Yesterday I stopped at a sidewalk sale in front of our local Bartells Drug store, and as I was sifting through various items, I came across a White Shoulders perfume gift set.
I picked it up with the intention of purchasing it, because I immediately remembered how Muff loved that particular perfume.
A few seconds later it hit me that Muff is gone, and I can't send her any gifts.
I felt like someone had pierced my solar plexus with an ice pick.
My husband came to ask why I was standing in the same spot he'd left me, crying, and I all I could say was "She loved White Shoulders."
Just when I thought the pain of losing my best friend was receding, suddenly the loss is as fresh as if it only happened yesterday.
That pain, the horrible midriff-exploding pain, just came right back and reminded me how fragile our lives are, how fortunate I am to still be alive, and how alone I feel without Muff.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Iowa is Drowning
There have been a number of floods and drownings in Iowa in the last 10 days, and I've been watching the news with horror, as I see places like Cedar Rapids go under, and watch people try to salvage something from homes that are now covered in mud and debris.
My friend Roger called several times to tell me of his work sandbagging and helping people evacuate flood areas. Students and professors at the University of Iowa worked side by side for days pulling books out of the U of I library to save them from a watery fate, and there have been others who have tried to save books from the Cedar Rapids library. My mother grew up in small towns around Cedar Rapids, mostly in Monticello and Hopkinton, and she has been very upset about the state of things in her hometown.
I just know that if Muff were still alive, she'd be the first one out there, sandbagging, helping with the injured, saving books and doing whatever she could to help her fellow Iowans during the crisis. That's just the kind of person she was. She believed strongly in community, and in people relying on one another to make it through the hard times. She believed that things happened for a reason, and I know she would also be holding rosaries and lighting candles before mass for the victims of the floods.
When we were at Clarke, Muff was always getting me to sign up for all these humanitarian causes that I'd never heard of, but were integral to her idea of character and conscience. Before I met Muff, I'd never heard of Amnesty International, or Oxfam America, and I'd never worked in a Catholic Relief Workers soup kitchen on a regular basis. My political beliefs were somewhat nebulous, but Muff was having none of that, and would insist that I vote and keep abreast of what was going on locally and internationally.
I sincerely hope that she's working Angel Relief right now in Iowa, helping her brother Michael with the Cedar Rapids library, or giving a glimpse of hope to those who feel they've lost everything in the receeding waters.
My friend Roger called several times to tell me of his work sandbagging and helping people evacuate flood areas. Students and professors at the University of Iowa worked side by side for days pulling books out of the U of I library to save them from a watery fate, and there have been others who have tried to save books from the Cedar Rapids library. My mother grew up in small towns around Cedar Rapids, mostly in Monticello and Hopkinton, and she has been very upset about the state of things in her hometown.
I just know that if Muff were still alive, she'd be the first one out there, sandbagging, helping with the injured, saving books and doing whatever she could to help her fellow Iowans during the crisis. That's just the kind of person she was. She believed strongly in community, and in people relying on one another to make it through the hard times. She believed that things happened for a reason, and I know she would also be holding rosaries and lighting candles before mass for the victims of the floods.
When we were at Clarke, Muff was always getting me to sign up for all these humanitarian causes that I'd never heard of, but were integral to her idea of character and conscience. Before I met Muff, I'd never heard of Amnesty International, or Oxfam America, and I'd never worked in a Catholic Relief Workers soup kitchen on a regular basis. My political beliefs were somewhat nebulous, but Muff was having none of that, and would insist that I vote and keep abreast of what was going on locally and internationally.
I sincerely hope that she's working Angel Relief right now in Iowa, helping her brother Michael with the Cedar Rapids library, or giving a glimpse of hope to those who feel they've lost everything in the receeding waters.
Saturday, May 24, 2008
Incredible Yeats Exhibit
W.B. Yeats would have been a rock star, had he been born in our era. As it was, he was a delicious poet whose work has withstood the test of time. Muff was a huge Yeats fan, and she was enamored of Irelands National Art Gallery's hall of Yeats family portraits, where it became clear that William was the rogue of the family. She and I strolled through the gallery several times while in Ireland and enjoyed reading every bit of information we encountered on the famed poet. We also read about him at the Dublin Writers Museum.
Here's a link to a wonderful interactive web site on Yeats that Muff would have loved. Since I can't send it to her, will post it here:
The New Yorker's Book Bench
blog recommended an extraordinary online and interactive exhibit, "The
Life and Works of William Butler Yeats" at
the National Library of Ireland: "If the solitude and decidedly
after-hours lighting don't inspire a virtual snoop, the contents of the
halls will. Original art installations, such as one inspired by 'The
Stolen Child,' accompany explanatory video. But most thrilling is the
library's collection of Yeats manuscripts--the largest in the
world--scanned and magnified."
Here's a link to a wonderful interactive web site on Yeats that Muff would have loved. Since I can't send it to her, will post it here:
The New Yorker's Book Bench
blog recommended an extraordinary online and interactive exhibit, "The
Life and Works of William Butler Yeats
the National Library of Ireland: "If the solitude and decidedly
after-hours lighting don't inspire a virtual snoop, the contents of the
halls will. Original art installations, such as one inspired by 'The
Stolen Child,' accompany explanatory video. But most thrilling is the
library's collection of Yeats manuscripts--the largest in the
world--scanned and magnified."
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Muff's Birthday
My friend Muff was a Gemini, born on June 1, and she would have been 47 in just a few weeks.
Here's some information on twin sun signers that is fairly accurate for Muff, though she was very
serious and reserved a lot of the time in her later years. But I think that was part of her duality--her serious side and her witty side.
Gemini is the most lighthearted sign in the zodiac, hands down. The Twins' circle of acquaintances is as varied as their interests, so they see an awful lot of invitations. Of all the reasons we love to have our Gemini pals around, their wit comes first. These folks find humor in absolutely everything, and their ability to say what's on their minds in an extremely entertaining fashion is world-famous and well deserved. These word-wizards and storytellers are able to uncannily impersonate anyone and anything at the drop of a hat. That includes accents, gestures and subtle idiosyncrasies that no one else would ever notice -- but then, if Gemini were a business, its motto would be 'Details-R-Us.'
True to the nature of its ruling planet, Mercury, Gemini is also quite communicative. So during those rare times when these talkative Twins are actually alone and not chatting on the phone, IMing with a friend or answering their voluminous email, they're probably on the phone or the Internet, or poking away at their Blackberries with a vengeance. If not, Geminis will manage to keep those restless minds active by doodling or solving puzzles and word games.
As for the dualities this sign is famous for? They're all true. In reality, there are a lot more than just two sides to the average Gemini, and each facet of this versatile sign has a fascinating story to tell. All that being said, it's easy to see that the one thing they just can't stand is being bored, tied down or isolated. 'Variety is the spice of life' is this sign's very own motto, and Gemini lives every second with that motto in mind.
So if you're a Gemini yourself, you know this all boils down to the fact that you can't stand being in a rut -- especially when it comes to relationships. Your sign has been called fickle more than once, but that's not fair. The Twins are perfectly capable of being faithful, as long as the person they're with is witty and interesting enough to keep them interested. No, it's not an easy task, but it's well worth it. Life with a Gemini is full of constant activity, endless movement and even more fun. And you can bet they won't scatter their affections if they can find someone who'll be willing to at least try to keep up. Gemini, whether you're a friend or a lover, you're one of the main reasons life on this planet can be fun for the rest of us -- so accept our thanks for just being you.
Here's some information on twin sun signers that is fairly accurate for Muff, though she was very
serious and reserved a lot of the time in her later years. But I think that was part of her duality--her serious side and her witty side.
Gemini is the most lighthearted sign in the zodiac, hands down. The Twins' circle of acquaintances is as varied as their interests, so they see an awful lot of invitations. Of all the reasons we love to have our Gemini pals around, their wit comes first. These folks find humor in absolutely everything, and their ability to say what's on their minds in an extremely entertaining fashion is world-famous and well deserved. These word-wizards and storytellers are able to uncannily impersonate anyone and anything at the drop of a hat. That includes accents, gestures and subtle idiosyncrasies that no one else would ever notice -- but then, if Gemini were a business, its motto would be 'Details-R-Us.'
True to the nature of its ruling planet, Mercury, Gemini is also quite communicative. So during those rare times when these talkative Twins are actually alone and not chatting on the phone, IMing with a friend or answering their voluminous email, they're probably on the phone or the Internet, or poking away at their Blackberries with a vengeance. If not, Geminis will manage to keep those restless minds active by doodling or solving puzzles and word games.
As for the dualities this sign is famous for? They're all true. In reality, there are a lot more than just two sides to the average Gemini, and each facet of this versatile sign has a fascinating story to tell. All that being said, it's easy to see that the one thing they just can't stand is being bored, tied down or isolated. 'Variety is the spice of life' is this sign's very own motto, and Gemini lives every second with that motto in mind.
So if you're a Gemini yourself, you know this all boils down to the fact that you can't stand being in a rut -- especially when it comes to relationships. Your sign has been called fickle more than once, but that's not fair. The Twins are perfectly capable of being faithful, as long as the person they're with is witty and interesting enough to keep them interested. No, it's not an easy task, but it's well worth it. Life with a Gemini is full of constant activity, endless movement and even more fun. And you can bet they won't scatter their affections if they can find someone who'll be willing to at least try to keep up. Gemini, whether you're a friend or a lover, you're one of the main reasons life on this planet can be fun for the rest of us -- so accept our thanks for just being you.
Friday, May 16, 2008
Oliver
"Someday, when we owe no more to the future, we will meet again."
Quote from a letter written by Jean Russell Larson, Muffs mother and famed childrens book author
Muff had a tenderly loved teddy bear named Oliver. She told me she'd had Oliver since she was a little girl, and she often called him "Odd Liver" and would position him with a good book on her bed, as if he could read it during the day while she was in class.
When something would go horribly wrong in our dorm room, Muff would sternly reprimand Oliver, telling him that, unlike Pooh, he was not a silly old bear, and he was expected to be a discerning gentleman bear. Oliver always looked suitably chastened. Muff once showed me how dancers never get dizzy by keeping their eyes on a spot on the wall while she demonstrated by twirling in a pirouette with Oliver, who cut quite a rug.
It was that sense of whimsy that endeared Muff to my heart so quickly, along with her sly wit and love of literature. She often told me that she felt like Rabbit from Winnie the Pooh tales, but she wanted to bounce like Tigger, yet she didn't want to be so irresponsible and undignified as the head-of-rubber and tail-of-spring critter. I was always a Winnie the Pooh type, in body shape if nothing else, and I used to be such a fluff head in the mornings that Muff would marvel at how long it would take me to put on my socks. She could go to several classes in the morning, come back and still find me with a sock in my hand, half asleep.
Muff had a strong sense of practicality and responsibility because she'd help raise her brothers, and she felt responsible for the well being of her whole family. She also had a sense of dignity and honor, and was steadfast in her morals. I learned a great deal from her on how to be more reserved and less wild and "out there" as a theater major can be...I also tended to say whatever was on my mind out loud, a bad habit that always got me into trouble. Muff once told me that tact was the ability to make a point without making an enemy, and I realized that, through my need to be honest, I often hurt peoples feelings. She taught me that sometimes silence is the best answer, and sometimes its better to err on the side of kindness rather than brutal truth. I miss having that moral compass so close at hand, when I could call her and sound out my ethical dilemmas.
She told me before I got married that she'd checked Jim out, and that he seemed like a good guy, but she had explained to him that if he hurt me, she'd find a way to make his life miserable. In that way, she made him realize that to her, I was part of her family, a person to be treasured and not forsworn. I remember joking to her years later that I was musing about having an affair, and she was vehement in telling me that I should do no such thing, because it would only cause pain to everyone involved, and that as long as I had someone to care for me through sickness and financial troubles and other difficulties, I should consider myself fortunate. She yearned to share her self with someone worthy, and was taken before she found him, but I know that she helped me rethink my priorities and my approach to ethical and spiritual problems many times. I will always be grateful to her for that.
Quote from a letter written by Jean Russell Larson, Muffs mother and famed childrens book author
Muff had a tenderly loved teddy bear named Oliver. She told me she'd had Oliver since she was a little girl, and she often called him "Odd Liver" and would position him with a good book on her bed, as if he could read it during the day while she was in class.
When something would go horribly wrong in our dorm room, Muff would sternly reprimand Oliver, telling him that, unlike Pooh, he was not a silly old bear, and he was expected to be a discerning gentleman bear. Oliver always looked suitably chastened. Muff once showed me how dancers never get dizzy by keeping their eyes on a spot on the wall while she demonstrated by twirling in a pirouette with Oliver, who cut quite a rug.
It was that sense of whimsy that endeared Muff to my heart so quickly, along with her sly wit and love of literature. She often told me that she felt like Rabbit from Winnie the Pooh tales, but she wanted to bounce like Tigger, yet she didn't want to be so irresponsible and undignified as the head-of-rubber and tail-of-spring critter. I was always a Winnie the Pooh type, in body shape if nothing else, and I used to be such a fluff head in the mornings that Muff would marvel at how long it would take me to put on my socks. She could go to several classes in the morning, come back and still find me with a sock in my hand, half asleep.
Muff had a strong sense of practicality and responsibility because she'd help raise her brothers, and she felt responsible for the well being of her whole family. She also had a sense of dignity and honor, and was steadfast in her morals. I learned a great deal from her on how to be more reserved and less wild and "out there" as a theater major can be...I also tended to say whatever was on my mind out loud, a bad habit that always got me into trouble. Muff once told me that tact was the ability to make a point without making an enemy, and I realized that, through my need to be honest, I often hurt peoples feelings. She taught me that sometimes silence is the best answer, and sometimes its better to err on the side of kindness rather than brutal truth. I miss having that moral compass so close at hand, when I could call her and sound out my ethical dilemmas.
She told me before I got married that she'd checked Jim out, and that he seemed like a good guy, but she had explained to him that if he hurt me, she'd find a way to make his life miserable. In that way, she made him realize that to her, I was part of her family, a person to be treasured and not forsworn. I remember joking to her years later that I was musing about having an affair, and she was vehement in telling me that I should do no such thing, because it would only cause pain to everyone involved, and that as long as I had someone to care for me through sickness and financial troubles and other difficulties, I should consider myself fortunate. She yearned to share her self with someone worthy, and was taken before she found him, but I know that she helped me rethink my priorities and my approach to ethical and spiritual problems many times. I will always be grateful to her for that.
Sunday, May 4, 2008
Thackery and Poetry
Kyrie - Mr. Mister
The wind blows hard against this mountainside
Across the sea into my soul
It reaches into where I cannot hide
Setting my feet upon the road
My heart is old it holds my memories
My baby burns a gemlike flame
Somewhere between the soul and soft machine
Is where I find myself again
Kyrie Eleison
Down the road that I must travel
Kyrie Eleison
Through the darkness of the night
Kyrie Eleison
Where I'm going will you follow
Kyrie Eleison
On a highway in the light
When I was young I thought of growing old
Of what my life would mean to me
Would I have followed down my chosen road
Or only wished what I could be
Muff LOVED the above song by Mister Mister when it came out in the 80s. She also loved their initial hit, Broken Wings, but this song seemed to speak to her soul. It was her "song of the year" that year, just as Crosby Stills and Nash's "Southern Cross" was my song that year. She was also fond of "Come on Eileen" by Dexies Midnight Runners and Squeeze's "Black Coffee in Bed." Only the coolest songs would do for Muff. None of that sticky pop stuff by Madonna or Bruce Springstein or the Police.
She also adored the works of William Makepeace Thackery, and was always reading and re-reading the Barchester Towers series, as well as Vanity Fair. Dickens was always on hand whenever she wanted to read aloud, of course, and she loved his stories of underdogs who triumph, but for her own pleasure reading, it was always Thackery. Muff wasn't a big fan of most routine poetry foisted on English majors, but she did enjoy Seamus Heaney, Oscar Wilde, Robert Frost, the odd bit of Byron, Keats or Shelley, and at times she could be seen reading Gray. She loved Poe, and hated Plath. She liked the wit of Dorothy Parker and the natural imagery of Walt Whitman. She always appreciated Milton and Blake more than I did, and could enjoy an EE Cummings poem, while Cummings always made me shudder. Yet I always had a thing for Carl Sandburg and Pablo Neruda poetry that Muff found bizarre, I think. Her favorite poet was William Butler Yeats, of course, and she could recite most of his ouvre by heart.
I found myself automatically buying a new kind of stationary with matching pens at the Dollar Tree yesterday for Muff to write to the troops, and I had to stop for a moment in the aisles and cry, because it hit me, painfully, in the heart again that she's gone, and no longer has need of pen and paper. Dear God how I miss you, my friend.
The wind blows hard against this mountainside
Across the sea into my soul
It reaches into where I cannot hide
Setting my feet upon the road
My heart is old it holds my memories
My baby burns a gemlike flame
Somewhere between the soul and soft machine
Is where I find myself again
Kyrie Eleison
Down the road that I must travel
Kyrie Eleison
Through the darkness of the night
Kyrie Eleison
Where I'm going will you follow
Kyrie Eleison
On a highway in the light
When I was young I thought of growing old
Of what my life would mean to me
Would I have followed down my chosen road
Or only wished what I could be
Muff LOVED the above song by Mister Mister when it came out in the 80s. She also loved their initial hit, Broken Wings, but this song seemed to speak to her soul. It was her "song of the year" that year, just as Crosby Stills and Nash's "Southern Cross" was my song that year. She was also fond of "Come on Eileen" by Dexies Midnight Runners and Squeeze's "Black Coffee in Bed." Only the coolest songs would do for Muff. None of that sticky pop stuff by Madonna or Bruce Springstein or the Police.
She also adored the works of William Makepeace Thackery, and was always reading and re-reading the Barchester Towers series, as well as Vanity Fair. Dickens was always on hand whenever she wanted to read aloud, of course, and she loved his stories of underdogs who triumph, but for her own pleasure reading, it was always Thackery. Muff wasn't a big fan of most routine poetry foisted on English majors, but she did enjoy Seamus Heaney, Oscar Wilde, Robert Frost, the odd bit of Byron, Keats or Shelley, and at times she could be seen reading Gray. She loved Poe, and hated Plath. She liked the wit of Dorothy Parker and the natural imagery of Walt Whitman. She always appreciated Milton and Blake more than I did, and could enjoy an EE Cummings poem, while Cummings always made me shudder. Yet I always had a thing for Carl Sandburg and Pablo Neruda poetry that Muff found bizarre, I think. Her favorite poet was William Butler Yeats, of course, and she could recite most of his ouvre by heart.
I found myself automatically buying a new kind of stationary with matching pens at the Dollar Tree yesterday for Muff to write to the troops, and I had to stop for a moment in the aisles and cry, because it hit me, painfully, in the heart again that she's gone, and no longer has need of pen and paper. Dear God how I miss you, my friend.
Friday, April 25, 2008
Rosary for Rosemarie
Muff once took me to the Sacred Heart Chapel at Clarke to experience a rosary. I tried to follow along, but it was difficult to stay awake because I'd been up til the wee hours of the morning memorizing lines and direction for a play I was in at the time. So, drowsy, I watched as the chapel seemed to transform into something luminous, with Muff and several nuns almost glowing as they recited Hail Marys and Our Fathers.
Flash forward to last Sunday, when my dear friend Jenny Zappala and her delightful mom Dixie came to their parish church, St Louise in Bellevue an hour and a half before mass to say a rosary with me for Muffs soul, now that she's passed beyond this veil of tears.
Muff would have laughed, I explained to Dixie and Jenny, to see me struggling to do a proper rosary in her honor. She knew what a klutz I was during mass, never knowing when to kneel, or stand, or sing or recite a response to the priest. Yet she also would have been touched and glad, I think, that I made the effort. She would have known that I'd risk looking like a dork in a huge Catholic Church because I loved her so very much.
At any rate, Dixie brought three pages of written instructions for us, because apparently she and Jenny hadn't actually completed a rosary for a long time. So there we were chanting hail Marys and Our Fathers and beseeching God to let Muffs soul sit at his right hand and be glorified. Jenny had a grief counselor from the church come and talk to us, and she lead us in a separate prayer, and was wonderfully comforting.
Then we attended evening mass, and the church was full of young people, the elderly and families, and full as well of song. This was a church that celebrated mass by lifting their voices to heaven! It was glorious and beautiful and I loved it. I also discovered that Jenny can sing like an angel! Who knew? Muff couldn't carry a tune in a bucket, bless her, though she was so talented at everything else she set her hand to. But she used to take singing lessons at Clarke, and learn to hear herself sing so she could discern if the notes were sounding right. Sadly, I think she also had a tin ear,or was tone deaf. That never stopped her from singing along with the Chieftans or the Irish Rovers when we were listening to their folk music.
We were joined at mass by Jenny's father, the witty Chuck Zappala. Jenny and her hubby Alex are joining her parents for a huge trip to the Zappala birthplace near Sicily, Italy next week, where Jenny and Alex will be staying for 2 weeks and Chuck and Dixie will be hanging out at the Zappala dairy and noshing on great cuisine with the Zappala clan for an entire month. I wish them great joy on their trip, and I hope meeting the Italian branch of the family is fulfilling and wonderful. I also hope they bring back great recipes for Alex to make and try out on those of us stuck back here in the USA.
Anyway, Muffs name was said in special intentions during mass, and Jenny and I lit a candle for her. I tried not to cry, but I was, of course, a sodden mess by the time we left the church. Yet I felt more at peace than I have since I picked up the telephone that awful Saturday morning and heard the news of Muffs demise. I felt that what Dixie told me after mass was true, that Muff would be my guardian angel now, and watch over me and my family.
Flash forward to last Sunday, when my dear friend Jenny Zappala and her delightful mom Dixie came to their parish church, St Louise in Bellevue an hour and a half before mass to say a rosary with me for Muffs soul, now that she's passed beyond this veil of tears.
Muff would have laughed, I explained to Dixie and Jenny, to see me struggling to do a proper rosary in her honor. She knew what a klutz I was during mass, never knowing when to kneel, or stand, or sing or recite a response to the priest. Yet she also would have been touched and glad, I think, that I made the effort. She would have known that I'd risk looking like a dork in a huge Catholic Church because I loved her so very much.
At any rate, Dixie brought three pages of written instructions for us, because apparently she and Jenny hadn't actually completed a rosary for a long time. So there we were chanting hail Marys and Our Fathers and beseeching God to let Muffs soul sit at his right hand and be glorified. Jenny had a grief counselor from the church come and talk to us, and she lead us in a separate prayer, and was wonderfully comforting.
Then we attended evening mass, and the church was full of young people, the elderly and families, and full as well of song. This was a church that celebrated mass by lifting their voices to heaven! It was glorious and beautiful and I loved it. I also discovered that Jenny can sing like an angel! Who knew? Muff couldn't carry a tune in a bucket, bless her, though she was so talented at everything else she set her hand to. But she used to take singing lessons at Clarke, and learn to hear herself sing so she could discern if the notes were sounding right. Sadly, I think she also had a tin ear,or was tone deaf. That never stopped her from singing along with the Chieftans or the Irish Rovers when we were listening to their folk music.
We were joined at mass by Jenny's father, the witty Chuck Zappala. Jenny and her hubby Alex are joining her parents for a huge trip to the Zappala birthplace near Sicily, Italy next week, where Jenny and Alex will be staying for 2 weeks and Chuck and Dixie will be hanging out at the Zappala dairy and noshing on great cuisine with the Zappala clan for an entire month. I wish them great joy on their trip, and I hope meeting the Italian branch of the family is fulfilling and wonderful. I also hope they bring back great recipes for Alex to make and try out on those of us stuck back here in the USA.
Anyway, Muffs name was said in special intentions during mass, and Jenny and I lit a candle for her. I tried not to cry, but I was, of course, a sodden mess by the time we left the church. Yet I felt more at peace than I have since I picked up the telephone that awful Saturday morning and heard the news of Muffs demise. I felt that what Dixie told me after mass was true, that Muff would be my guardian angel now, and watch over me and my family.
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