Obit

I was at work when my mother called to tell me Ruth M had died.   My mom was at the age when she read the obituaries every day looking for the names of friends and acquaintances,  and had seen Ruth’s name in the morning paper.

Ruth was my ex-mother-in-law and I hadn’t seen her since Alan and I divorced more than a dozen years earlier,  and I had no desire to go to her funeral.   But nevertheless I asked my mother where and when the service would be.

She told me it was that morning and where,  and when we hung up I called the funeral home.

“I knew the deceased,”  I told the receptionist,  “but I can’t make the service.  When it’s over please give her son Alan my name and number,  and ask him to call me.”

An hour later my phone rang.   Alan apparently had gotten my message.

“Hi Pussycat,  want me to pick up a quart of milk on my way home?”. he asked.

Alan was living in California and had just flown to New York for the funeral.   He said that shiva for his mother would be that night at his brother Zach’s Manhattan apartment and he hoped I’d come.  I told my husband I was meeting an old friend,  and I went.

Zach greeted me warmly at the door,  and then I saw Alan walking towards us.  We embraced and found a private spot to talk.  We spoke about our life together,  our lives since,  and how good it was to see each other again.   But after a long,  open-hearted  conversation I knew we’d never have resolved our differences,  and divorce had been the right decision.

Then heading home from Zach’s apartment an hour or so later it hit me – despite our long talk at her shiva,  neither Alan nor I had even mentioned his mother.

And although one should never speak ill of the dead,  the truth is –  as both Alan and I knew –  Ruth had been one battle axe of a mother-in-law!

(For more about me and Alan see Shuffling Off to Buffalo,  My Snowy Year in Buffalo,  Flowers on the Windshield, and  Both Sides Now.)

– Dana Susan Lehrman 

Watching Lacrosse with Dick

I’ve written before about my friends Celia and Dick.  (See Moving Day Blues and Carving Mr Pumpkin)

Dick is no longer with us but he’s impossible to forget.  He was a wonderful guy – bright, warm, witty,  cultured,  well-read and world-travelled,  a gourmand and a bon vivant,  an historian and writer,  and founder of a prestigious educational publishing company that he ran in Princeton for decades.

I knew that Celia and Dick had a wonderful marriage – their biggest fight,  she once told me,  was over a restaurant tip.  She thought Dick had left too much but he refused to edit it.  And indeed Dick could be terribly stubborn as I learned during my “decluttering Dick”  project.

After retiring from the library world,  I started a home organizing business and offered my services gratis to friends.  Celia called and asked me to come help Dick organize his huge,  disorganized collection of travel memorabilia.

At their house I labelled folders with the names of cities and countries where he and Celia had been.  Then I sat opposite Dick with a waste basket between us,  and instructed him to weed his enormous pile of stuff and we’d file what he wanted to keep in the designated folders.   But with every item he picked up,  he regaled me with stories about that particular trip,  even remembering all the delicious meals they’d eaten.

And of all the itineraries,  hotel bills,  city maps,  travel guides,  brochures,  plane and train tickets,  pictures and postcards,  and wine lists and menus he’d saved,  Dick insisted on keeping almost everything to my great frustration!

And Dick was also a big opera buff and a sports fan.  One  summer my husband Danny and I went to Cooperstown with Celia and Dick for the Glimmerglass Opera Festival and stayed at the elegant Otesaga Hotel overlooking beautiful Otesage Lake.

We planned to see two operas and also spend an afternoon at the Baseball Hall of Fame,  but Dick agreed to the latter rather begrudgingly.   As a Hopkins man,  he reminded us,  his sport was lacrosse.  Yet once we were there,  Dick was like a little kid discovering baseball for the first time.   He looked at every exhibit,  read every wall poster,  and posed  with Phil Rizzuto’s Holy Cow,  and with Danny beside the big scoreboard of team standings,  Dick pointing of course to the Baltimore Orioles.

But lacrosse was really his passion.  One spring weekend we were staying in Princeton with Celia and Dick and were at a Princeton – Hopkins lacrosse match when it started to rain.   Some die-hard fans opened their umbrellas,  but most of the folks in the stands started to leave.   Danny and I rose to go but I saw that Dick was unfolding some serious-looking rain gear.

”We’ll have to leave him here,”. Celia said,  “he won’t budge until the game is over.”

So the three of us started off,  and I turned back to tell Dick we’d see him later at the house.  Through what was by then a real downpour Dick waved a hand back at me,  but his eyes never left the field.

Go Hopkins,  and rest in peace Dick,  you sweet, unforgettable friend.

– Dana Susan Lehrman 

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