Next Tuesday marks the third anniversary of the passing of my best friend, Muff Larson, God rest her soul.
Last week there were a plethora of Irish shows on PBS about Ireland, Irish music, Irish history and language and Irish artists and authors. I recorded several on our DVR and tried my best to watch them all, though it was hard because as Tommy Makem was extolling the virtues of the Irish landscape and historic places, I kept thinking I could call Muff on the phone and tell her about this great program that was on, and hope she could watch it so that we could discuss it. Then comes the pain of realization that I will never be able to call her again, hear her voice, chat with her about all and sundry, laugh about our foibles, and share as friends. Then I cry, and wonder why, again, such a wonderful person was taken from this world too soon.
I hope you're having a marvelous craic wherever you are, my friend.
You are still dearly missed.
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Happy Birthday, Muff
Yesterday would have been Muff's 49th birthday.
I would have called her, wished her a happy birthday and we could have talked for at least a few hours about all kinds of things, from books to writing to her family and her wonderful job at the Marshalltown Library.
I would have sent her a gift of some kind, usually something with an Irish theme, and some books, of course, because we shared a deep love of reading.
She would have scoffed at all the new E-book readers, such as the iPad, and we would have claimed solidarity in our choice of having real books in hand to enjoy.
My bright star and friend has been gone for two years and two months, and I still miss her all the time. I think of her often, and wish I could talk to her just once more.
There are not enough words to describe the hole left in my soul.
I would have called her, wished her a happy birthday and we could have talked for at least a few hours about all kinds of things, from books to writing to her family and her wonderful job at the Marshalltown Library.
I would have sent her a gift of some kind, usually something with an Irish theme, and some books, of course, because we shared a deep love of reading.
She would have scoffed at all the new E-book readers, such as the iPad, and we would have claimed solidarity in our choice of having real books in hand to enjoy.
My bright star and friend has been gone for two years and two months, and I still miss her all the time. I think of her often, and wish I could talk to her just once more.
There are not enough words to describe the hole left in my soul.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Second Anniversary
Yesterday was the second anniversary of my best friend's death.
Yes, I still miss her.
I found this news item that I know she would have loved, because she would have been thrilled that our new president was a reader, and that he bought books in our home state of Iowa (in Iowa City, which isn't too far from Marshalltown).
In raw video http://news.shelf-awareness.com/ct.jsp?uz3642037Biz9365843, see the
Customer-in-Chief at Prairie Lights last Thursday.
Yes, I still miss her.
I found this news item that I know she would have loved, because she would have been thrilled that our new president was a reader, and that he bought books in our home state of Iowa (in Iowa City, which isn't too far from Marshalltown).
In raw video http://news.shelf-awareness.com/ct.jsp?uz3642037Biz9365843, see the
Customer-in-Chief at Prairie Lights last Thursday.
Saturday, March 6, 2010
Coming Up on the Second Anniversary
In roughly three weeks it will be the 2nd anniversary of Muff's death.
Though the 'hole' she left behind in my heart hasn't healed completely, it is less painful than it was two years ago.
Still, not a week goes by that I don't think of her, and remember what a good friend she was to me.
She would have enjoyed being on Facebook and chatting with me about books and libraries. She would have commiserated with me through the hard financial times my family has slogged through for the past two years, and she would have rejoiced in Nick's growth and accomplishments. She was, and I like to believe still is, his godmother.
She gave me sane and rational advice when I needed it, laughed with me about life's absurdities, and we'd cry together over the loneliness she felt in not having a life partner or someone to love who could share her appreciation of books, music, Dr Who, writing, Cyrano De Bergerac and all things Irish.
I will miss her 'sagas' and her wit, the way she ate a sandwich (she tore it into bits and ate like a mouse, in small bites) the way she would poke holes in pomposity, pretentiousness, ignorance and prejudice. She couldn't bear the fact that children were going hungry when she could help, so she sponsored a child in a third world country. She also wrote to the troops, because she felt compelled to lift their spirits and let them know they were not forgotten back home in the US.
She was remarkable, talented, brilliant and a wonderful friend who died too soon.
And she lives on in my memory.
Though the 'hole' she left behind in my heart hasn't healed completely, it is less painful than it was two years ago.
Still, not a week goes by that I don't think of her, and remember what a good friend she was to me.
She would have enjoyed being on Facebook and chatting with me about books and libraries. She would have commiserated with me through the hard financial times my family has slogged through for the past two years, and she would have rejoiced in Nick's growth and accomplishments. She was, and I like to believe still is, his godmother.
She gave me sane and rational advice when I needed it, laughed with me about life's absurdities, and we'd cry together over the loneliness she felt in not having a life partner or someone to love who could share her appreciation of books, music, Dr Who, writing, Cyrano De Bergerac and all things Irish.
I will miss her 'sagas' and her wit, the way she ate a sandwich (she tore it into bits and ate like a mouse, in small bites) the way she would poke holes in pomposity, pretentiousness, ignorance and prejudice. She couldn't bear the fact that children were going hungry when she could help, so she sponsored a child in a third world country. She also wrote to the troops, because she felt compelled to lift their spirits and let them know they were not forgotten back home in the US.
She was remarkable, talented, brilliant and a wonderful friend who died too soon.
And she lives on in my memory.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Quote
That loss is common would not make
My own less bitter, rather more:
Too common! Never morning wore
To evening, but some heart did break.
--Tennyson, In Memoriam
My own less bitter, rather more:
Too common! Never morning wore
To evening, but some heart did break.
--Tennyson, In Memoriam
Monday, July 27, 2009
Muff Would Have Loved This Book
This is how I believe my best friend passed from this world:
"It is not the end.
She died that night. Her last breath took her soul, I saw it in my dream. I saw her soul leave her body as she exhaled, and then she had no more needs, no more reason; she was released from her body, and being released, she continued her journey elsewhere, high in the firmament where soul material gathers and plays out all the dreams and joys of which we temporal beings can barely conceive,all the things that are beyond our comprehension, but even so, are not beyond our attainment if we choose to attain them, and believe that we truly can."
From "The Art of Racing in the Rain" by Garth Stein
I think that Muff believe her dog Kelly was a human covered in a dog suit, and she would have understood Enzo, the dog that narrates this book. He longs to be reincarnated as a human. His final thoughts are these:
"When I return to this world, I will be a man. I will walk among you. I will lick my lips with my small, dexterous tongue. I will shake hands with other men, grasping firmly with my opposable thumbs. And I will teach people all that I know. And when I see a man or a woman or a child in trouble, I will extend my hand, both metaphorically and physically. I will offer my hand. To him. To her. To you. To the world. I will be a good citizen, a good partner in the endeavor of life that we all share."
Ibid.
And finally, she would have appreciated this excerpt about driving as a metaphor for life, because Muff really lived her life, and she was generous with the giving of herself to others and to humanity.
"I know this much about racing in the rain. I know it is about balance. It is about anticipation and patience. I know all of the driving skills that are necessary for one to be successful in the rain. But racing in the rain is also about the mind! It is about owning one's own body. About believing that one's car is merely an extension of one's body, about believing that the track is an extension of the car, and the rain is an extension of the track and the sky is an extension of the rain. It is about believing that you are not you; you are everything. And everything is you."
Ibid
"It is not the end.
She died that night. Her last breath took her soul, I saw it in my dream. I saw her soul leave her body as she exhaled, and then she had no more needs, no more reason; she was released from her body, and being released, she continued her journey elsewhere, high in the firmament where soul material gathers and plays out all the dreams and joys of which we temporal beings can barely conceive,all the things that are beyond our comprehension, but even so, are not beyond our attainment if we choose to attain them, and believe that we truly can."
From "The Art of Racing in the Rain" by Garth Stein
I think that Muff believe her dog Kelly was a human covered in a dog suit, and she would have understood Enzo, the dog that narrates this book. He longs to be reincarnated as a human. His final thoughts are these:
"When I return to this world, I will be a man. I will walk among you. I will lick my lips with my small, dexterous tongue. I will shake hands with other men, grasping firmly with my opposable thumbs. And I will teach people all that I know. And when I see a man or a woman or a child in trouble, I will extend my hand, both metaphorically and physically. I will offer my hand. To him. To her. To you. To the world. I will be a good citizen, a good partner in the endeavor of life that we all share."
Ibid.
And finally, she would have appreciated this excerpt about driving as a metaphor for life, because Muff really lived her life, and she was generous with the giving of herself to others and to humanity.
"I know this much about racing in the rain. I know it is about balance. It is about anticipation and patience. I know all of the driving skills that are necessary for one to be successful in the rain. But racing in the rain is also about the mind! It is about owning one's own body. About believing that one's car is merely an extension of one's body, about believing that the track is an extension of the car, and the rain is an extension of the track and the sky is an extension of the rain. It is about believing that you are not you; you are everything. And everything is you."
Ibid
Monday, June 1, 2009
Happy 48th Birthday, Muff
Today, June 1, would have been Muff's 48th birthday.
I wish she were still alive to celebrate it, and to get a goofy card from me and some oddball present that I would send her from the West Coast.
She was always gracious about receiving gifts, even when they were things she didn't like, or want, or know what to do with.
She once told me she'd gone through more than one Christmas getting boys toys, like a GI Joe action figure, instead of something a girl would want, so she always tried to make sure that she gave gifts that were fitting for the recipient, and she wanted to be gracious about getting presents that were well thought out by the giver.
One year at Clarke I'd given her a gift of some of her favorite whiskey and some Irish coffee mugs for making Irish coffee at home before summer break.
She was so happy with such a simple gift that I felt like an idiot for having given her other presents in the past.
Yet she never failed to give appropriate gifts to me or to my son once he was born.
She sent lovely books, like Blueberries for Sal, Make Way for Ducklings, Don't Let the Pidgeon Drive the Bus and Possum Come A Knockin' that had Nick crowing with delight every time they were read to him (and I had to read them over and over again, because he loved the stories so much). She predicted Nick would come to love the Captain Underpants series (he did) and she regaled me with tales of reading to her brothers when they were kids, as well as reading to children at the Marshalltown Library where she worked.
Muff was amazing with children, she seemed to know so much about them, how they thought and what they felt and needed that I always figured she'd get married and have children of her own once she got out of college. But it was not to be, and Muff never found a man to settle down with and have those wonderful offspring she could nurture.
Still, she often told me that she felt she'd raised Michael, Bear and Danny, her brothers, and that they'd turned out so well she felt a real sense of pride in them as men.
Though her loss still batters and buffets my soul, I hope that she will look kindly on me this week from Gods library, and help me heal swiftly and well from my Crohns surgery.
Meanwhile, I hope that she's having a heckuva party up there, and that they're serving Irish coffee.
I wish she were still alive to celebrate it, and to get a goofy card from me and some oddball present that I would send her from the West Coast.
She was always gracious about receiving gifts, even when they were things she didn't like, or want, or know what to do with.
She once told me she'd gone through more than one Christmas getting boys toys, like a GI Joe action figure, instead of something a girl would want, so she always tried to make sure that she gave gifts that were fitting for the recipient, and she wanted to be gracious about getting presents that were well thought out by the giver.
One year at Clarke I'd given her a gift of some of her favorite whiskey and some Irish coffee mugs for making Irish coffee at home before summer break.
She was so happy with such a simple gift that I felt like an idiot for having given her other presents in the past.
Yet she never failed to give appropriate gifts to me or to my son once he was born.
She sent lovely books, like Blueberries for Sal, Make Way for Ducklings, Don't Let the Pidgeon Drive the Bus and Possum Come A Knockin' that had Nick crowing with delight every time they were read to him (and I had to read them over and over again, because he loved the stories so much). She predicted Nick would come to love the Captain Underpants series (he did) and she regaled me with tales of reading to her brothers when they were kids, as well as reading to children at the Marshalltown Library where she worked.
Muff was amazing with children, she seemed to know so much about them, how they thought and what they felt and needed that I always figured she'd get married and have children of her own once she got out of college. But it was not to be, and Muff never found a man to settle down with and have those wonderful offspring she could nurture.
Still, she often told me that she felt she'd raised Michael, Bear and Danny, her brothers, and that they'd turned out so well she felt a real sense of pride in them as men.
Though her loss still batters and buffets my soul, I hope that she will look kindly on me this week from Gods library, and help me heal swiftly and well from my Crohns surgery.
Meanwhile, I hope that she's having a heckuva party up there, and that they're serving Irish coffee.
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