The postings on this site are my own and don't necessarily represent IBM's positions, strategies or opinions.
I Felt Compelled to Say Something
Standing in the largest Jewish cemetery I've ever seen, in Valhalla, New York, yesterday afternoon, I said to Rickee's husband, gesturing sweepingly at my suit with my hand, "Rickee made me look good!"
Rickee's husband, who was a grieving stranger to me, took my hand and kissed it. As he kissed my hand, I kissed his cheek and said, "I'm sorry for our loss."
A tall, white-haired man broke in and said, "I have to go, Roy, but...."
The older man was already delivering his message, as I spoke the rest of my statement loudly into the air while turning to go, "She was like a big sister, dressing me."
Showing posts with label Rickee Oleet. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Rickee Oleet. Show all posts
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Monday, September 22, 2008
Rickee Oleet is Gone
The postings on this site are my own and don't necessarily represent IBM's positions, strategies or opinions.
May She Rest in Peace
Today, I received e-mail from Scott Mitchell of Richard's, letting me know that Rickee Oleet, who helped outfit me in suave clothes for work over the past seven years, died of cancer on Saturday. She had great taste and was a mensch.
I hope to go to the memorial service on Tuesday afternoon. I'll wear a suit that Rickee found for me.
Today, I'm wearing a jacket she suggested a few years ago, and pants she found for me more than half a decade ago. Rickee was sensible in her manner and stylish in her design-sense.
My mother said she'd go with me to the service. Clothing is a way I express myself. My mother has great taste, too. If my mother dies before me, I'll need to carry on the tradition of dressing appealingly. Both of my parents had and have great fashion-sense.
This afternoon, right after I found out about Rickee, I saw one of my colleagues, who always looks great, and I asked him, "Do you also shop at Richard's?"
He reached his jacket behind his office door and showed me the Richard's label inside.
"Well, I just found out that the woman, who helped me for years died this weekend and I'm thinking of going to the memorial service, though it's right in the middle of our day."
"That doesn't sound irrational to me," he said.
"Picture if the guy, who helps you find what you need were to die."
He nodded.
Rickee was like another mother on a small scale. Who else clothes you? (Of course, I paid her to do so, but....) I liked her positive way. I could come in only once every several years and she treated me as though I had never left.
Why are some people struck with cancer? Why do some die from it while others survive?
May She Rest in Peace
Today, I received e-mail from Scott Mitchell of Richard's, letting me know that Rickee Oleet, who helped outfit me in suave clothes for work over the past seven years, died of cancer on Saturday. She had great taste and was a mensch.
I hope to go to the memorial service on Tuesday afternoon. I'll wear a suit that Rickee found for me.
Today, I'm wearing a jacket she suggested a few years ago, and pants she found for me more than half a decade ago. Rickee was sensible in her manner and stylish in her design-sense.
My mother said she'd go with me to the service. Clothing is a way I express myself. My mother has great taste, too. If my mother dies before me, I'll need to carry on the tradition of dressing appealingly. Both of my parents had and have great fashion-sense.
This afternoon, right after I found out about Rickee, I saw one of my colleagues, who always looks great, and I asked him, "Do you also shop at Richard's?"
He reached his jacket behind his office door and showed me the Richard's label inside.
"Well, I just found out that the woman, who helped me for years died this weekend and I'm thinking of going to the memorial service, though it's right in the middle of our day."
"That doesn't sound irrational to me," he said.
"Picture if the guy, who helps you find what you need were to die."
He nodded.
Rickee was like another mother on a small scale. Who else clothes you? (Of course, I paid her to do so, but....) I liked her positive way. I could come in only once every several years and she treated me as though I had never left.
Why are some people struck with cancer? Why do some die from it while others survive?
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