First off, thank you to everyone for the expressions of affection, condolence and support that have appeared in my inbox. We seem to be scissor-shaped, leaning on each other, gaining support by how well we hold each other up.
A perfect illustration of how a community of any kind is supposed to work, I guess.
There is a week to prepare for Mary Flagg's funeral, it happens next Saturday. This is important. I might even go out and buy a black suit, though EH advises me to dress as a Native - turquoise ribbon shirt, red scarves, the whole bit.
The weather may be really cold, I'll probably skip the breechclout and wear pants.
I'm sure I won't stand out - clergy and choir will all be wearing dresses, basically. They'll have no right to complain - and I'd love to see them try....
Just as in Native circles there is a whole Greatest Generation that is passing away. Lions, like Mary.
She was the first woman to be elevated to the National Committee of the Episcopal Church, back in the days when females all wore boiled wool and pearls (actually you still see that a lot today), were ferocious members of Sacristy teams (the folks who prepped all the hangings and linens used in services) and Flower guilds.
But real power? Ordination? Vestry decision-making? Not a chance.
This was back when the Episcopal Church was a ruthless force for social stratification and identification - at least, it was so on the surface.
Case in point - St. Luke's has a lovely circular drive in front that leads to the tower entrance. On Sundays before the turn of the 20th. Century you would see carriages dropping off all of the gentry from the West End, said gentry being greeted by ushers holding the doors.
Unless you were obviously not part of the "carriage trade" - then you were advised that "perhaps St. Mark's down on Congress (now Joe's Smoke Shop) would be more comfortable for you".
Had I not been told this by a former dean of the Cathedral I would have believed it anyway.
When I met her, decades after that travail I could still see the ultra-practical personality that got her through it all. Her husband, Joe Flagg, had only recently passed away. Back in the Thirties (at least), in a raging snowstorm, he had driven home to Portland after insisting on driving her back to Boston. He had hung out the window of his jalopy all the way up, against the wind.
The fever that then possessed him left him a palsied wreck and he offered to release Mary from their engagement.
They stayed married for at least fifty years.
All these thoughts were in my head this afternoon as I trooped about - Mrs. Beadle being still in the shop - fulfilling my other role in the H. family by providing sugared carbohydrates (i.e., "cookies and donuts" - especially Tony's) to the kids.
It wasn't a chance to sit shiva. I suppose we'll do something like that - perhaps closer family members will. Perhaps that's what these blog posts are to me. Mostly it was talking about immediate practicalities and long, long term implications.
The old lions are leaving. I suppose it makes sense that they do so. In the meantime there are kittens who need to suddenly assume the head of the pride. Kittens into new lions.
And no one, I think, makes a conscious effort to do so (at least if they expect to stay sane). It's more like we live our lives and come through for each other, support each other in X-shaped ways as much as we can.
In my case, at least today, it meant bringing over schnecken and bread, having a cup of chowder (Grandma's fish chowder) and just being there for a while.
Today I am a wobbly planet with a stable orbit. Perhaps the stars really are as close as they look.
No comments:
Post a Comment