Story shared: For Mimi.

Thu, 28 Apr 2022 11:34:47 EDT

How does one using but her mere words and phrases, her own fragile and flawed mind, adequately pay tribute to the memory of the entire life and times of another? Of the long and many years and all that was within them: fleeting ordinary moments, joy, heartache, grief, and celebration: here follows my attempt, though its cause may be noble and sincere, it is by nature doomed to fall hopelessly short. I knew you better than I ever realized, and as your only granddaughter I knew you in a way no one else ever did. I looked upon you with a forgiving, curious lens unlike anyone else’s, and vice versa from your part. You were one of my biggest fans; always on my side, and I miss that more and more as I fall ever deeper a victim to the cruel realities of the human condition. I want you to know that all those years, I was listening: to your praises, anecdotes, advice, observations, compliments, and precious recounting of your early life. The private words we exchanged on your death bed follow and impact me, still. I agree with you, though I only knew him as a very old man, my sweet Asher reminds me very much of Papa. His mannerisms, whistling, bravery, and inexplicable connection to the unknown all come from him, I know it well.

~ Your only granddaughter, Hannah Elizabeth Oliver-Dinkel, April 2022

“Somewhere, over the rainbow, way up high There’s a land that I heard of, once in a lullaby.”

Betty Caroline Naas-Holtzmaster 25.November 1928-4.May 2017

Baby Betty Caroline came into the world on a cold Atlanta morning, straight into the loving arms of her terribly young, hopelessly in love, doting first-time parents Glennie and Bernard. Glennie was safely delivered of her daughter thanks to the aid of the generous Dr. Fincher, who refused payment for his services, and the hands and heart of her capable midwife-mother, Rebecca. Glennie would tell her granddaughter Nancy many decades later that if there were indeed a heaven awaiting us after death, then Dr. Fincher most certainly dwells there. Betty from both parents was of a learned pedigree of intellectuals and eccentrics: physicians, politicians, soldiers, musicians, artists, writers, seekers, and thinkers. She continued in this tradition which is reflected, in particular, through her enduring eclectic record collection, book collection, interests in history and culture, fashion sense, and sharp wit. Call it a 6th sense, psychic ability, or anything else you like: she had a rather otherworldly ability to sense danger, see things before they came to pass, and learn secrets without being told of them which began in her childhood as her younger brother Bernie and herself were playing in the Georgia fields shortly after the passing of their grandfather. An elderly gentlemen approached the children, reminding them to play safely and to see to it that they got home soon. It was found out later that the man was dressed in the exact suit in which her grandfather was buried. Her powers of foresight that came to her pale green eyes first in the Georgia pines continued throughout the rest of her life. She never quite let go the influence of the delicate southern sensibilities she acquired from her youth; her inborn grace and elegance, also, and took great pride in her heritage, posture, appearance, and demeanor in a way no one does, anymore. Betty grew up in a loving home in Georgia, and eventually was a big sister to Bernard Jr. (Bernie), Olga (Lynne), James (Jim), and George. The Naas family made the long move to Colorado in 1945 during (and after) many difficult phases in America. Her father Bernard Sr. happily put on his hat each morning and worked tirelessly to support his young family. Glennie never even needed to learn to drive as he saw to it that her every need and want was well attended to, and when the soles of his own shoes wore out during the Great Depression, he lined them with cardboard and went back to work. He did this out of neither obligation nor annoyance, but out of sheer duty and love first and foremost for his wife, and then their children. Glennie and Bernard Sr.’s love was the kind of uncommon, eternal love you’d only hear about in fairy tales or the ancient medieval ballads. It started and ended on paper: first at a party in the roaring twenties when a dashing, young Bernard passed a note to shy and beautiful Glennie suggesting they leave the dull “hens” at the get-together, and many decades later at Glennie’s funeral where she lay in a pale pink casket, and he eulogized her with words befitting to any empress or queen: ones I only wish I could come up with myself. Such love doesn’t come around often, but when it does, it touches all who are around it and is passed down by blood to any future heirs born of this sacred union. Sadly for Betty, the example set by her parents only set her up for disappointment in her marriage to Tony, the dashing serviceman she handpicked out of a wheelchair he had no need for. Their marriage produced her three daughters, Judith Anne, Barbara Jeanne, and little Nancy Jayne. The marriage did not last, and Tony passed away before his time, but he likely knew her inside and out, for better or for worse, better than anyone else she ever encountered. Betty became a grandmother to Michael Anthony (25.July 1972-07.July 2007) far younger than she anticipated, and so she adopted the name Mimi which all of her other grandchildren to come, Jeffrey Damon, Brian Corey, Daniel Robert Alexander, Hannah Elizabeth, and Benjamin David Bernard knew her by. She loved dogs, owls, elegant pajamas, 7UP, underlining single words or entire phrases in birthday and graduation cards for extra emphasis, and film of all genres. When she cooked, she did it well, she was kind and patient with her daughters when they took ill, when she looked at you, she looked through you, and if she loved you, she showed it through constant, nagging worry. At the end of her life her hands were deformed by rheumatism, but her words and pale green eyes still had the power to pierce you to your soul, and I like to think that she knew it. Betty knew her entire life that there is something more to all of this which is poignantly indicated by the song she always told her daughter Nancy she wanted played at her funeral. She went on to have 7 great grandchildren, 6 of whom were born within her lifetime, 1 of whom (Nava Jayne) inherited a name she gave her own daughter, 1 of whom (Nolan Scott) inherited her unique green eyes, a shade or two darker than hers, and all of whom inherited her intelligence and regard for seeing, seeking, and learning. Betty, Mother, Mimi: your life mattered and was important to every one of us, even if you never came close to finding whatever it was that you were looking for in your long life, your eccentricities misunderstood and under-utilized. You were important as our mother, grandmother, and great grandmother; but also as a link in the unbroken chain of our ancestry which is now one link shorter. Our greatest hope is that now in your long sleep, you are again returned to the arms of Glennie and Bernard, whose love for one another and their offspring is perhaps, in the end, the answer to all of your questions, the fulfillment to every void. We love and remember you still, and we hope you found what you spent all those years looking for.

She passed away in the early hours of the third birthday of her great granddaughter Nava Jayne: and whether by sheer twist of fate; ironic serendipity or by the hand of He who created her, Betty’s house on 19th Place; the silent witness to it all, was destroyed in a powerful, Wizard-of-Oz-like storm shortly thereafter.

“Somewhere over the rainbow, skies are blue And the dreams that you dare to dream really do come true.”

Photo shared: 18527520_10154893356387639_4500310706402028755_n.jpg

Thu, 28 Apr 2022 11:24:18 EDT

Mimi with my hauntingly beautiful mother, Nancy, on her wedding day to my father on 25. April, 1981.

Book of Memories for Betty C. Holtzmaster

Story shared: For Mimi.

Photo shared: 18527520_10154893356387639_4500310706402028755_n.jpg