Telephones, Opera House, Favorite Melodies...
Delia was adament.
"I never want to get old."
She wanted everyone to remember her young. Didn't want laugh lines. Or wrinkles. Or grey hairs.
We scoffed at this. We were teenagers and couldn't imagine any of us getting older. Let alone Delia.
Between the multiple speeding tickets and the multiple drinks and the multiple other things that were hinted at but never confirmed, she seemed the least likely to get old.
The news always takes you by surprise.
Especially since she gave up speeding. And drinking. And all drugs and most of her other vices.
Still, she didn't give up walking.
In a town where brakes fail. And trucks can't stop.
So Delia got her wish.
And word filtered out (in those pre-internet days) through a series of phone conversations, delivered haltingly up and down the east coast on a rainy, cold Sunday in the early Spring.
Today there'd be emails. And Facebook pages. And probably a website.
Back then the news flashed up, flared, and faded.
Delia loved David Bowie (although if she'd lived she probably would have hated much of his output from the last 20 years).
But today is Bowie's 65th birthday. And this was her favorite Bowie song:
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