vituary: jordan r.

My good friend, Jordan, just graduate from college. I can’t fathom that the little girl who needed help doing her homework is an adult.

But what a wonderful adult she has turned into. She is into birds. What is fun about her interest is that it has been 1. lifelong, and 2. it has given a structure to her life thus far which has allowed her to explore all kinds of other things through the lens of her love of birds. She has traveled all over the world to see birds and spent countless hours with her family in search of birds. She used birds as a vehicle to complete her Girl Scout Gold Award project. She has worked to preserve the habitat of birds and to use science to figure out why some birds are struggling.

She is gracious and fun to be around. In the last few years we have not spent as much time together as we did when she was little. But I have followed her growth into an engaged young adult who promises to do great things with her time here.

Congrats Jordan. May the world keep producing great people like you.

(Hat tip to Pam Rutter Photography for the picture.)

vituary: deni

Spending all this time with Oskar has me thinking a lot about my childhood. I spent my summers at Girl Scout camp, outside Augusta, Montana. Linda would put me on the plane, remember my father was a pilot so I could fly for free, and when I got to Montana someone from the Girl Scout council would pick me up. I was the camper who never went home on the weekends. I think Linda needed a break from me. Or maybe she wanted to get me away from some bad influences that existed at home...we will never know for sure.

I think back to that person and realize I was precocious and I am not quite sure I would have wanted to spend a lot of time with me. On the one hand, I was capable of flying alone across the country at age 9, but on the other, I was a know it all (still am).

My fondest memories of camp are with my most favorite camp counselor, Deni. I had lots of great female role models growing up. But Deni was the first woman to actually tell me and show me that I could do anything boys could do other than write my name in the snow with pee! She taught me how to use a knife, a hatchet, a scythe, and how to start a one-match fire. I learned how to flip a pancake with one hand over a fire with her. I went on my first back country hiking trips in the Bob Marshall Wilderness with her and learned how not to lose your shit when you were a) not where you were supposed to be when you were supposed to be there and b) confronted with lots of bear shit on the trail when you were not where you were supposed to be. We biked up and down and all the way around Lake Koocanusa, on the border with Canada. I learned to feel empathy for the camper among us who complained the loudest after learning she had lost her mother. I drove a car the first time with Deni. But most of all, we had fun together. She took me home to meet her parents. (Side story, her father was a trucker, as I remember, and when his trucking friends had clothes that needed to be mended, they could throw them out the window in front of their house and her mom would collect them, mend them, and then the guys could pick up the clothes on their way back. Lovely.)

Because I did not know that where were limits placed by society about what I could or could not do Deni was a perfect role model. I am sure there were times when she was probably tired of me, but I don’t think I ever tired of her. All told we spent 7 summers together.

Really, I want to say thank you for putting up with me and for teaching me survival skills that transferred way beyond Girl Scout Camp.

sad vituary

My friend Beth will most likely leave this world soon. I say this even though I am of the "you are either alive or dead, but never dying" camp. I wrote this for her book of memories she received last week.

I believe that only passionate people can have big dreams. Years ago when Beth and I started at POGO, we butted heads, but now I realize it was only because we both cared a lot about the work POGO was doing and continues to do. When I think of Beth I see her with the painting of Lady Liberty she always had in her office. The picture is just of the statue’s head but I really think that symbolizes Beth’s work: the liberty to expect that all government to be good government. I know now it is an honor to work with people dedicated to a cause.

Thank you for your dedication and friendship throughout the years Beth.

Vituary/Obituary: Nana and Papa

I sent this letter to my best friend in grade school's and my adopted grandpa, Papa about my memories of he and his wife, Nana, when I was little. Then, as now, I did not have a Southern Accent...so many of you won't know I was actually born in Atlanta. Nana passed away a few months ago.


My earliest memories of you and Nana were of the pool, naturally. There were rules for Jodi and I to follow: hang your towel up on the railing. Don’t come into the house wet. Make sure Jodi has her earplugs in. It is funny how, after all these years, I can still remember these rules. I can still remember your phone number by heart too.

I remember being in awe that my best friend, Jodi’s grandfather was the Mayor of Sugar Hill. I knew the Mayor! I even slept at his house. I might have even gotten the idea from you that I, too, could someday hold a public office. Jodi always slept so late: I would get up early and spend time with you watching football, and waiting for Jodi to get up. In exchange I got to spend time with you and Nana.

I loved eating at your house. Nana made the best eggs I have ever had, even to this day. Jodi and I would sit there cutting our piece of cheese in to small little squares. And, we were allowed to eat Peanut Butter Captain Crunch until the roofs of our mouths were all scraped up. I remember all of the times you tried to get me to eat grits, or to get either Jodi or I to eat your squirrel stew.

It was at your house, I watched Anne Richards, the then governor of Texas, deliver her iconic line: "Poor George, he can't help it. He was born with a silver foot in his mouth.” You know the Democratic Convention was not on at my house! It worked: I vote Democrat today.

I remember Nana sewing, smoking, and drinking a coke with ice in it many a night. I can still hear Nana’s voice: “Jooodie, what are you doin?” That voice meant trouble. Stop what you are doing before you have to get a switch.

I remember Sundays spent driving over to either your mother’s house or maybe even your grandmother’s house. I can’t remember going in, but I remember the sun shining, and her coming out to say hello to us. And I remember boilt peanuts bought from a guy selling them on the side of the road. He would just appear and you would ask us if we wanted some. I guess now you knew were he was and went there on purpose. Then I thought it was just magic.

My memory of how you and Nana got married goes like this: You were both in high school, sweethearts and dating. A whole group of you and your friends eloped, maybe even around prom, so that the high school could not kick you all out of high school. That might be the first instance of mass demonstration I ever heard of.

I remember following you around at Bulldog football games, watching the cheerleaders, wanting dearly to be one when I grew up.

I remember you letting Jodi drive the truck, and how envious I was! I so wanted to drive! Years later, when my brother Montana was about her age, I let him drive my car down our driveway. He holds that memory dear.

You and Nana worked together, loved each other, and remain in my memory as an example of how a good relationship built on friendship and love can be successful. I have always thought of and told people that you and Nana were my extra grandparents. Papa, you are the closest thing I have ever had to a grandfather.

Thank you for all of your love, your little Yankee.

Vituary: Ramona

How do I decide when to write a vituary? At the beginning of the project I expected I would start at one end of my friend list and work through them. This has not proved to be the case.

So I suppose I write vituary’s when I feel like it. But that seems so ridiculous, writers have to write all the time, not just when they feel like it.

But wait, this is not about me, it is about Ramona. Ramona and I met and became friends a little more than 10 years ago. She is from Montana and we connected through Girl Scouts. Looking back through old Girl Scout pictures though, I found her photo, so we must have met before then sometime. Her sister was my camp counselor for years and her mother lead the Girl Scout council in Montana.

But we did not really connect until I moved to DC. Through the years we have had many an adventure together: from the first time I went to her house and kept getting lost for 4 HOURS, to moving her 80+ year old friend, to shopping at Nordstrom Rack, to road trips to New York and the Eastern Shore, to retrieving lost mufflers on the side of the road in the middle of the night. We were “Montana sisters.” She was there when Linda died and then when Jack died. She always would pick up the phone for me.

Until she didn’t.

Which I suppose is the impetus for this vituary.

If the purpose of the vituary is to tell people you love, why you love them, before they are dead, the corollary is that the person must listen.

So, I love Ramona because she is crazy, because she can drink most men I know under the table, because she came to visit me in Germany, because she spends her life doing all good things for other people, because she started her own business, because she can tell a really sad story and make you laugh at the end, because she too can start a one-match fire, because she is grounded and frugal, because she talked to me for hours about men who should not have mattered, and because she always picked up the phone.

Vituary: Nicole S.

Because of my selective memory, I often remember things more by the way they made me feel than exactly what happened. I remember feeling apprehensive about having quit my job and the move to New York. I realized immediately that I could not live without both friends and a TV. And since I had no friends yet, I went to the Kmart in White Plains, New York to get an electronic friend of sorts, a TV. Luckily, the TV was not my only friend for long. In the first week of law school I met my friend Nicole.

We have the same name. Her mom thought our voice mail for our house line should have said, “If you want to speak to Nicole, press one. If you want to speak to Nicole, press 2.” We were so poor when we lived together, we did not have a house line, so this was a moot point.

Our first road trip together could have ruined our friendship. I made her ride with me in my little Jetta to my storage unit in Maryland. We got caught in traffic on the New Jersey turnpike. You discover quickly how you really feel about someone stuck in traffic. I liked her a lot. She must have liked me too, because I think my car was so full of my possessions (read: crap), she had stuff at her feet and could barely move.

I have never seen her use her black belt in tai kwon doe, but I know she could kick my ass. But you can’t really tell that at first glance. Behind her glowing smile and vaguely Texan accent, lies a person of great depth with a unique way of seeing the world and processing it. I think this is one of the things that drew me to her, because I, too, often lack the ability to see the world like everyone else does.

The day I drove off in my car, planning to leave New York for a year, Nicole started crying. Sometimes I don’t realize, or try not to think about leaving the people I love. Nicole knew I would be gone for a year, and I appreciated her expression of this. I, too, would miss her, and our bantering, and her continued efforts to get me to eat better, and my continued efforts to get her to eat crap.

Last weekend she threw the perfect wedding shower for me. My close friends from law school came together for an afternoon of un-rushed enjoyment of each others company. No one had any place to be and we could talk and lounge around the pool to our heart’s content.

These are a few of the events we have shared. I know there were many more, even if the only real memory I have of them is of the feeling of comfort. That comfortable feeling that comes with friends who are more like family, who you don’t mind seeing you without your bra on, who you know will keep loving you wherever you are. This is the feeling I associate with Nicole: comfort.

I am lucky to have such a good friend to share my life with. Thank you Nicole. Love, Nicole

Vituary

This profile embodies to me what a Vituary should be all about. You have to use the down arrow to see more.
Click here: Days With My Father

dad's vituary

This has been a hard week for me. My dad had a heart attack and his brain went without oxygen for 15 minutes. He is brain dead.
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I remember him driving us skiing on Saturday mornings, turning off the heat half way up the hill so we could be come “acclimated to the cold.”
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Like most children, I love my father very much. But in the past 12 years we have not gotten along. That is my euphemism which seeks to encompass the actual state of our relationship, or lack thereof. He got a second chance at life all those years ago and for various reasons we stopped talking.
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I remember sitting by his bedside holding his hand and praying to God that he would live so my brother Montana would get to know him.
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That does not mean that I stopped thinking about him or did not miss his presence in my life. I did. I do. A few years ago a work colleague told me that he did not talk to his dad. I felt so sad for him. And then I realized that I did not talk to my dad either.
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I remember him driving me and my best friend to school – our first day of high school –with the windows down and Dire Straights’ “Money for Nothing” playing really loud, to embarrass us.
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I look a lot like my dad. He looks like a mixture of William Shatner and Fred Flintstone. Once I realized this I told him. He did not find it as funny as I did. But in telling you this I realize I must bear some resemblance to both of those characters as well, since we share the same features.
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I remember navigating on our trip across the country and barely rolling into the fuel station on fumes because I was in charge of calculating how far we could go on one tank of gas, and I miscalculated.
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I think like my dad as well. He is a critical thinker, largely self educated, and extremely likeable. I don’t know any person when they first meet him who did not immediately fall under his spell. And he can lie really well. I can do the same, though I have sworn it off for the most part.
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I remember the time I opted not to take my last ride on his shoulders, preferring to save that last chance until later. I grew too fast to ever use that last ride.
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These are the things I know to be true about my dad: He is deathly afraid of spiders. He does not drink because if gives him really bad headaches. He loves flying and Garfield. He is beloved by many people. He loves pepperoni and green pepper pizza. He cannot suffer fools easily. He loves chocolate chip cookies and chocolate cake.
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I remember he and my mom sewing the ski racing uniforms for my siblings together.
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I wondered if the people in his life knew I existed. My photo was no where to be found in his house, save his wallet. I wonder if he told people about me or the kids, my siblings. We are all so successful; John is a pilot married to a great wife; Erica is a mom and a pharmacist; and Montana is a computer scientist also with a great wife. We love each other and support each other and would have given anything to be a complete family again. But please don’t feel that we are not a family, because we are a strong family made up of disparate parts scattered throughout the country.
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I remember calling him in college because I could not find my wallet, and he being at his wits end with this eldest daughter and finally explaining to me that he was 2000 miles away and I would have to find the wallet myself.
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I regret not having instant messaged with my dad last week when he tried to talk to me. I was busy at work. And I regret not having written his Vituary before he got sick.
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I remember waking up to him making us frozen Pepperidge Farms raspberry turnovers on Sunday mornings.
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I admire that he lived his life on his terms. He lived out of town because he did not want to be in the city. He decided not to get a pace maker and defibrillator implanted in his chest because he wanted to keep flying gliders. A day before he died he was soaring.

We never finished a conversation without telling each other we loved each other. And I do love him. Very much. And I miss him.

Vituary: Carol F.

1. My first memory of Carol, possibly a memory acquired after hearing Carol tell the story years later: I marched right up to Carol, stuck out my little hand and said, “Nicole Harkin, nice to meet you.”

2. Carol’s description of me at that time: The oldest 5 year old she had ever met.

3. Actual memories of Carol from my childhood: Carol visiting our house every weekend with her dogs. She visited the lake to help my mom with me and the kids.

4. Number of Children Carol has: four, by acquisition.

5. Best Childhood Memory of Carol: Going with her to work in downtown Atlanta. It was take your daughter to work and she took me. I stayed at her architecturally inspired home, with its modern furniture, overlooking the Chattahoochee River. I think we went to a diner for breakfast, and maybe even had coffee. Oh the joy. I could almost taste how fabulous it would be to be an adult.

6. Hours my Mom and Carol Spoke on the Phone per Week: at least 3, if not more. Therefore, they spoke on the phone at least 150 hours per year, or 6 days. With four children, my mom needed adult contact. Thank you Carol.

7. Concerns my mom had about Carol’s new love, then: that he was going to take our friend and family member for all she was worth.

8. Reality: He loved her. Thank you Don.

9. Years Carol and Don have been married: around 20 I think.

10. My re-entry into Carol’s life: After college I worked for my Senator. Two days before moving to DC, and with no place to live, mom suggested we call Carol. Carol put me up then and many times there after.

11. Biggest lessons learned from Carol: A. Protect the environment. B. Women can do anything men can do. C. True friends are like family. D. Create the life you want to live. E. Retire early.

12. Favorite activities with Carol: A. Shopping and talking. B. Going to see the band, Her, Him and I in Annapolis, MD.

13. Most recent gift from Carol: Photographing my brother Montana’s wedding.

14. Previous gifts from Carol: A. Managing my mail for me while I was out of the country for two years. B. Half of my camera. C. Major car repair bill paid.

15. Proudest moment: When Carol decided to run for public office, and won to the surprise of few who know her well.

Vituary: Walt

Sometimes you don’t appreciate someone until

you mature.

Walter has been a part of my whole life, regardless of whether I wanted him in it. I can remember telling him that he was not my dad from a very young age.

What a telling thing to yell at an adult. Just the act of thinking it and verbalizing it means that that person plays some approximate role similar to your father.

Uncle Walter, as we called him before he became Papa, loves to tell the stories of me walking around as a little girl with grapefruits in my blouse saying that I was going to look like Dolly Parton one day. He still threatens me with twins…or I should say curses me with twins.

But Walt is a loyal, trusted, and much loved part of our family and has been for years.

It all began with a glider port he and my father owned. He and my mom became fast best friends soon after meeting. He was there for everything from then on. He came up to the lake on weekends to help my over wrought mother with her four children. He attended all family events. He even became a Girl Scout.

Originally from Kentucky, he went to military school, served in Vietnam, and then worked as a machinist for Delta until he retired. He read the whole Wall Street Journal every day he worked there before work.

When we moved to Portland, he visited on all holidays. And when my parents finally divorced he helped support my mom and my siblings during the divorce going back to work after having retired to help his family.

Eventually moving to Montana to be with his family, he and I shared shifts taking care of my mom as she battled cancer. He had nights, I had days.

After my sister had Tanner and my mom died, Walt became Papa to Tanner. Tanner is the only kid from Montana who sounds like he is a Confederate. Walt continued to support Erica, helping her raise Tanner, effectively the fifth child’s diapers he has changed.

Once in college, I had gotten in over my head in credit card debts. My mom was broke, so I was forced to call this person who was not my father, with whom I often fought with, to ask for a loan. He did it without hesitation. He saved my ass.

John went to flight school in Oklahoma. He arrived broke to start school, but Walt was not far behind, making sure that John had food and money to focus on school.

To this day, whenever anyone of us has needed him, he has been there for us. I hope he knows that I am there for him too.

Grammy's Vitauary

In the last week two people near me have lost two people near them, completely unexpectedly. Adding to this loss, are two friends who have relatives who have advanced stages of cancer and one once again realizes the shortness and precarious state of

Life.

So I am embarking on the anti-obituary. It struck me at some point in the last year that waiting until a person is dead to tell the world how great they were is absurd. I will begin with my oldest friends, in chronological order and work my way to the youngest.

This means I begin with Eve M. and end with Erin R., with the many people I know along the way.

Eve M. is my grandmother. She has many names: Kay, Eva, Molesworth, E., just to name a few. Her names seem to have marked the stages of her life as well as her address have. Married twice, once to a soldier who died in World War II and to mister miserable, she bore three children. Her daughter, Linda, my mom, died almost seven years ago. Her next child, Ed E. is a professor and was so big when he was born that Gram had to sit sideways for months. And her youngest daughter, Kate H., is an actress in Chicago.

I can’t imagine having been married at 19 and widowed at 21 with a baby. She delivered my mom just before my grandfather shipped out, being one of the first induced labors ever.

She grew up in the depression, spending time in a children’s home. On Fridays, if their home economics room was cleaned up quickly and they ran to catch the trolley in St. Louis, one driver would give her and her friends a free ride downtown. Then they would have one ride left on their ticket for the return trip. I love the vision of Kay running in her last pair of “real” stockings to catch the street car.

After the war she worked in people’s homes and then meet Ed E. senior. They married and had a pleasant life in O’fallon, IL. They were happy. Ed was an accountant and they had a few stores. As Gram says, she worked in retail for many years. She owned a children’s store. And then Mr. Miserable was sent to the slammer.

After a few years and some time spent in California and a divorce, she changed her name to Eve M. and moved to Georgia. Her daughter Linda was pregnant with me. She then became my nanny while my mom continued to work. We spent five years together. I remember watching Phil Donahue and the Price is Right every morning while she had toast and coffee in bed. We did everything together.

I also remember spending hours waiting for her to get ready…she was fixing her hair piece I later learned.

We went to Disney World and Disney Land together. I loved being with Gram. When my brother John was born, she moved to Houston, TX with Cliff, an architect.

I visited her one summer for a month when I was six. That was my first flight alone. We played and had so much fun. I cried the whole way home. I was so sad to leave Gram.

In high school, after we had moved to Montana, I used to drive by her apartment to check on her. One time, her car was there but I could not seem to get her on the phone. I wigged out. I ran up to her apartment and knocked on the door. No answer. Then I went to the neighbor’s door. When I got to the third door, I was a crying mess. “Hi, my name is Nicole. I am Eve’s granddaughter. Have you seen her? I can’t get into her place.”

Grammy was there visiting with her new neighbor. What a first impression I must have made. She remains friends with Howard and Maureen, the neighbors, even today.

A few years ago, we took a trip to the White River. She has fished there forever. Boy was that fun. We stayed in a cottage and got up early to get out on the river. She caught lots of fish. I let her catch my fish, because I did not want to kill the fish. My brother John is supposed to take her fishing next.

I still worry about her though. A few years ago I called the police because I would not reach her. She lives in St. Louis again now. She had gone fishing and not told me…what a spitfire.