. I will miss her.
July 22nd, 2008 at 11:31 am
When I heard on Good Morning America that the oldest blogger had died, I knew right then it was Ollie, and I felt very sad. I feel as if I have lost a long time friend.
Please post more.
Thank you so very much for sharing her with us. My condolences to all of you.
Barbra in West Virginia, USA
July 24th, 2008 at 12:49 pm
If I could take a step back in time
It would be back with Ollie to a favourite place of mine.
Seated next to the woodstove, knees under my chin
The kitchen at dinnertime, a marvellous din.
Later by candlelight tucked up into bed
Images of family life dance around in my head.
July 24th, 2008 at 4:30 pm
I have been reading your “blob” for probably a year now. I am very sad about your loss. She is in a better place now and you will see her again. I only just found out that she passed, I am going to miss her stories. She was a very strong woman in her younger days. May God bless you and your family and her family as well.
Linda, Seattle WA USA
October 12th, 2008 at 5:03 pm
I hadn’t checked in for quite a while and today i clicked on favs down to The Life of Riley… only to find the sad news.. Olive packed up her kit bad for the last time and travelled on ‘home’.. Glad you two managed to get to visit with her, she would of known you were there with her.. I was going Olives leaving gives a feeling of emptiness, but she wouldnt like that.. so I’ll say our lives are so much more richer in being able to shar Olives life..
October 22nd, 2008 at 8:51 pm
Hi. It’s been a long time since I’ve checked up on Ollie’s blog, but lately I’ve found some time. I’m very sorry to hear that she’s up there. May she be in peace. But this blog is so great and informative, I’m sure Ollie must be proud.
~isabella01pd2015
http://blogs.saschina.org/isabella01pd2015