The Obituary of {Joey Rosedale}

Joey Rosedale, dead at 81.

Josephine “Joey” Rosedale passed away last week in her garden. A neighbor found her hunched over a bed of freshly-planted parsley, a wry smirk on her face, as if she was in on some cosmic inside joke. She is survived by her children, grandchildren, and a veritable army of friends, some of whom are still arguing over who gets Hen Solo and Peggy—Joey’s heritage chicken and irascible cat, respectively.

Ms. Rosedale’s memoir, Be the Weed, published in her 70th year, detailed her passion for cultivating misunderstood plants (i.e., weeds) as a guide to living a life beyond the borders of other folks’ expectations. Despite the relative success of her memoir, Ms. Rosedale self-published her book of photography Life Finds A Way in her 72nd year, as no self-respecting publisher wanted anything to do with an incoherent collection of plants popping up in sidewalk cracks, manhole covers, and rain gutters.

Ms. Rosedale married young but divorced after nearly three decades of abject boredom.

Ever the weed, she started her life over at 50, reclaimed her maiden name, showed up at social events despite being shunned by still-married friends, and taught herself how to ride a bike. She met Dr. Raoul, her partner of 24 years, while recovering in the hospital after crashing her bike into a parked mail truck. Ms. Rosedale was a hopeless romantic who craved independence. She rejected Dr. Raoul’s annual marriage proposal with the same gentle rebuff—“take me dancing and watch Annie Hall, and I’ll consider it.” He always complied; she never considered it. Dr. Raoul preceded his beloved Joey in death by six months.

Ms. Rosedale loved self-help books, therapy, and believed in the efficacy of Attachment Theory. A reformed “avoidant” herself, Ms. Rosedale was famous for giving dinner party guests attachment-style questionnaires to complete before dessert and then delivering the results over champagne, laughter, and unsolicited advice for any fellow “avoidants.”

Joey Rosedale…

Was hot-tempered but quick to apologize.

Cursed. A lot.

Loved to make breakfast for her grandkids.

Kept a journal.

Had wine with every dinner.

Was incapable of small talk.

Believed most problems could be resolved with a long walk.

Refused to watch reality TV or adult cartoons.

Enjoyed road trips and stopping in small towns that cropped up around the interstate.

Loathed hearing “no,” but freely deployed it herself.

Was never bored and never boring.

The world is a little quieter now.