On Saturday February 22, 2025 after a brief illness, Alice Madeline Finley left the ninety-two (and a half) year old body that had begun to put too many limitations on her indomitable, grand, and joyful spirit. Her daughter and other surviving family members will miss her terribly—and this includes Smokey, the feline she generously (yet reservedly) allowed into her home (and did come to admire, bestowing upon him the special name he now takes great pride in: Cat).
Alice was born on July 29, 1932, in Manhattan—something she took great pride in—to two relatively newlywed parents, Joseph and Alice (Henry) Ovies, previously from Ohio (although for Joe it was a bit more complicated than that). She would move several times in her young life, witnessing the aurora borealis when it came down to North Arlington, New Jersey in 1938 as well as the Hurricane of that same year; visiting farms outside Columbus with her Bapaw as he sought the best ears of corn; and having ice skates thrown at her by a nun at Shrine of the Little Flower in Royal Oak, Michigan.
“Never turn down an opportunity for travel,” she’d say, and she certainly never did. After attaining her master’s in psychology at the University of Michigan and working as a juvenile court psychologist in Oakland County, she took a year to help out her parents in Chile while her father worked to set up a factory for the Ford Motor Company. Later, she would live in and travel throughout Spain, and particularly enjoyed Barcelona as well as Asturias, where her grandparents were from.
One gray Michigan day in early spring, she watched clouds drift westward and decided to follow. She drove through the southwest as far as San Diego, California but then, after a time, felt she had gone too far—and so she settled in Phoenix, Arizona, at a time in the early 1970s when the air was still clear, and the nights were refreshingly cool and full of stars. She worked as a psychologist for the state of Arizona’s Vocational Rehabilitation until her marriage to the man she met there, Dr. Judson Robert Finley.
She became a stepmother to his son, Jonathan, and housemate to a parrot (briefly), a stubborn German shepherd, and a cat that liked to snap off daffodil blooms (which might account for the reticence where Smokey was concerned). Later, she and Jud had one daughter, Rebecca, and adopted a shelter dog, Happy—and many, many good years were enjoyed by all.
Alice chaired the Board at their housing community, fought to improve the situation at her daughter’s public schools, drove her far and wide through increasing traffic and congestion to various extracurricular activities, and supported neighbors and friends with her unfailingly good advice and her compassionate, generous heart.
She continued to do that after the family moved from Tempe to Ashland, Oregon, where she loved experiencing four seasons again and walking the friendly, scenic streets and up into Lithia Park, where intentional creekside design transitions into natural woodland. Over those years she made too many friends to count and became even closer to her beloved sister-in-law, when June and her husband Bill Lipe gathered with their friends each summer to attend the Oregon Shakespeare Festival.
When Jud wanted to return to his childhood home of Santa Barbara, California, for his last years, Alice didn’t hesitate despite her deep love for the home she would leave behind. She handled the challenges of those years with grace, determination, and unfailing optimism—and found both solace and joy in being so close to the ocean. (The abundance of great restaurants and quality produce helped, too.)
After Jud’s passing in 2012, she and Rebecca returned to Ashland and set about improving their home and small yard—as well as trying to improve the city itself. Many letters to the editor and city council were written in support of senior citizens, parks and recreation, and public art which would serve as a true reflection of Ashland’s unique character.
When lightning struck outside the city and started yet another fire on the day they were hosting a garden tour, it seemed to be a final sign. Shortly after, she and Rebecca followed her nephew David and his family to Holland, Michigan—and set about improving their new home and its astonishingly large and neglected yard. “It’s like having our own park,” she’d say, with a sense of overwhelm which eventually became awe and, always, joy.
A steadfast friend, brilliant thinker, and fierce protector, Alice was passionately curious about…everything, really. People, society, nature, you name it. A bright and insightful conversationalist, an interested listener (although not always patient, because her mind was usually three steps ahead and already problem-solving). Creative, intuitive, kind. Beautiful, inside and out.
Her love was—and is—as big as life itself, and to have known her is to miss her now and always.
She is survived by her daughter, Rebecca Finley; stepson Jonathan Finley and wife Carolyn and his two children; sister Elinor Ovies; brother-in-law William Lipe; sister-in-law Kathy Ovies; and numerous nieces and nephews—including David Ovies, his wife Summer, and their two dearly loved children Evarist and Alice.
Cremation will take place and no services are planned. Arrangements are by Dykstra Funeral Homes-Mulder Chapel.
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