Deanna Kathleen Paulat

September 23, 1938 – June 17, 2025

Born in Portland, Oregon, parents Joseph Grant Bown and Elizabeth Nadine Bown, an only child, survived by her three children Timothy Paulat and his former wife Janiece Paulat and their daughter April Paulat, Tamara Paulat and her husband David Pinson, and Jeffrey Paulat and his wife Ioana Bugariu Paulat and their two children Max and Anna Paulat.

From her daughter, Tamara: As a child, I used to believe our little family was the weird one, the outlier. After all, we were the first kids in school to have divorced parents long before it was the norm. We were the weird kids in school with special lunch tickets, food subsidized by the district to help families in need. Deanna had to care for us all on her own, three little ones who needed her desperately. She cared for us with every bit of her being, and she did so with dignity and grace. She rose above challenges of being a single mother at a time when it was frowned upon and showed us the meaning of forging our own way, of being true to each other, of living a life with meaning and love.

As it turned out, we were a weird little family, but in a magical way.

The magic that Deanna instilled in us was that of imagination, camaraderie and a sense of awe for the world around us. It was the four of us, our own little club, since we felt as if we weren’t like other families. As we grew up and developed into adults from the solid foundations she so generously gave us, we were able to go out there and each of us, in our own way, live a life of imagination, camaraderie and with a sense of awe for the world around us. Our little club enabled us to reach for the stars and each of us embrace our inner Deanna, that is to say, we were true to ourselves. It turned out we were not the poor little family, rather we were rich beyond measure. This was all her doing.

Though her immediate family was certainly her tribe, she looked for other human connections throughout her adult life. For a time she was a proud member of the Elks. Years later she found her people, the Red Hat Ladies and her beloved card playing club, many of whom are among us today. She cherished these groups and looked forward to her weekly game day – so much so it was forbidden to make plans with her on Tuesdays. We as her family are so grateful she forged these connections with an amazing group of people, you all.

Deanna was a lover of pinecones, the color periwinkle blue, cherries, silver décor and mirrors, rhinestones and glitter. She was a lover of autumn foliage, Jello salads and pickled things. She loved full moons and finding constellations on a summer night, pussy willows, crystals and a well-organized Excel spreadsheet documenting daily life from bills paid to every solitaire score achieved. She was a lover of murder mysteries, maps, puzzles, Far Side cartoons and pink lipstick. She was a lover of driftwood and catchy musicals. She loved her steak well-done. We would have to wait an extra 20 minutes for our food when we went out to eat at Sayler’s Old Country Kitchen while her meal was massacred. We teased her but she was ever a good sport about it, and she did it her way, being true to herself.

She was a creator. She made this ring I am wearing when she was only in high school. She was an artist, painting landscapes and flower arrangements that resonated with her. She loved winter landscapes; she lived in Anchorage, Alaska as a young woman, after all. She loved color coordinated outfits, decorating her home for each holiday and color themed Christmases. Boxes of ornaments in our home were categorized by color, marked on the outside with “red, pink, green, blue” for ease in achieving the perfect theme.

The beach was her favorite place on earth; she longed to live there. There was never a bad day when visiting the Oregon Coast. She was a lover of smoked salmon with cream cheese on Ritz crackers, a treat I remember eating in our old yellow GM Matador while watching the waves crash against the rocks at Depoe Bay. Crab was about her favorite food. She collected seashells, interesting rocks and beach glass. She dried wildflowers to make into cards and bouquets.

She loved the sound of wind high up in fir trees and the smell of wood smoke. Always a lady, she pushed pearls on each of the women in her family. Chanel no. 5 was hands down her favorite perfume. She played piano her entire life and was quite good at it. She loved well-made turkey stuffing, strawberry freezer jam and the scent of hyacinths. A favorite saying of hers was “If I had two loaves of bread I would sell one to buy hyacinths to feed my soul.” She loved Archaeology magazine and passed on old copies to us. She said if she had to do it over again she would have studied archaeology, no doubt she would have kicked ass. Had she had better mobility, she would have loved to travel, retaining a curiosity and sense of awe for the world until the very end.

She was a lover of questions and sprinkled them generously in her conversations. She was a fan of green bananas, halibut fish & chips and trying new recipes. For my 30th birthday she made me cioppino, an Italian fish stew I love. It was also the very last thing she ever made for us a couple of months ago, and boy was it delicious. She never lost her touch.

She was a lover of detail; she could spot a cat hair on my shirt 16 feet away. She would “cat” us – when we wanted to talk about something potentially serious or requiring her attention by overriding our conversation and squealing about what her cats were doing at that moment. “Oh, you should see what Blackie and Snickers are doing right now, they are SO CUTE!” She loved cats, her cats, more than anything else. When we kids mused “what animal would you like to be if you were reincarnated?” We had an obvious answer ready to go. “As one of Mom’s cats” because they lived the good life. Her heart was huge especially when it came to animals, quietly supporting many cat rescue organizations throughout her life.

She never wavered from speaking about her own death and what we needed to do when that day came, a nod to her pragmatic side. When we were little kids she told us repeatedly, with absolutely no morbid undertone, that the song she wanted played at her funeral was Morning Has Broken by Cat Stevens. We honored that wish, imagining that she was smiling down on us saying “you remembered.” Recently she shared with my brother and sister-in-law that she wasn’t afraid to die. She said gleefully “I’ll be singing in heaven’s choir with the angels!” As she sang in the choir and with Sweet Adelines as a young woman, it came as a comfort to us. She always had a beautiful singing voice, after all. In fact, she adored harmonies in music and would try to get us to harmonize with her when we were little, family sing-a-longs. As we got older this morphed into singing along with the harmonic sounds of such bands as Alice in Chains, ABBA and the Mamas and Papas. As long as the harmony was good, she was in and would sing right along. She was true to herself.

It is so comforting to me that the last food she tasted was Ioana and Jeffrey’s strawberry freezer jam. I love that the last flower she smelled was daphne from my own garden. I love that the last scent she smelled was orange blossom perfume from Ioana, a scent she adored. I love that the last music she heard was Don’t Fence Me In sung by Gene Autrey, a Bach cello suite performed by YoYo Ma, a Chopin nocturne, Clare de Lune, some fine harmonies by the Mamas and the Papas and ABBA. And of course, Morning Has Broken by Cat Stevens. The final tune she ever heard was the oldest known melody in human history, called Hurrian Hymn no. 6 from circa 1400 BCE. A fitting sendoff and hauntingly beautiful song.

Deanna and all of her magic is everywhere in our world. She is in the birdbath we were gifted from her home. She is in her kitty Snickers whom we adopted when she was so ill. She is in the Tupperware she gave us last Christmas. She is in the artwork she painted for me, hanging in our home. She is in the stardust we see in the night sky. She lived a life with meaning; she was a warrior with style. She was true to herself to the very end, living as she wished. She was many people to us all, a mother, grandmother, cousin, kitty mommy, mother-in-law, aunt, teacher, employee, boss, neighbor – the common denominator is that she was, to us all, a friend. Now she is all of these and most importantly, after 31,679 days on planet Earth, she is now a choir singer, belting out ABBA harmonies in the symphony of the heavens.