Mary loved birthdays more than anyone I know. She would plan extravagant celebrations which usually included her friends going on some adventure with her. She preferred belated birthday gifts because they made the celebration last longer for her. Some of the most memorable days she planned included llama trekking, a murder mystery evening, and a trip to Santa Fe for her 40th.
As someone who never celebrated birthdays as a child, I found Mary's delight in birthdays rather fascinating. I found it strange that she got excited about wrapping paper--she had an entire drawer dedicated to beautiful and interesting papers and ribbons. It was important to Mary to wrap things beautifully, and she always admired her friend Julia's sense of style when it came to gift-wrapping. I was intrigued by the way she made sure people knew her birthday was important to her and that she wanted to celebrate with them. I loved that she created adventures for herself and was bold enough to ask others to join her. She never lost that child-like excitement for celebration. It wasn't a self-centered excitement, it was a celebration of friendship and thankfulness for the gift of life.
One year...I think it was the year after Macy was born...I forgot Mary's birthday. I called her the next day for a chat and she made mention of getting together with some friends the day before. The penny didn't drop quickly for me, and so she added, "You know, for my birthday." I was profusely apologetic, and she graciously replied with a tinge of sadness, "Don't worry, you've never forgotten before." And believe you me, I never forgot again. Not because I didn't want her to be upset, but because when someone you love loves something as much as Mary loved birthdays, it's hard not to join in the fuss.
Her glee didn't stop at birthdays. Mary was a giver. She liked to pick out unique tokens of her affection. For our wedding, she chose four mismatched bud vases for Tim and me because she loved having flowers around the house and thought I would enjoy doing the same. She gave Cerys a hand-knitted strawberry hat when she was born and baked me my favorite chocolate cake. She gave me a little yellow picture frame to commemorate our trip to Cornwall. When I was about to give birth to Addien, she organised a few friends to send me gifts and letters...a shower in a box...to celebrate the birth. The list could go on and on. It seems as I look around my house that many of my favorite things came from Mary or from her influence.
Tomorrow is Mary's birthday. Facebook will at some point kindly remind me that I should post on her wall to wish her a happy birthday. I will not write on her wall because it feels too mystical...to write on her wall feels like writing to a ghost, and I am all too sure that she is not hanging around here. I don't know what she's doing, whether she is lifeless and waiting for a resurrection after the apocalypse, or whether she is partying in heaven, gardening and chatting with her dad and the Bronte sisters. But I know she is not here. I am not to the place yet that I can fondly remember Mary tomorrow and be thankful for all she contributed to my world. There will be some of that, maybe even a lot of that, depending on how I feel when I wake. But there will most certainly be heartache, as I wonder how on earth she can be gone--it still doesn't seem possible that a healthy, vibrant, 40-something woman can wind up in hospital one day and be dead two weeks later.
My grandfather always ended any suggestion of the future with "God-willing". "See you tomorrow, God-willing." "We're going to Texas for our holiday, God-willing." He lived with a deep sense of life's frailty that I have always known to be real and true, and yet, I was rocked when brought face-to-face with its certainty.
Tomorrow, God-willing, I will grieve, and I will celebrate, and I will eat chocolate digestives, and I will remember Mary Marshall.
Thursday, February 28, 2013
Wednesday, January 30, 2013
Mary, part 2 (or How I Came to Love Food and Entertaining)
I have to give credit for my parents first and foremost for my love of food and of entertaining. They are both true foodies and know how to throw a mean party. However, Mary loved food more than just about anyone I know, and as roommates and then neighbours, we shared recipes and hosted some great shindigs.
Funnily enough, when I logged into Blogger this evening, Mary's last blog post randomly popped up on my homepage. Read it here and notice how many times she mentions food and drink. There is other beautiful content as well, mind, but the woman loved ice, diet coke, and great food.
When I was cooking for Christmas this year it seemed that almost every recipe I made was given to me by Mary. My curried cheese pate, white chocolate covered pretzels with m&ms sprinkled on, buttermilk chocolate sheet cake and chocolate mint brownies are all hers, and she is responsible for my love of cosmopolitans, feta cheese on everything and red leicester cheese with digestives. She would smile if she knew that the buttermilk chocolate cake is now the favourite birthday cake of several of my friends and their friends' friends.
Mary loved to entertain. We hosted a Christmas party every year which involved getting our guests to bring specific dishes chosen by Mary (I've never met anyone so able and willing to get people to do what she wanted them to do whilst still being incredibly loveable). I had never heard of a Parker House roll before meeting her, and I was sent to find them for our first party. It had to be Parker House rolls, nothing else would do, and then we filled them with tinned ham and cheese and brushed them with some sort of mustard sauce. They were amazing, I admit it.
Mary was all about the finishing touches...flowers, the right platters and serving utensils, music, candles...she knew how to create an atmosphere. I never caught the knack, but I remember the way she knew just where she wanted things to go, how she wanted people to feel, what she wanted them to smell when they walked through the door. She had an eclectic sense of taste, leaning towards shabby chic with an international and homemade flair, and she brought it all together with elegance and warmth. I loved being at home with her, and other people must have felt the same because we attracted loads of people to our little abode.
When we lived next door to each other we celebrated Easter together on several occasions. Twice she convinced me to spend an outrageous sum of money on brunch at a local hotel. Mary was like that--she'd spend money on experiences without a thought for the cost. This is something I always chastised her for, but in retrospect I think she lived life so fully and so enthusiastically that she did more in her 43 years than most of us can hope to do if we live to 100. The brunch was magnificent. I can still remember vividly the beautiful display, the table where we sat, the omelet and waffle stations, and the wonderful array of salads and desserts. Another year we firmly insisted that we couldn't afford dinner out, so we brought a very tiny Cerys to hers and ate lamb with a fresh mint aioli. I'd found the recipe in the Washington Post food section, another experience to which she had introduced me--she faithfully bought the Saturday paper and cut out recipes she intended to try. I specifically remember her cooking a fresh sea bass filet over greens one week night in our home on Idylwood Drive.
When Mary was sick and in hospital, I was trying to explain to my girls why I was so sad, and I told them that my very dear friend was very ill and possibly dying. Cerys remembered Mary well, but the other two were not so sure. Cerys said to them, "Remember, she's the one who came and ate all our ice." It's true. Mary loved her ice water, and she had just been to Sierra Leone where ice was truly a luxury. So she came to ours and guzzled ice, enjoyed curries and my home cooked meals, and blessed our home with her presence for the last time.
I find it strangely comforting to think Mary will live on in my memory every time I make one of her decadent treats.
Funnily enough, when I logged into Blogger this evening, Mary's last blog post randomly popped up on my homepage. Read it here and notice how many times she mentions food and drink. There is other beautiful content as well, mind, but the woman loved ice, diet coke, and great food.
When I was cooking for Christmas this year it seemed that almost every recipe I made was given to me by Mary. My curried cheese pate, white chocolate covered pretzels with m&ms sprinkled on, buttermilk chocolate sheet cake and chocolate mint brownies are all hers, and she is responsible for my love of cosmopolitans, feta cheese on everything and red leicester cheese with digestives. She would smile if she knew that the buttermilk chocolate cake is now the favourite birthday cake of several of my friends and their friends' friends.
Mary loved to entertain. We hosted a Christmas party every year which involved getting our guests to bring specific dishes chosen by Mary (I've never met anyone so able and willing to get people to do what she wanted them to do whilst still being incredibly loveable). I had never heard of a Parker House roll before meeting her, and I was sent to find them for our first party. It had to be Parker House rolls, nothing else would do, and then we filled them with tinned ham and cheese and brushed them with some sort of mustard sauce. They were amazing, I admit it.
Mary was all about the finishing touches...flowers, the right platters and serving utensils, music, candles...she knew how to create an atmosphere. I never caught the knack, but I remember the way she knew just where she wanted things to go, how she wanted people to feel, what she wanted them to smell when they walked through the door. She had an eclectic sense of taste, leaning towards shabby chic with an international and homemade flair, and she brought it all together with elegance and warmth. I loved being at home with her, and other people must have felt the same because we attracted loads of people to our little abode.
When we lived next door to each other we celebrated Easter together on several occasions. Twice she convinced me to spend an outrageous sum of money on brunch at a local hotel. Mary was like that--she'd spend money on experiences without a thought for the cost. This is something I always chastised her for, but in retrospect I think she lived life so fully and so enthusiastically that she did more in her 43 years than most of us can hope to do if we live to 100. The brunch was magnificent. I can still remember vividly the beautiful display, the table where we sat, the omelet and waffle stations, and the wonderful array of salads and desserts. Another year we firmly insisted that we couldn't afford dinner out, so we brought a very tiny Cerys to hers and ate lamb with a fresh mint aioli. I'd found the recipe in the Washington Post food section, another experience to which she had introduced me--she faithfully bought the Saturday paper and cut out recipes she intended to try. I specifically remember her cooking a fresh sea bass filet over greens one week night in our home on Idylwood Drive.
When Mary was sick and in hospital, I was trying to explain to my girls why I was so sad, and I told them that my very dear friend was very ill and possibly dying. Cerys remembered Mary well, but the other two were not so sure. Cerys said to them, "Remember, she's the one who came and ate all our ice." It's true. Mary loved her ice water, and she had just been to Sierra Leone where ice was truly a luxury. So she came to ours and guzzled ice, enjoyed curries and my home cooked meals, and blessed our home with her presence for the last time.
I find it strangely comforting to think Mary will live on in my memory every time I make one of her decadent treats.
Friday, January 25, 2013
Mary, part 1 (or How I Met My Soul Sister)
Mary's mom, Edith, asked me to write to her about Mary--our story and what she meant to me. And so the blog is back in business for now as I seek to compose a memorial that will do Mary justice.
It is a daunting task to chronicle 13 years of friendship at any time, and in the depths of grief, it feels monumental. However, I am hoping that in the writing will come some healing, and that in this space I will find freedom to reflect and remember and cry and laugh and ultimately enjoy and give thanks for the gift of true friendship.
I moved into Mary's rented house on April 1, 1999. She was away at her brother's wedding, and so I settled into an empty and absolutely FREEZING house. Mary was from Cape Cod, and she didn't believe in keeping the heating above 60, so I became accustomed to wrapping up in blankets and wearing gloves inside when we lived together. I don't remember much about our first meeting, but I remember feeling fairly stressed for the first few months we lived together. This was due in part because Mary was THE lightest sleeper ever created by God and was very particular about keeping noise down after 10:00. As a 19-year-old girl working odd hours, this was not ideal for me. Mary was an amazing English teacher, and she never gave easy multiple-choice tests, so she was forever grading essays in front of Law and Order. She was tired and counting down the days until summer break.
The first real interaction I remember with Mary was when she invited me to spend the day at the local pool with her one hot summer day. All of a sudden this stressed-out teacher turned into a fun-loving soul who wanted my company. I was trepidatious at first, not being one to dive into new experiences (pun gleefully intended--Mary would be trying not to laugh and rolling her eyes right now--fantastic), but she convinced me to come, and it really was the start of a beautiful friendship. We spent tons of time together that summer, and even though there was a 10-year difference in age, we got along wonderfully. She introduced me to all her favourite restaurants, (Anthony's, Burrito Brothers, and Tara Thai, to name a few) and made me go on hideously long and brisk walks with her (her legs had to have been at least three inches longer than mine, and I always got shin splints trying to keep up with her mad pace). We shared our family histories, cried with each other upon receiving bad news, sympathised over sibling dramas, hosted dinner parties, fought over whether cleaning the kitchen should include washing the walls (I am fairly certain she won that one and that the walls were included), scrapbooked, and truly became like sisters. Only living under the same roof and seeing someone in their true form can create space for that sort of closeness, that true acceptance and love for someone, having seen them at their best, worst and all the in-between times of just being.
During the two and a half years we lived together, Mary introduced me to the idea of co-dependency, of healing prayer, of talking to Jesus about everything, not just the big stuff but all the everyday stuff too. She encouraged me to get counselling when I wasn't coping with my parent's divorce. She prayed for me and got others to pray, too, when she knew I was up to no good. Her eyebrows raised knowingly when I'd try to sneak in unnoticed after a night out. Mary never lectured, but her very being rang out conviction and emanated grace. She was a God-sent beacon for me in the darkest time of my life, when I was looking for love, for acceptance, for truth, Mary was a faithful friend and mentor to me, never wavering in her insistence that Jesus longed for me.
It is a daunting task to chronicle 13 years of friendship at any time, and in the depths of grief, it feels monumental. However, I am hoping that in the writing will come some healing, and that in this space I will find freedom to reflect and remember and cry and laugh and ultimately enjoy and give thanks for the gift of true friendship.
I moved into Mary's rented house on April 1, 1999. She was away at her brother's wedding, and so I settled into an empty and absolutely FREEZING house. Mary was from Cape Cod, and she didn't believe in keeping the heating above 60, so I became accustomed to wrapping up in blankets and wearing gloves inside when we lived together. I don't remember much about our first meeting, but I remember feeling fairly stressed for the first few months we lived together. This was due in part because Mary was THE lightest sleeper ever created by God and was very particular about keeping noise down after 10:00. As a 19-year-old girl working odd hours, this was not ideal for me. Mary was an amazing English teacher, and she never gave easy multiple-choice tests, so she was forever grading essays in front of Law and Order. She was tired and counting down the days until summer break.
The first real interaction I remember with Mary was when she invited me to spend the day at the local pool with her one hot summer day. All of a sudden this stressed-out teacher turned into a fun-loving soul who wanted my company. I was trepidatious at first, not being one to dive into new experiences (pun gleefully intended--Mary would be trying not to laugh and rolling her eyes right now--fantastic), but she convinced me to come, and it really was the start of a beautiful friendship. We spent tons of time together that summer, and even though there was a 10-year difference in age, we got along wonderfully. She introduced me to all her favourite restaurants, (Anthony's, Burrito Brothers, and Tara Thai, to name a few) and made me go on hideously long and brisk walks with her (her legs had to have been at least three inches longer than mine, and I always got shin splints trying to keep up with her mad pace). We shared our family histories, cried with each other upon receiving bad news, sympathised over sibling dramas, hosted dinner parties, fought over whether cleaning the kitchen should include washing the walls (I am fairly certain she won that one and that the walls were included), scrapbooked, and truly became like sisters. Only living under the same roof and seeing someone in their true form can create space for that sort of closeness, that true acceptance and love for someone, having seen them at their best, worst and all the in-between times of just being.
During the two and a half years we lived together, Mary introduced me to the idea of co-dependency, of healing prayer, of talking to Jesus about everything, not just the big stuff but all the everyday stuff too. She encouraged me to get counselling when I wasn't coping with my parent's divorce. She prayed for me and got others to pray, too, when she knew I was up to no good. Her eyebrows raised knowingly when I'd try to sneak in unnoticed after a night out. Mary never lectured, but her very being rang out conviction and emanated grace. She was a God-sent beacon for me in the darkest time of my life, when I was looking for love, for acceptance, for truth, Mary was a faithful friend and mentor to me, never wavering in her insistence that Jesus longed for me.
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