A Toronto Memorial in May

"Kind, kind and gentle is she
Kind is my Mary." - Old Scottish song

Tim and Mary Rooney, 1948

Only three weeks after my mother-in-law Vivian's death, and Peter's and my trip to New York, Paul and I flew to Toronto for the beautiful memorial for another very dear relation, my first cousin Tim Rooney's wife of sixty-two years, Mary Elizabeth Rooney (nee Carlisle).  With my mother's death last January, this forms a triumverate of women in my family circle of that generation, whom it's hard to believe could ever be gone.  Mary was so special, so life-affirming, so gentle, so smart and understanding, that it's hard not to fall into hyperbole in writing about her, but Mary herself well knew Jane Austen's saying "Pictures of perfection make me sick and wicked."  So I won't even attempt a description, but will only say that her family, Tim and their five children, and grandchildren, were lucky beyond compare to have Mary as the center of their universe.

Mary's parents were early settlers in Peace River, northern Alberta, which was frontier country when they arrived in 1914; Mary was born in 1923, but her father died when she was small and her mother worked to support her, becoming the first woman in Canada to be appointed Clerk of the Court and Sheriff.  Mary has written about her early Peace River days in a lovely, privately printed book.

Tim and Mary were married in 1950, and he was a mathematics professor at the University of Toronto - now by far the most senior member of the department.  Mary among multifarious occupations, interests, and the raising of her five children (Frank, Elizabeth, Katie, John, and Jim - and there are grandchildren, Frank's son Patrick, stepkids Claire and Aiden, and Katie's sons Casey and Jamie), deeply loved all things beautiful and was a beautiful artist.  There exists an awe-inspiring book of photographs and memories from the group of women artists she belonged to for more than forty years, who met and painted year round, often in a cabin at Lake Muskoka.  Kae, her dear friend and fellow artist, spoke movingly at the memorial, as did members of her family.

A painting by Mary (courtesy Elizabeth Rooney)

 

Geographical separation meant that our family visits were few, but much enjoyed and greatly cherished.  We thought there would always be more, but there comes a time when trip numbers are finite.  Tim and I first really got together when I started working on my biography of our mutual grandmother, Winnie (Onoto Watanna, University of Illinois Press, 2001), and we had a flurry of memorable visits during those exciting years.  Since he is twenty years older than me, grew up in Winnie's home, and has to this day the most incredible steel-trap mathematician's memory, I used to follow him around with a notebook, scribbling down his reminiscences! After the book came out I gave a talk at a Women in Western History conference at the University of Calgary (Winnie's papers are held at the university library), and Tim and Mary came and helped me celebrate "bringing Winnie back home."  We also went to Num-Ti-Jah together, the wonderful old lodge on Bow Lake (near Lake Louise), where Winnie had visited in its early days. 

Tim and Mary with me, Peter and Paul at Num-ti-Jah

It would be impossible for me to do justice to the history of our very happy cousinship, which was particularly important to us, as Tim and I were both only children, and I had grown up knowing nothing of my father's family.  Tim told me so much, helping me to know and discover that family.  Mary was hardly less interested than he was, and did as much to create this family magic, which went beyond my book and into our lives. 

No, all I can do here, is tell about our Toronto visit...which, though it was so sad, was a good time to be together.

Mary's picture, at the desk at their retirement home

 

 

Visiting Tim

 

After the memorial at the University of Toronto Faculty Club

John, Paul and Jamie

 

Jim, me and Jamie

 

 

Mary's poinsettias always came at Christmas...

 

While in Toronto, I was able to see friends as well as family, and a Pifflefest was organized.  Piffle is an online group originally derived from the Lord Peter Wimsey group devoted to Dorothy L.Sayers, but Piffle was for general chat, and eventually split off.  It's complicated - but it was in its heyday a truly sublime social group, whose members "piffled" on several continents.  We've had many pifflefests in the U.S., Canada, and England, and a few yet further afield (I think there was one in a Borneo airport once).  It's a venerable group, I've been a member since I think 1999, and even though it's necessarily dwindled somewhat as other internet forces like Facebook have taken over, we are still friends. 

 



Many of us have "noms," taken from the Lord Peter "corpus," and mine is Miss Schuster-Slatt from Gaudy Night.  I have met each of these pifflers on several previous Toronto visits, and they are, left to right, Suzanne ("Figment of a fevered Imagination"), Miss Schuster-Slatt, Shayna ("Mrs. Forrest"), and "Just Jane."

Here we are joined by Paul, at a Second Cup in a Jewish neighborhood.  We were able to procure bagels and lox in a nearby bakery

 

 

At a good Pifflefest, talk and food reign supreme.  What did we talk about? What didn't we? I was triumphantly reminded once again that a good old fashioned Pifflefest is like no other conversation. It is enthusiastic, curious, friendly and excited. Jane told about a lobster that turns off its brain in adolescence, and we decided to meet in London. Library school, travel, teaching, cruises, Judaica, the selfless act of Figment's granddaughter, age 13, in cutting her hair for sick children who need it. How age and infirmities cannot keep indomitable plfflers from piffling all over Europe and continents beyond. Berlin, reduction of benefits, rhinestones, iPads, books thereupon, mysteries, writing projects, cats, senior homes vs. own homes with stairs, Marrakesh, Cambridge, Chicago...that only scratched the surface of the topics.

 

Afterwards we visited at Jane's and Figment's lovely homes briefly, but even that wasn't all the friendly socializing...Paul and I were joined by another friend, Claire from the Girls' Own list, whom I've known for years.  She is godmother to our cats, and I've even stayed in her northern lake cabin!  But we've never actually met in person before, so this was a great occasion.  We had cider and continued the piffling.  After she left (as she was just off the plane from Edinburgh), Paul and I thoroughly enjoyed our last Toronto meal at Mt. Everest on Bloor Street - Himalayan and Nepali food, yum!

 



A house on Figment's block.  I wonder what the white flowering tree is,

they're in bloom all over Toronto this week.  Does anyone know?

 

Diva is no more

Early on the morning of April 5, we received the news from my shaken father-in-law Rutledge that Peter's mother, Vivian Barry, had died in her sleep during the night.  She was ninety.  Death cannot be unexpected at such an age, yet it was; she had been bright and lively even the day before, when I last spoke to her, though it's true, thinking in retrospect, that there had been a certain finality to her conversation.  I was telling her about an ailment of Peter's, that the doctor couldn't quite pin down, but none of the possibilities were very serious.  "So either he'll cut back on his medication, or go back on that sleep apnea machine, if it's not an infection, but whatever it is, it's something we can deal with, and we will."

"I know you will," she said feelingly; and I can't quite convey the tone, but it was as if the phrase "and you always will," was unspoken.  And at the end of the conversation she said slowly and deliberately, in a very final sort of way, "Now please remember, won't you, definitely, to give all my love to Peter - and to Paul - and to you."  So I think she knew it was soon.

Me and my mother-in-law, on one of countless visits home

By 4 PM that afternoon Peter and I were in the air, and we were with Rutledge not much after midnight.  It was a difficult few days, no question; I accompanied him to arrange the cremation, and to the bank to attend to some financial details.  We sat around and talked, and Vivian's two carers, sweet ladies, Mel and Serita, were there, shocked by the suddenness, and grieving.  What I most remember was how so many people in the building were really grieving, too.  Vivian was among the first tenants in her building in Peter Cooper Village, in 1948; Peter grew up there.  And she was a tremendous, gracious presence in the complex and in the neighborhood.  Nearly every day up to her death she was taken out in her wheelchair to the Greek diner across First Avenue.  When Peter and I went in there and said who we were, not only the owner, but waiters, waitresses, busboys, came up to us with tears in their eyes - it was almost startling.  They all loved her.

Vivian and her carer, Mel

Then there was the moment her younger carer Serita, a lovely Hindu woman, walking with me past the mailboxes, stopped to say to the mailman, "So, Diva is no more." Vivian jokingly called herself "Diva," for the way everyone took care of her, and Serita always gracefully used the words "is no more" instead of "died."  "No," said the mailman sadly, and I could see the grief on his face and tears actually ran down his cheeks.  "There is no more Diva."

Vivian as a young, stunning beauty - and she knew it!

I couldn't give a biographical perspective of Vivian's life - only the mere facts.  She was born Vivian Kobak on May 8, 1922, in Brooklyn, to Feibus and Minnie Kobak, and had an older brother, Bob, and younger sister, Louise, both now deceased.  She studied at the American Academy of Dramatic Arts and was an actress for awhile in her early twenties, until she married her first husband, Charles Birchall, and gave birth to Peter in 1944.  Her husband died when Peter was ten, and she married Rutledge soon after. Their son Rutledge Birmingham Barry III was born in 1962, and died in 1997.  In recent years Vivian was in a lot of pain from spinal stenosis, and she seemed increasingly ready to give it up.  But she remained lively, alert, and interested in books and people, and her family, up to her very last day.

Peter and his mother at The Burren, Ireland

 

 

Elegance:  Staying at the Royal Crescent Hotel, Bath

During our New York trip there was a lovely moment when two of Peter's first cousins, Yoav and Don, visited.  I don't think Peter had seen them since his grandmother's death, which was probably twenty-five years ago, and they'd never been very close.  But on this visit, there was a warm feeling, and new appreciation of the miracle of having family.

A reunion of cousins.  Don, Yoav, Peter.

There was no funeral, in accordance with Vivian's wishes, but her ashes will be scattered in Sequoia, as her son's were, and where there will be wildflowers.

I was fortunate to have a very sweet mother-in-law.  Farewell, Diva. 

We loved to have pastries at Veniero's, and frequently did - though now I'm thinking more would have been better.

 

...And always, bagels and lox

 

Vivian at my play

 

In her living room, always beautiful

 

Peter walking with his mother in the Village, after dinner at Sevilla

 

Vivian always had a vase of bittersweet in her living room.  Always.

 

But she will be where the pink gilia grows.

 

 



Baubles, Bangles, and Cats

I was shocked to realize that I haven't blogged on my own blogalicious blog since Syrie's and my "Austen Assizes" was put on in Brooklyn (excerpts are on YouTube), and that was last October! Mostly I've been blogging at www.AustenAuthors.com, where my "Lady Catherine de Bourgh" stories reach a wider audience and I get to write in company with other Austen obsessives.

 

  Marshy and an Aurora Borealis rhinestone brooch

 

But there are other things in life than Jane Austen, and two of them are Cats and what my Alaskan friend Denise calls "the sparkly things" - as in, "Never forget the sparkly things."  Since October, of course, there have been many cat-related incidents (code for things like: Pindy unhooked the cable router) and my sparkly pile has grown so hoardishly huge it is almost ready to have a dragon atop it instead of a cat.  So I will now catch you up, with a photo gallery of not only the new sparkles but our four-year-old treasures, Pindar, Martial and Catullus.

Aurora Borealis Brooches

 

My latest obsession is with Aurora Borealis brooches.  I'm still learning, but what I've learned so far is that "aurora borealis" is a coating given to crystals to make them sparkle and twinkle amazingly.  Jewelry made with these crystals and rhinestones was very popular in the mid-20th century, and so far my favorite "name" designer is Albert Weiss.  People nowadays may think of such jewelry as glitzy, cheap, costume stuff, but I assure you it is not so!  In my opinion, just one Aurora Borealis brooch on your sweater, and you are golden.  Or crystal, anyway.  Here is the current reigning prize of my collection:

 

"Melrose Weiss"

 

I call this baby "Melrose" because the person who sold it to me originally bought it on Melrose Blvd. in Hollywood years ago.  I actually bought Melrose and several others on Etsy, not in my usual Salvation Army venue.  Nice aurora borealis brooches can be found for as little as $10, though of course "Mel Weiss" (and she is indeed a vintage Weiss) was dearer than that!

 

As for how they look when worn, well, here I am with three friends who are this year celebrating the 50th anniversary of our Hunter College High School class of 1963.  (I didn't graduate from Hunter but after junior high at Hunter went to the High School of Music and Art - which means I'll be attending two golden reunions in New York this June!)  Joanne, Ruth and I all live in California now, while Joan, on the right, is visiting from Boston.  Anyway, you remember what Mr. and Mrs. Bennet said:

 

She:  "When a woman has five grown-up daughters she ought to give over thinking of her own beauty."

He:  "In such cases a woman has not often much beauty to think of."

Therefore I do not boast of my own beauty in showing this picture, but only want to illustrate that an Aurora Borealis Brooch does add a spot of sparkle to the ensemble!

 

Hunter friends after half a century, in La Jolla.  Joanne, me, Ruth, and Joan

A few more shopping days, a few more Auroras...

Melrose, a small Weiss, and a swoony pink-and-blue swirl

 

Four Auroras

A Turkish plate, a Pirkenhammer reticulated plate - and Four Auroras: from lower left, the pink-and-blue; Salvation Army purple and red brooches Paul gave me for my birthday; and Marshy's Triangle Sparkle (also seen in first picture).

 

 

Three beauties on a box.  The middle Emerald Star is divine!

 

 

Ice blue Aurora on an ice blue Barbini Venetian glass bowl.  Both are mid-century.

 

Close up of the Emerald Star.

 

 



A nameless brooch from the Salvation Army, $10, and priceless.  You have an eye, and then you buy...

 

Now for some new acquisitions of the non-brooch variety...



 

Salvation Army what-not, quickly filled with pretties

 

 My new favorite is a beautiful Victorian glass vase Paul found at the Star antiques store in Hermosa Beach, next door to the library where he's working.

 





Hand-painted Victorian vase

 

Some pretty plates. 

Clockwise from left:  a golden reticulated Rosenthal; a blue and white Pirkenhammer; multicolored reticulated Pirkenhammer; dark red and white pedestaled Limoges.

 

A needlepoint folding Eastlake chair, from Hermosa Beach. Celebrated by me, Paul, and Pindy.

 

Spiffy new Salvation Army rug in the bedroom...and Marshy owns it!

 

Peter reading in comfort, with Marshy and Tully curled up together nearby

 

And now, the cats...

 

Tully, in possession of an important Feather

 

Pindar, ever queenly, on her new satin blanket (S.A., $3)

 

 

And a final shot of Marshy as Glamour Puss.  Aurora Marshyalis...



The Austen Assizes and the Brooklyn Bridge

Cast of "The Austen Assizes," by Syrie James and Diana Birchall

Lady Catherine (Marcee Chipman), Willoughby (Jonathan Ross), Court Clerk (Beatrice Nearey), Mrs. Bennett (Miriam Fuller), Fanny Dashwood (Diana Birchall), Robert Ferrars (Juliet McMaster), Lucy Steele (Syrie James), Col. Brandon (Bill James)

No time and only a few waning shards of energy left with which to blog, but "The Austen Assizes" was a huge success. Several hundred people howling with laughter for a solid hour, never heard or saw anything like it! The actors were hilarious, divine - everyone in the other panel sessions could hear the constant laughter and shouts through the walls the whole time! Walking on air...Literally, for after the play I went and walked across the whole entire Brooklyn Bridge. An unparalleled, exalting day. I'll only share a few top pictures now, and tell the whole story more fully later.

Judge Dubious Honorarius Ray (Joan Ray)

Lady Catherine de Bourgh (Marcee Chipman) and Court Clerk (Beatrice Nearey)

Mrs. Bennet (Miriam Fuller)

Mr. Willoughby (Jonathan Ross)

Lucy Steele (Syrie James) and Robert Ferrars (Juliet McMaster)

Me on the Brooklyn Bridge