For all the saints

This has been a year of heartbreaking losses.

My dear friend, Muse and patron Brigitte died unexpectedly in January just days after I said goodbye to her in Austria.

The last of the Whiskey Widows and my partner in crime, Sue Barlow, passed away in March.

My student, Lani Bewley, aka "Pink Haired Girl," died suddenly in June.  She was only 22 years old and had just received a BA in Latin in December 2009 and a BA in German in May 2010.

My best friend's father, novelist Vance Bourjaily, died August 31 after one last trip to New Orleans and to Iowa to see his children and grandchildren.

And September 2 was the 10th anniversary of my mother's death.  As he does every year, my father sent me flowers on her birthday, October 30.

Avete atque valete, y'all

The Funeral Crashers

Another Whiskey Widow has gone off to that big cocktail hour in the sky. Mama Sue and I had a special connection because she was a teacher.  She understood that teaching is hard, but so is learning.  And that teachers teach, not because it brings in a big paycheck, but because we love the interaction with people.

Sue and I also were partners in crime.  When Ms. Verone died, her family deliberately kept the obituary and the funeral information out of the local newspapers to keep out the riff raff.  Sue, being the resourceful woman that she was, called up the big funeral parlor in town and asked when services were scheduled for Ms. Verone.  Then Sue and I crashed the funeral!  When we got there, Verone's daughter-in-law had quite a dilemma:  throw us out on our ear, or play the gracious Southern hostess.  Lucky for us, good breeding won out and we were allowed to pay our respects to Ms. Verone, founder of the Whiskey Widows.

I'm sure that Sue was warmly welcomed into heaven by Verone, Dottie with the Body and Ms. Frances and that they're having one heck of a party with the Man Upstairs!

Magnolia's Memories

            Friday night I went to Magnolia's Memories, a cemetery tour sponsored by the Foundation for Historical Louisiana.  The tour takes place at Magnolia Cemetery at night and visitors are guided by "spirits" dressed in white robe and wings.  The paths of the cemetery are lined with luminarias and musicians -- harpists, fiddlers, mandolin players -- play unobtrusively in the shadows.  Five or six stations are set up throughout the grounds, with spectator seating and footlights.  Local actors perform scenes from the lives of people who are buried in Magnolia Cemetery.  This year there was Sarah Morgan who wrote a civil war diary and her brother Harry who was killed in a duel; Cecil Morgan (Sarah's nephew) who fought to bring Huey Long to justice; and a police chief who was killed by one of his fellow officers in 1911, played by friend and colleague, Mike Katchmer.    

            My first trip to Magnolia's Memories in 2007 was such a moving experience, not because of the dead, but because of the living.  At the last station, the life of Scotsman John Hill Jr. was reenacted.  A bagpiper introduced him and a kilt-wearing actor came on stage.  But in the shadows beyond, a dark figure roving between the tombstones caught my eye.  I couldn't be sure if I was seeing a person or a phantom, but I couldn't take my eyes off it.  At the end of Hill's performance, the figure stepped out of the shadows.  It was a woman with auburn curls dressed in a dark Irish cape, and when she lifted her face to the spotlight, I thought, "Wow!  That looks like Nikki!" 

            But it couldn't be my friend Nikki, I told myself.  Nikki was too stressed out with work and being pregnant and taking care of two teenagers and a baby.  And Nikki would never have the confidence to sing in front of all these people.  But sing she did, the most moving a capella Scottish hymn.  Her beautiful voice rose above the rustling leaves of the live oak trees and the traffic rushing by on Florida Boulevard.  When she was finished and the tour was over, I walked up to the woman and said, still in disbelief, "Nikki?  Is that you?"  "Joey! I didn't know you would be here!"  I told her how beautifully she'd sung and how everyone would remember her performance.  And I thought to myself, this is a new start for Nikki, a dear soul who had had her unjust share of bad luck, bad health and bad relationships.

            A few weeks later, I sat with Nikki in front of our office building as she waited for a ride.  She was quite unwell.  When her ride came, I escorted her to the car, never dreaming that in the night Nikki would have a stroke.

             She was in the ICU of the hospital when doctors discovered that she also had leukemia. I visited Nikki  four times, and each time she improved a little.  She went from being unable to talk to asking if we could pray.  So on my last visit I led us in prayer, and God truly guided my words.  It was the last time I would see Nikki.  A month after her stroke she died, never having left the hospital.  She was 34 years old.

            I was in Germany when they had the memorial service.  They say Nikki's oldest daughter sang the same hymn that Nikki sang in the cemetery that night. 

            And Friday night, March 12, 2010, I went on the cemetery tour again.  At the end a woman with long dark curls dressed in an Irish cape sang the final hymn, accompanied by a folk quintet.  She looked exactly like Nikki.  I don't know whether that's just what I wanted to see, or because Nikki's spirit is still among the tombstones of Magnolia Cemetery.  

Things that can't easily be explained, Pt. 2

Last year around this time, I wrote an entry entitled "Things that can't easily be explained". My friend Lydia had died unexpectedly in her sleep on January 29, and a few days later I received a letter from her which she'd written just days before she died. Lydia was an incredibly gifted artist, and she had recently learned of my own artistic endeavors. In her letter she wrote something like, Are you sure that with your artistic talent that you are in the right profession?

Flash forward to 2010:  Two weeks ago I was in Austria saying goodbye to my friends, among them my friend Brigitte who had encouraged my artistic endeavors with art supplies and a painting course. Brigitte herself learned only four years ago that she had awe-inspiring artistic talent. A few days after I said goodbye, Brigitte too died unexpectedly in the night.

Both of these women were a source of love and inspiration to so many people who all gathered this week to remember and celebrate their lives.

I don't know if I'm in the right profession, and I certainly don't know that I will ever have the artistic talents that Brigitte and Lydia had. I do know that I will probably get the chance to reevaluate my career path, because LSU in its infinite wisdom has decided to pink-slip all instructors effective January 2011.

So in addition to updating my resume and seeing if there's a paper or two I can send out for publication, in addition to preparing for my four (count 'em FOUR) Latin classes, I'll be scheduling some creative time this weekend.  Because you never know what the future holds...

P.S.  When I posted this to my Facebook page, the security words were "revalue" and "power".  Life is spooky sometimes!

forsan et haec olim meminisse iuvabit

Between the last week of classes and my first final on December 8, I made a flying trip to Iowa.  Who does that?!?

It was a good trip.  Did some shopping, did some networking, but most of all I wanted to attend the memorial service for Roger Hornsby, my undergraduate advisor at the U of Iowa, who died in October. 

Roger Hornsby (second from left) and his wife, Jessie (center)
at St. Peter's Cathedral in Rome

Roger was a friend of the family long before he was my advisor.  That I ended up studying classics was complete chance, and I'm so glad I got the chance to learn Latin when I did.  Gerda Seligson, who co-wrote our textbook, Latin for Reading, was a visiting professor and she and Roger devised a way to teach Latin that made the transition from language learning to application less traumatic for students. The second year courses were taught by the same method as the elementary levels which allowed us to translate all four Catilinarian orations by Cicero in the third semester, and two or three books of Vergil's Aeneid in the fourth semester.  Unfortunately I can't convince my colleagues that this can be accomplished.

We students were introduced to all that academic life entailed, including elegant cocktail parties at the Hornsbys.  Their apartment was decorated with antique furniture and deep blue velvety carpet.  Jazz was always playing on the stereo, and caterers made sure the guests had enough wine and nibbly things.  This introduction to social graces is also something I've never experienced at any other university.

In addition to Latin, Roger taught a course entitled Concept of the City of Rome which provided background about Roman institutions.  I assisted him in the preparation of a corresponding art course, Concept of the City of Rome II:  Renaissance to Fascism, which he co-taught with Dr. John "Comments or Observations?" Scott.  A few of Roger's more promising students were invited to participate in Concept of the City of Rome III: On Location, an informal 10-day tour of Rome during which he and Dr. Scott showed us everything they thought students should see on their first trip to Rome.  This included many non-Roman churches and expensive restaurants.  I still remember eating at the foot of the Temple of the Sibyl in Tivoli where every table was "Reserved" until the guests passed the riff-raff test.  Never mind that Roger's laundry bill at his hotel cost as much as my entire stay in the Albergo Lago di Alleghe for the same amount of time!

Roger wanted all of his students to share his love of Latin literature, Roman culture, travel and the finer things in life.  Many of his students are happy to pass those lessons on!

For all the saints...

The beautiful flowers arrived at my office on Friday, a gift from my father.  The occasion?  My father sends me flowers every year on October 30 to commemorate my mother's birthday.  This year Mom would have turned eighty (she was born the day after the great stock market crash of 1929!)  Mom was an extremely talented and beautiful woman, artistically gifted with limitless creativity (who else would have dressed their kid up as Mighty Mouse for Halloween?!).  She wrote poetry and double acrostics (!) and made fried chicken and potato salad that people still rave about.  But she was also one of those highly versatile and accomplished people who can't live up to their own dreams and expectations, and she died in September 2000.  People tell me I inherited her creativity; I know I inherited her romantic view of the world.

Ave atque vale:  My mentor, Roger Hornsby, passed away last week. My relationship to Roger goes back many years, even before my birth. The silver Tiffany cup in the photo above was his present to me when I was born. Roger was a tremendous influence, not just academically.  He showed me Rome when I graduated from college and years later I showed him Vienna.  I last saw Roger in August, and he was still perusing the train time tables for Europe as his bedtime reading.  Those who knew him know that there was and will be no one like Roger Hornsby.

Also saying goodbye to Whiskey Widows:
Frances Paula Holliday
Dorothy "Dottie with the Body" Smith
and
Anna Kolder

Whiskey and Funerals

We buried Ms. Dottie last week... for those of you in the know, that's "Dottie with the Body." Dottie was a member of the Whiskey Widows, a select group of elderly women who lived in my old apartment complex. Ms. Dottie always introduced herself as "Hi, I'm Dottie... with the Body." Of course, she didn't introduce herself to me that way, but rather to the attractive young man who was helping me move in. Dottie was a bit of a flirt :-)

When I first arrived, I was greeted by a neighbor who said, "We have cocktails every day at 5:00 pm at Ms. Verone's. You have a standing invitation to join us." Ms. Verone was the widow of the lieutenant governor under Earl K. Long. She was in her mid-80s and owing to a bum knee, she was virtually confined to her apartment (except when she ventured out in her indestructible Lincoln Town Car). Her social life was the cocktail hour, and she entertained us with stories of Louisiana politics, and fed us appetizers like olive cheese balls* and shrimp salad. On LSU game day, there was always a crowd at Ms. Verone's.

Carolyn, Dottie, Frances, Jerry, Sue, Nancy, Fred

For every Whiskey Widow there's a story: Ms. Frances was the daughter of a publisher and taught in the Baton Rouge schools even though she didn't need the money. She owned half a condo on the corner of Esplanade and Bourbon Street in New Orleans. She was very generous with the key, and I stayed there at least twice. Ms. Doris was the secretary for five Louisiana governors, including Jimmie Davis (who wrote "You are my Sunshine"). Sue B. also worked for the Baton Rouge schools trying to make a difference. There are two Ms. Margarets and a BeBe, and a number of us who just like to be inspired by these phenomenal women.

Because of their advanced age, the Whiskey Widows are becoming rarer and rarer. Verone died in 2005, the weekend of Hurricane Rita. Sue B. and I crashed her funeral (a long, sad story, best saved for another time). Ms. Frances died this past summer. And now Dottie... with the Body.

Contrary to their moniker, the Whiskey Widows prefer vodka martinis with a green cocktail tomato. Drink one this weekend in their honor, and to the health of those remaining!

Joey and Dottie

* Verone's Olive Cheese Balls:

½ lb. cheddar cheese, shredded
1 stick butter, chilled and shredded
1 ½ cups flour
cayenne pepper
worcestershire sauce
Jar of pimiento-stuffed olives

Combine the shredded cheddar cheese, the cold shredded butter, flour and cayenne pepper to taste. Prepare as for a pastry dough/pie crust, adding just enough worcestershire sauce to hold the mixture together. Wrap individual olives in the dough about an 1/8 of an inch thick. Bake at 400 degrees for 15 minutes. TIP: These freeze well and can be reheated!

Things that can't easily be explained

Last Thursday sad news arrived from Baton Rouge. My friend Lydia passed away unexpectedly in her sleep at age 55. I've spent so many pleasant evenings with Lydia and her family, most recently when I visited Baton Rouge last July. What a feeling of helplessness to be halfway around the world and not be able to support her family after the loss of such a talented, vibrant wife, mother, and grandmother.
So imagine my surprise when I came home from school today to receive a card from Lydia, written on January 24. This card is such a tremendous gift, a reminder of a good friend, an inspired artist, and the very model of a Christian woman.

Ephesians 2:8
For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith--and this not from yourselves, it is the gift of God--

Photos I should have posted long ago!

Hello, y'all! It occurs to me you haven't seen my landlady or roommate yet. So here's a picture of Irene and Rob on one of our many outings during the fall:

This is the view of Irdning, the town where we live, from the Gipfelkreuz (cross at the peak of a mountain):


I also didn't mention All Saints Day. I had a five-day weekend, because November 1 is a national holiday (Austria is very Catholic and even the public schools have a crucifix in the classrooms) and my school decided to take Wednesday and Friday as free days as well. The Austrians have only recently begun to celebrate Halloween, so that week I talked a lot about trick or treating and politically correct costumes in the U.S. (for those of you not in Iowa City, children are discouraged from dressing up as a witches because it is offensive to real witches!). The concept of T.P.'ing someone's house seemed to give my students all sorts of ideas!

There are a lot of traditions connected with All Saints Day in Austria, including Allerheiligen Striezel, which is a braided brioche loaf with raisins and Hagelzucker, big chunks of sugar on top. These goodies are then served with tons of butter, fresh from the Alm (mountain pastures).

That evening I joined friends to go to the cemetery. On All Saints Day, everyone goes to the graves of their relatives. There is usually a service in the cemetery in the afternoon. After dark, everyone returns to see the red votive candles lit on every grave. It is quite an impressive sight (not my photo). We also reminisced about our friends and family members who had died during the last year:

SIT VOBIS TERRA LEVIS
Nikki Gillam
Danielle Parks
Joan Koch
John VanGilder