I know that at the end of the year, you're supposed to tip service people generously. I try to keep it simple. So I never leave anything -- no booze, no cookies, no money -- for the post man, though I do give him a big smile on the rare occasion when I see him drive up to the mail box. Similarly, I don't tip counter people for getting me a cup of coffee, and I don't leave tips on top of the garbage can.
I don't live in Manhattan, so I don't have to tip the building super or anyone else who works in my building, though Robert does come in for special consideration.
I do try to be generous with the dreaded vacuum cleaner lady (who is very nice, actually, though the kitties would tell you otherwise) and the woman who cuts my hair (whom I see more frequently than I see most of my friends).
And the newspaper man. In past years, I have given in and started to tip the man who delivers the newspaper. Some time last week, our newspaper bag included a small envelope on which was printed an exceedingly long message. It talked about what a privilege it is to have me as a customer, then moved on to instructions for canceling service when I'm away, and finally, in a sudden bout of self-awareness, realized that it was an envelope, and should I want to let the delivery man know how much I appreciate his service, I could tuck a little offering inside (no cash, please) and send the envelope to the address conveniently printed on the other side.
And yes, we do get the paper every morning at the crack of 7 (even though we're guaranteed to have the paper by 6). And no matter where I ask for it to be placed, it ends up in the middle of the driveway, which even I am beginning to think is fine, except on those mornings when it's raining and the paper ends up in a puddle and is soaked through with water.
While I was considering this tip for service (notice that I carefully didn't say "exceptional"), Sunday morning rolled around. Somehow, when the paper arrived that morning, the driver managed not to drop it on the driveway, but to slide it. It was a windy day, and close to Christmas. The resulting combination was not happy. Before I picked up the bag, I had to go around the yard and pick up all the inserts that were happily blowing around. Then I picked up the bag, and indoors, unpacked it. One of the few things that had managed to stay in the bag was a little envelope containing one of the most insipid Christmas cards ever (the kind that even K-Mart would be embarrassed to sell). On the envelope was the same address of the man seeking tips a few days earlier.
So how much does one tip in this situation?
Saturday, December 23, 2006
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
crazy cat lady
I've finally let my true nature come out. Some of my readers know that I have a slight fondness for cats.
For the first time, I have two indoor cats, ones that are full of crazy energy. I mean, they can be sitting quietly, licking unspeakable parts, sit up with a jolt, put their ears back, tear around the house (over and sometimes apparently through furniture) and suddenly be on the other side of the room, looking calm and peaceful.
Or one will be walking through a room and the other will wind up and pounce. More often than not, the "victim," our older kitty, will just step aside and the pouncer will go flying, usually in somersault formation.
I got it into my head to get a cat tree, went surfing, and found one that looked good and was much less expensive than ones I've seen in the stores. Who knew if ordering it would result in a big fight with the credit card company over non-delivery of goods or if it would arrive and be cheap, cheesy, and regrettable? But I went for it.
I ordered it on Friday, it shipped on Monday, and arrived on Tuesday, the busiest day of the year for UPS men. I did not anticipate that our delivery guys would be cheerful, but they were amazingly pleasant. However, even I realize that as they think about their long hours, they feel better imagining that they're putting smiles on the faces of each of the 2.5 children who live in the houses on our street. It did not seem like a good idea to let them know that they were going to make our cats very happy.
We lugged the box inside -- all 50 pounds -- and before I could say "I'd be happy to assemble it," Robert had it mostly put together. We broke for dinner, during which time Theo started to inspect it. We quickly attached the rest of the pieces and put the thing in place. It's huge. There are something like eight levels, eleven sisal scratching posts, and even a little house with a doorway, window, and ceiling.
I expected that the cats would pretty much ignore it, just because I was so excited about it. But no, they explored the whole thing. Koa rubbed her cheek on every corner, scratched satisfyingly on most of the posts, and climbed up, only to encounter Theo, who was waiting for her. There followed a "king of the hill" session where one would climb higher and try to bat at and air bite at the other, preventing that one from ascending. Then the "king" would hop down and the other would climb up. After several rounds, Theo ended up on the couch, and Koa curled up on one of the platforms.
I was terrifically pleased that Koa chose to spend a significant portion of the evening with us, and that she was so relaxed.
I'm delighted with this new piece of furniture. I acknowledge that it is beautiful only to cats and to those who love them -- I'm sure my gay card would be taken away if my more stylish friends saw this monstrosity. But still, it seems like a good addition to the household.
For the first time, I have two indoor cats, ones that are full of crazy energy. I mean, they can be sitting quietly, licking unspeakable parts, sit up with a jolt, put their ears back, tear around the house (over and sometimes apparently through furniture) and suddenly be on the other side of the room, looking calm and peaceful.
Or one will be walking through a room and the other will wind up and pounce. More often than not, the "victim," our older kitty, will just step aside and the pouncer will go flying, usually in somersault formation.
I got it into my head to get a cat tree, went surfing, and found one that looked good and was much less expensive than ones I've seen in the stores. Who knew if ordering it would result in a big fight with the credit card company over non-delivery of goods or if it would arrive and be cheap, cheesy, and regrettable? But I went for it.
I ordered it on Friday, it shipped on Monday, and arrived on Tuesday, the busiest day of the year for UPS men. I did not anticipate that our delivery guys would be cheerful, but they were amazingly pleasant. However, even I realize that as they think about their long hours, they feel better imagining that they're putting smiles on the faces of each of the 2.5 children who live in the houses on our street. It did not seem like a good idea to let them know that they were going to make our cats very happy.
We lugged the box inside -- all 50 pounds -- and before I could say "I'd be happy to assemble it," Robert had it mostly put together. We broke for dinner, during which time Theo started to inspect it. We quickly attached the rest of the pieces and put the thing in place. It's huge. There are something like eight levels, eleven sisal scratching posts, and even a little house with a doorway, window, and ceiling.
I expected that the cats would pretty much ignore it, just because I was so excited about it. But no, they explored the whole thing. Koa rubbed her cheek on every corner, scratched satisfyingly on most of the posts, and climbed up, only to encounter Theo, who was waiting for her. There followed a "king of the hill" session where one would climb higher and try to bat at and air bite at the other, preventing that one from ascending. Then the "king" would hop down and the other would climb up. After several rounds, Theo ended up on the couch, and Koa curled up on one of the platforms.
I was terrifically pleased that Koa chose to spend a significant portion of the evening with us, and that she was so relaxed.
I'm delighted with this new piece of furniture. I acknowledge that it is beautiful only to cats and to those who love them -- I'm sure my gay card would be taken away if my more stylish friends saw this monstrosity. But still, it seems like a good addition to the household.
fairy tale
Last Saturday night, we were invited to a combined birthday and holiday party. We set out for Boston, drove into my friend's neighborhood, and because it was Saturday night, could not find a place to park. We drove around for a while and finally found a spot between two Manhattan-style public housing apartment buildings, somewhere between Symphony Hall and the Boston City Hospital (which are only a few blocks apart).
This particular neighborhood is not known for being especially safe. (In fact, the next morning, we read that there had been a double-stabbing closer to the "safe" neighborhoods, by Symphony Hall as we were victoriously sliding into our parking space.) Just a few paces past the car, we saw an open barbershop (a bit of an oddity at 8pm on a Saturday evening). It was packed with barbers and clients. A little boy was trying to get in and we realized that to gain entrance, he actually had to ring a bell to be buzzed in. To a barbershop (or was it something else?).
We turned off the main drag onto a side street and noticed the gate to a large private underground parking area. And then we turned onto my friend's street. About five years ago, someone bought up the whole block (or alley, not sure what it was), tore down the buildings, and replaced them with substantial, clean, new townhouses.
And the fairy tale didn't stop when we went into the party -- the house was beautifully decorated. They had outsourced everything, including posting someone by the door to welcome you and take your coats. Someone had been hired to play the piano all evening. And the whole event was catered, with buffet snacks, passed hors d'oeuvres, and a bartender in the kitchen.
And the host couple have fascinating friends from academia, from the art world, and just "from around." One of the guests works for the Boston Globe and had created an entire front page, complete with stories and pictures, about the birthday boy.
The celebrant's life is like a fairy tale too. He comes from what are called humble beginnings, with a father who died early on, and a mother who loved him and did the best she could and is unfortunately no longer with us either. A whole new world was opened up to him when he discovered a college out east and put together a scholarship package (with seemingly no connections to help him) so that he could attend. He went on to get an MBA. He's young, he's very successful in the business world, he's extraordinarily charming, and has a graceful soul.
A few years ago, he and I worked together and clicked. Right about that time, he was having marvelous adventures, but not finding the person to settle down with. One night, he went out to dinner with friends, stepped into the restaurant's lobby for a few minutes, started chatting with someone else who was also taking a quick break, and they enjoyed their quick talk so much that they casually exchanged phone numbers. A few years ago, we were privileged to attend the resulting wedding. But that could happen only after my friend's husband successfully left the priesthood. (That in itself was an incredible process, but despite all the hoops, the church has been true to its word about the process having a defined ending point.)
Both husbands seem to be doing well, one in an academic position (language with a serious art history sideline), the other in a company other than the one in which we met. They continue to lead a charmed life, and I couldn't be happier for them.
Happy 40th, DM!
This particular neighborhood is not known for being especially safe. (In fact, the next morning, we read that there had been a double-stabbing closer to the "safe" neighborhoods, by Symphony Hall as we were victoriously sliding into our parking space.) Just a few paces past the car, we saw an open barbershop (a bit of an oddity at 8pm on a Saturday evening). It was packed with barbers and clients. A little boy was trying to get in and we realized that to gain entrance, he actually had to ring a bell to be buzzed in. To a barbershop (or was it something else?).
We turned off the main drag onto a side street and noticed the gate to a large private underground parking area. And then we turned onto my friend's street. About five years ago, someone bought up the whole block (or alley, not sure what it was), tore down the buildings, and replaced them with substantial, clean, new townhouses.
And the fairy tale didn't stop when we went into the party -- the house was beautifully decorated. They had outsourced everything, including posting someone by the door to welcome you and take your coats. Someone had been hired to play the piano all evening. And the whole event was catered, with buffet snacks, passed hors d'oeuvres, and a bartender in the kitchen.
And the host couple have fascinating friends from academia, from the art world, and just "from around." One of the guests works for the Boston Globe and had created an entire front page, complete with stories and pictures, about the birthday boy.
The celebrant's life is like a fairy tale too. He comes from what are called humble beginnings, with a father who died early on, and a mother who loved him and did the best she could and is unfortunately no longer with us either. A whole new world was opened up to him when he discovered a college out east and put together a scholarship package (with seemingly no connections to help him) so that he could attend. He went on to get an MBA. He's young, he's very successful in the business world, he's extraordinarily charming, and has a graceful soul.
A few years ago, he and I worked together and clicked. Right about that time, he was having marvelous adventures, but not finding the person to settle down with. One night, he went out to dinner with friends, stepped into the restaurant's lobby for a few minutes, started chatting with someone else who was also taking a quick break, and they enjoyed their quick talk so much that they casually exchanged phone numbers. A few years ago, we were privileged to attend the resulting wedding. But that could happen only after my friend's husband successfully left the priesthood. (That in itself was an incredible process, but despite all the hoops, the church has been true to its word about the process having a defined ending point.)
Both husbands seem to be doing well, one in an academic position (language with a serious art history sideline), the other in a company other than the one in which we met. They continue to lead a charmed life, and I couldn't be happier for them.
Happy 40th, DM!
Saturday, December 09, 2006
doin' a happy dance
Robert has been out of work for eight months. When it all happened back in April, he got a slow start, dragging through his resume, slowly working on improving it, working more at cleaning out the old office (as one of two people who worked there, there wasn't "someone else" to do it when he and his coworker were laid off).
Originally, he thought he'd take a few weeks off, and then magically get a job in our town where there actually are jobs. Hmmm. Then, he thought he'd take the summer off and magically get a job in the fall. Hmmm. Neither of those plans worked out.
One of the issues is that Robert is a programmer with experience in some popular languages. But he does not know some of the other hot languages, and there are areas of the industry that he's just not interested in. Unfortunately, it's in those areas that people are doing the most hiring right now. So there are a lot of jobs, but many of them are not good fits for Robert nor he for them.
Gone are the days when most managers will say "Gee, you don't have this kind of experience, but you're smart, hard-working, and you've learned plenty of other things. Come work for us and we'll teach you!" These days, it's expected that you're productive out of the box (like a new computer), with very little rampup time once you start a new job. That's reasonable, but it slows down the search process significantly.
This fall, Robert started networking more. He took a few classes at the Mass unemployment offices. He joined some job-buddy groups, both informal and more structured.
He got some good nibbles, went on some interviews, and most of the jobs were given to internal candidates, or the hiring people suddenly decided they wanted more of some kind of experience that Robert didn't have.
He's also been deluged with calls from head-hunters. A few have been very helpful, the rest haven't even bothered to read his resume, so didn't realize what a bad match they were making. Some have been downright silly (warm body? job opening? sounds like a good match to me!) and have left the ever-patient Robert shaking his head.
Financially, we've been fine. We rearranged a few things, his parents made a small but timely gift, and unemployment has been a godsend until last week when they sent their last check (whoops). We quickly changed some short-term and long-term plans, but so far we haven't had to change our style of living too much.
And Robert's spirits have been high throughout. One of my big concerns was that he'd start to take all the No's personally, but thankfully he hasn't.
Last week or the week before, Robert received a call from an internal recruiter in a Boston company. He went on an interview this past Thursday and apparently nailed the one "behavioral" question he was asked. Unfortunately, the hiring manager said that he didn't match as many of the technical qualifications as many of their other candidates. On the other hand, he did have more domain knowledge than other candidates. (The job is in a bizarrely similar niche to his last job.) We both knew where this was going, sigh -- it's been great meeting you, we'll keep you in mind, thank you for coming in, etc etc etc.
Yesterday, Friday, I came home from my swim and Robert was having a relaxed phone conversation. Without listening too hard, I kept thinking that perhaps his dad or his aunt was on the other end. When he got off the phone, he told me he had been talking to the recruiter, and... he has an offer, a really nice one. And he's planning to accept. And because of the holidays, he's not starting until the beginning of January. YES!!!
Just about everything's right about the company. They've been around for over 100 years and have kept up with the times, morphing to fit the needs of customers. People work hard there, and the company makes them feel important and valued. Turnover is low. The company is big but not huge, so you're not stuck in one place. The one drawback (so far) is the commute. By miles, it's not far, but it will be tough getting through the traffic. So he might commute by rail. We're talking about getting Robert some kind of smallish laptop so that he can do some of his work on the train.
I couldn't be happier, and I think Robert is pretty darned happy too. This is indeed good news.
Originally, he thought he'd take a few weeks off, and then magically get a job in our town where there actually are jobs. Hmmm. Then, he thought he'd take the summer off and magically get a job in the fall. Hmmm. Neither of those plans worked out.
One of the issues is that Robert is a programmer with experience in some popular languages. But he does not know some of the other hot languages, and there are areas of the industry that he's just not interested in. Unfortunately, it's in those areas that people are doing the most hiring right now. So there are a lot of jobs, but many of them are not good fits for Robert nor he for them.
Gone are the days when most managers will say "Gee, you don't have this kind of experience, but you're smart, hard-working, and you've learned plenty of other things. Come work for us and we'll teach you!" These days, it's expected that you're productive out of the box (like a new computer), with very little rampup time once you start a new job. That's reasonable, but it slows down the search process significantly.
This fall, Robert started networking more. He took a few classes at the Mass unemployment offices. He joined some job-buddy groups, both informal and more structured.
He got some good nibbles, went on some interviews, and most of the jobs were given to internal candidates, or the hiring people suddenly decided they wanted more of some kind of experience that Robert didn't have.
He's also been deluged with calls from head-hunters. A few have been very helpful, the rest haven't even bothered to read his resume, so didn't realize what a bad match they were making. Some have been downright silly (warm body? job opening? sounds like a good match to me!) and have left the ever-patient Robert shaking his head.
Financially, we've been fine. We rearranged a few things, his parents made a small but timely gift, and unemployment has been a godsend until last week when they sent their last check (whoops). We quickly changed some short-term and long-term plans, but so far we haven't had to change our style of living too much.
And Robert's spirits have been high throughout. One of my big concerns was that he'd start to take all the No's personally, but thankfully he hasn't.
Last week or the week before, Robert received a call from an internal recruiter in a Boston company. He went on an interview this past Thursday and apparently nailed the one "behavioral" question he was asked. Unfortunately, the hiring manager said that he didn't match as many of the technical qualifications as many of their other candidates. On the other hand, he did have more domain knowledge than other candidates. (The job is in a bizarrely similar niche to his last job.) We both knew where this was going, sigh -- it's been great meeting you, we'll keep you in mind, thank you for coming in, etc etc etc.
Yesterday, Friday, I came home from my swim and Robert was having a relaxed phone conversation. Without listening too hard, I kept thinking that perhaps his dad or his aunt was on the other end. When he got off the phone, he told me he had been talking to the recruiter, and... he has an offer, a really nice one. And he's planning to accept. And because of the holidays, he's not starting until the beginning of January. YES!!!
Just about everything's right about the company. They've been around for over 100 years and have kept up with the times, morphing to fit the needs of customers. People work hard there, and the company makes them feel important and valued. Turnover is low. The company is big but not huge, so you're not stuck in one place. The one drawback (so far) is the commute. By miles, it's not far, but it will be tough getting through the traffic. So he might commute by rail. We're talking about getting Robert some kind of smallish laptop so that he can do some of his work on the train.
I couldn't be happier, and I think Robert is pretty darned happy too. This is indeed good news.
Saturday, November 18, 2006
a milestone birthday
On Thursday, I had the honor to join 11 other people in celebrating the 60th birthday of a friend. The party was a surprise; my friend thought he was being taken out to dinner by a subset of the celebrants.
He arrived at the house so he could be driven to the restaurant. We were all sitting in the darkened living room. When he came inside, we started ringing bells, but didn't say anything. I'm sure we sounded like a band of drunken, tuneless gamelan players. He peered into the darkness, couldn't see us, then went outside again. We all looked at each other in horror, fearing that this shy man was overwhelmed and had hopped in his car to go home again.
Fortunately, about 30 seconds later, he came back inside again all smiles. He seemed genuinely pleased to see each of us. I chatted with people, many of whom I'd never met -- I was the only guest there from the dance community. For a few minutes, my friend didn't realize I was there and gave me a lovely greeting when he finally saw me.
We had each brought something to eat, so we sat down to an absolute feast at a formally set table. And of course, there was cake and the reading of the cards. I think my friend felt charmed, but more importantly, well loved, by the end of the evening.
Not everyone understands why I take so much pleasure in birthdays, especially friends' milestone birthdays. I feel that marking the date is a present to me. I listen to people complain about a grey hair here or a birthday there and think of my beloved friends who will be frozen forever in their 30s, who never had the privilege of celebrating a 32nd, 33rd, or 38th birthday. I have missed celebrating milestone birthdays of so many cherished people. Now I love celebrating birthdays -- mine, close friends, acquaintances -- and feel surrounded by others as I do so.
I suppose complaining about birthdays is a privilege too. There are days when I'd rather be back in that naive time, when I hadn't yet developed quite so much of an appreciation for the vicissitudes of aging compared to the alternative. But now that I know the alternative, have laid down with it and embraced it, please, bring on the morning stiffness, the grey hair, the lined faces, the wisdom, and the promise of more life. Bring it all on.
He arrived at the house so he could be driven to the restaurant. We were all sitting in the darkened living room. When he came inside, we started ringing bells, but didn't say anything. I'm sure we sounded like a band of drunken, tuneless gamelan players. He peered into the darkness, couldn't see us, then went outside again. We all looked at each other in horror, fearing that this shy man was overwhelmed and had hopped in his car to go home again.
Fortunately, about 30 seconds later, he came back inside again all smiles. He seemed genuinely pleased to see each of us. I chatted with people, many of whom I'd never met -- I was the only guest there from the dance community. For a few minutes, my friend didn't realize I was there and gave me a lovely greeting when he finally saw me.
We had each brought something to eat, so we sat down to an absolute feast at a formally set table. And of course, there was cake and the reading of the cards. I think my friend felt charmed, but more importantly, well loved, by the end of the evening.
Not everyone understands why I take so much pleasure in birthdays, especially friends' milestone birthdays. I feel that marking the date is a present to me. I listen to people complain about a grey hair here or a birthday there and think of my beloved friends who will be frozen forever in their 30s, who never had the privilege of celebrating a 32nd, 33rd, or 38th birthday. I have missed celebrating milestone birthdays of so many cherished people. Now I love celebrating birthdays -- mine, close friends, acquaintances -- and feel surrounded by others as I do so.
I suppose complaining about birthdays is a privilege too. There are days when I'd rather be back in that naive time, when I hadn't yet developed quite so much of an appreciation for the vicissitudes of aging compared to the alternative. But now that I know the alternative, have laid down with it and embraced it, please, bring on the morning stiffness, the grey hair, the lined faces, the wisdom, and the promise of more life. Bring it all on.
Friday, November 17, 2006
esther praetorius
Robert's grandmother died on Saturday. Robert flew out to Washington state on Tuesday, and he'll be back some time early Monday morning. The last week has been a flurry of preparation to go and activities once he got there. But the family (most of them, at least) is together. Apparently, there have been some extremely meaningful and helpful events, including a long reminiscence with the minister who knew her and performed her funeral service.
Robert's grandmother was 99 when she died. She lived her entire life in Washington, most of it in one small town. Her "people" were from North Dakota (I've seen pictures of them before they moved further west). I just can't imagine the hardships they faced first in North Dakota in the 1870s and then in Washington in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century.
As a young adult, Esther taught third grade; she has survived most of her students. At 22, she married and started to raise her family -- two children and two cousins. Her husband ran an apple orchard and she kept books. (In fact, the family corporation is finally being dismantled today.)
She was an avid gardener. Just before she moved into a "retirement home," she couldn't move too fast, so she would put on her rain coat and rain hat before setting up the sprinkler. A few years ago, Robert and I visited her home of some 70 years with her and she was so pleased to see that the gardens were being kept up by the new owners of the house.
She also walked every day until recently. Nearly ten years ago, the entire family went on a cruise together. In fact, we celebrated her 90th birthday on that cruise. One day, I was supposed to accompany her to an activity, so I started walking very slowly (I have a habit of walking too fast for many people). I looked up and suddenly realized that she had sped ahead, leaving me in her wake. I had to jog to catch up.
In recent years, her memory started to go. We spent a lovely visit with her a while back where she wasn't quite sure who we were, especially in the evenings, but was charming and delightful nonetheless. That was the occasion on which we went through albums of photographs, and I'm so grateful that we had that experience.
She somehow always remembered birthdays and Christmas and sent a check. Actually, she sent two checks because for some reason I didn't quite understand, she was afraid that Robert wouldn't share a check with me. So I always got my own check, sometimes in the same envelope in which Robert's check arrived. I always felt like her strong, independent female side was shining through. Though she was delighted when Robert and I got married, I think this was her little way of encouraging me to maintain some form of independence.
Although she never liked the retirement home much, she tolerated it and actually didn't want to move until this summer. She realized it was time, so she moved over the mountain to a very nice assisted living facility nearer to her daughter. She wandered at night, though, so she was moved to the alzheimer's unit to keep her safer. And then perhaps a week before she died, things took a bad turn.
She had mentioned to her family on several occasions that it would be ok if she didn't wake up one day, she was at peace. Her family took this to heart and did not take heroic measures, but let her go on her own schedule, in as much comfort as could be given.
She had a lot of visitors in her last days, and I hope she remembered enough to know that she was loved and adored.
I mentioned this story to someone recently, who said that people don't usually get to die of old age anymore, that Grandma Praetorius' ending was perhaps a blessing.
So here's to Grandma Praetorius who saw so much life and had a great deal of grace in death. Here's to the entire Praetorius family who respected her wishes and let her go in peace. She was a great lady, and she will be missed.
Robert's grandmother was 99 when she died. She lived her entire life in Washington, most of it in one small town. Her "people" were from North Dakota (I've seen pictures of them before they moved further west). I just can't imagine the hardships they faced first in North Dakota in the 1870s and then in Washington in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century.
As a young adult, Esther taught third grade; she has survived most of her students. At 22, she married and started to raise her family -- two children and two cousins. Her husband ran an apple orchard and she kept books. (In fact, the family corporation is finally being dismantled today.)
She was an avid gardener. Just before she moved into a "retirement home," she couldn't move too fast, so she would put on her rain coat and rain hat before setting up the sprinkler. A few years ago, Robert and I visited her home of some 70 years with her and she was so pleased to see that the gardens were being kept up by the new owners of the house.
She also walked every day until recently. Nearly ten years ago, the entire family went on a cruise together. In fact, we celebrated her 90th birthday on that cruise. One day, I was supposed to accompany her to an activity, so I started walking very slowly (I have a habit of walking too fast for many people). I looked up and suddenly realized that she had sped ahead, leaving me in her wake. I had to jog to catch up.
In recent years, her memory started to go. We spent a lovely visit with her a while back where she wasn't quite sure who we were, especially in the evenings, but was charming and delightful nonetheless. That was the occasion on which we went through albums of photographs, and I'm so grateful that we had that experience.
She somehow always remembered birthdays and Christmas and sent a check. Actually, she sent two checks because for some reason I didn't quite understand, she was afraid that Robert wouldn't share a check with me. So I always got my own check, sometimes in the same envelope in which Robert's check arrived. I always felt like her strong, independent female side was shining through. Though she was delighted when Robert and I got married, I think this was her little way of encouraging me to maintain some form of independence.
Although she never liked the retirement home much, she tolerated it and actually didn't want to move until this summer. She realized it was time, so she moved over the mountain to a very nice assisted living facility nearer to her daughter. She wandered at night, though, so she was moved to the alzheimer's unit to keep her safer. And then perhaps a week before she died, things took a bad turn.
She had mentioned to her family on several occasions that it would be ok if she didn't wake up one day, she was at peace. Her family took this to heart and did not take heroic measures, but let her go on her own schedule, in as much comfort as could be given.
She had a lot of visitors in her last days, and I hope she remembered enough to know that she was loved and adored.
I mentioned this story to someone recently, who said that people don't usually get to die of old age anymore, that Grandma Praetorius' ending was perhaps a blessing.
So here's to Grandma Praetorius who saw so much life and had a great deal of grace in death. Here's to the entire Praetorius family who respected her wishes and let her go in peace. She was a great lady, and she will be missed.
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
a funeral, a wake, a dying, and some hope
Last week, we attended the funeral of Chris Cirker, who was 57. He died two weeks ago, suddenly, leaving his wife Rachael and his daughter Leah. We had known the family for several years, thanks to Daniel, and had celebrated many holidays and some weekends away with them. In fact, the weekend after last year's Thanksgiving, about a dozen of us gathered at Chris and Rachael's house to remember all the wonderful Thanksgivings we'd had with Daniel.
I wonder if I would have felt quite so compelled to go to the funeral had Daniel still been with us. Because he is now gone, though, I somehow felt that his spirit pushed me to go (and I was glad that Robert chose to go too).
The funeral was lovely and devastating. Chris had been part of a jazz band which played without him for the first time. During part of the ceremony, someone played Chris' saxophone while we all just sobbed. Many people spoke, but perhaps most surprising and most beautiful were Rachael's words.
Rachael was brutally honest about Chris, describing his talents and faults, the good and the bad. She also talked about how much she loved him for all of who he was. I felt like through her, I got a great picture of who Chris was and also of who she is. And I heard perhaps the best articulation of what unconditional love is all about.
The last time I was in the church where the ceremony was held was to attend Daniel's memorial service. On that day, Rachael spoke with Chris standing behind her. When she broke down and could read no further, Chris took her printed speech from her and continued reading from where she left off. I think about how in some ways she'll be fine eventually -- she will keep going -- but also of how much she'll miss him, how much they completed each other.
After the ceremony, some of Daniel's friends opted not to go to the cemetery, but to sit together and eat lunch, and just talk and catch up. I will try to call Rachael this week.
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This morning I read the obituaries and was sad to note that an acquaintance from town has died, Don Duncan. He and I served on the board of the local Community Chest, overlapping for several years, and mourned the death of our chairman about five years ago. I loved how straightforward Don was and how dedicated he was to bringing good into the world. We will certainly be poorer without him. Robert and I will attend his wake tomorrow night.
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Last night, we received a call from Robert's parents, nominally to tell us that they may not be able to come for a planned visit ten days hence. That was really the purpose of the call, but while they were on the phone, they thought they might mention the reason, which is that Robert's paternal grandmother is very ill. Robert's sister, who is an MD, talked to the doctors today and was able to give us more information. It's not really clear what's wrong except that there is something very wrong. It's probably not worthwhile finding out the cause. Robert's grandmother is being given comfort care and has some family near by. We're not sure if R's parents have already left to go visit, or if they're waiting for more information. For now, Robert will stay put until he knows more.
_____________
Today, the weather turned enough so that it was tolerable to spend a few hours outside. Robert and I planted over 100 bulbs -- I had bought 75 daffodils, and Robert had bought some grape hyacinths, starflowers, and hardy cyclamens. We planted the cyclamens in Mark's memorial garden because they'll bloom in late summer, we hope.
We worked side by side going fairly quickly, talking a little, being silent the rest of the time. I thought about how wonderful it will be to see the buds sprout, a return on our investment in helping them grow. I thought about how reassuring it is to see spring come year after year after so much darkness, how the anticipation of the return of light and life help me survive the darkest times. And Robert said that he thought about how much care his grandmother took with her garden, and how, after the farm had been sold, we took her back to visit and she was glad that her plants were well tended to.
So much death, but hope also. The light does return and it will again, long after we are all gone.
I wonder if I would have felt quite so compelled to go to the funeral had Daniel still been with us. Because he is now gone, though, I somehow felt that his spirit pushed me to go (and I was glad that Robert chose to go too).
The funeral was lovely and devastating. Chris had been part of a jazz band which played without him for the first time. During part of the ceremony, someone played Chris' saxophone while we all just sobbed. Many people spoke, but perhaps most surprising and most beautiful were Rachael's words.
Rachael was brutally honest about Chris, describing his talents and faults, the good and the bad. She also talked about how much she loved him for all of who he was. I felt like through her, I got a great picture of who Chris was and also of who she is. And I heard perhaps the best articulation of what unconditional love is all about.
The last time I was in the church where the ceremony was held was to attend Daniel's memorial service. On that day, Rachael spoke with Chris standing behind her. When she broke down and could read no further, Chris took her printed speech from her and continued reading from where she left off. I think about how in some ways she'll be fine eventually -- she will keep going -- but also of how much she'll miss him, how much they completed each other.
After the ceremony, some of Daniel's friends opted not to go to the cemetery, but to sit together and eat lunch, and just talk and catch up. I will try to call Rachael this week.
_____________
This morning I read the obituaries and was sad to note that an acquaintance from town has died, Don Duncan. He and I served on the board of the local Community Chest, overlapping for several years, and mourned the death of our chairman about five years ago. I loved how straightforward Don was and how dedicated he was to bringing good into the world. We will certainly be poorer without him. Robert and I will attend his wake tomorrow night.
_____________
Last night, we received a call from Robert's parents, nominally to tell us that they may not be able to come for a planned visit ten days hence. That was really the purpose of the call, but while they were on the phone, they thought they might mention the reason, which is that Robert's paternal grandmother is very ill. Robert's sister, who is an MD, talked to the doctors today and was able to give us more information. It's not really clear what's wrong except that there is something very wrong. It's probably not worthwhile finding out the cause. Robert's grandmother is being given comfort care and has some family near by. We're not sure if R's parents have already left to go visit, or if they're waiting for more information. For now, Robert will stay put until he knows more.
_____________
Today, the weather turned enough so that it was tolerable to spend a few hours outside. Robert and I planted over 100 bulbs -- I had bought 75 daffodils, and Robert had bought some grape hyacinths, starflowers, and hardy cyclamens. We planted the cyclamens in Mark's memorial garden because they'll bloom in late summer, we hope.
We worked side by side going fairly quickly, talking a little, being silent the rest of the time. I thought about how wonderful it will be to see the buds sprout, a return on our investment in helping them grow. I thought about how reassuring it is to see spring come year after year after so much darkness, how the anticipation of the return of light and life help me survive the darkest times. And Robert said that he thought about how much care his grandmother took with her garden, and how, after the farm had been sold, we took her back to visit and she was glad that her plants were well tended to.
So much death, but hope also. The light does return and it will again, long after we are all gone.
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