Obituary: George Lowe (1934-2015)
Georgia Lowe was born in 1934. Resort owner, tennis player, writer, fierce Democrat, friends for life with our dad, Neil Kelly, wife of the late jazzman, John Lowe, mother and friend. Survived by a son, Tim, a daughter, Kathy, two golden retrievers, and an amazing circle of friends . . .
As we sit here struggling to find words, the facts that shaped our mom’s life seem so hollow. And writing an obituary for a writer is fraught with peril (yes Mom, we know, the sentence began with “And”), a minefield of clichés that would have made her reach for a second glass of wine with eyes rolling.
Mom had a wonderful circle of friends on the Eastside. Talented, witty and kind, many have posted wonderful descriptions in social media: that she was feisty, fiercely independent, and a mentor who pretty much always did it “her way.”
To be sure, these descriptions ring true. But they only hint at the core truth of Mom: everything she did, she did with everything she had. A trite description, and we can hear her scoff a little, but nonetheless true. If a week in the Sierra is good, why not buy Tioga Pass Resort? If playing tennis is fun, why not be a pro? Tap dancing looks like a kick, why not build a dance studio in the house? Why not learn to fly?
Why not write and publish novels? So began her newest love, Lucky Dime Press and her novels The Bonus and The Kid.
The great philosopher Marshal McLuhan once wrote of media that “the medium is also the message.” That is to say the way a piece of art or a novel or music is structured is part of the message conveyed by the piece. Mom’s very life was structured by her readiness to throw it all in with every hand dealt her by life. Even in her last year, as her body failed around her, she played her last hand to the fullest, standing fast in her beloved home.
Mom was working on a third novel when she passed. One concept she played with had Bonnie and Myrna, two characters from her first novel, jailbreaking out of a nursing home and barnstorming across the country in a stolen biplane.
Mom did just that, we suspect, jailbreaking from a body battered by a life lived to the limit and barnstorming now with her beloved Johnny Lowe and a pack of dogs, giddy with the adventures to come.
At her request there is no formal memorial. She’d far prefer to be remembered while you are hiking with your dogs, having lively conversation with friends, drinking a glass of wine or reading a good book. Vote Democrat!
– Kate Kelly
