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Ginny’s Memorial Remembrance for Bob My Dear Friends and Dearest Bob, I send you my love today, Bob, for your passing to spirit and
as we here celebrate the life you came to lead so fully and ever more open
heartedly, as your endured one of the most difficult illnesses known, ALS; an
illness that you had already For 11 years almost to the day, I was Bob’s wife. Bob and I laughed last month as we listened to a recording of our wedding ceremony when John Murphy, the priest, who married us, looked at the small crowd, and said pointedly, "These two are not going just need each other, they are going to need the help of all of you." (At the time we thought, oh God, he doesn’t much faith in us!) Little did he or we know how true those words would become. That day there were 60 people. Today there are more than 150 and indeed, we have needed the help of each of you. It is an impossible mission to put the experience of being married to Bob or the journey with ALS we went through fully into words. Nor can I yet describe the experience of being without you, Bob, by my side, though I feel your presence nearly constantly in my heart, in music and whenever I am walking outdoors… in the trees, when the dragon fly lights on my shoulder and at the sight of the turtle crossing his path. By my nature and with some brevity needed, I will turn to the art of cooking to help me as metaphor for the bigger matters of life. Bob and I both loved to cook and enjoy soup. Bob made great soups! As you might expect, he never used a recipe when he could avoid it. He improvised. A dash of this! A pile of mushrooms. Tarragon. Parsley et voila! Delicious! From the finest Bouillabaisse which we made together every New Year’s Day to the lowly lentil – he, we, savored every flavor we could discover to make the very best soups we could. And, isn’t a marriage a lot like a great kettle of soup? Each partner adds their stock, their finest ingredients…their spices… the things they dredge with them that get tossed into the pot without awareness…and, that’s just the beginning. Then, turn on the heat! You have to watch. Pay attention. Stir gently. Taste. Add what’s right, not always knowing what that is…and then try again. Learning by living …a pinch more…a cup less…again and again, together. A little different each time. Bob was a little different. I’ve never known anyone like him. No one. Not born into the kettle of a traditional family like most of us, Bob was born without a father and without his mother with him for his first years. He didn’t have the definition, the support or the burdens of family. From early on Bob, was a seeker. Seeking out people, places and ways to find meaning; a sense of himself and belonging. He was also eager to give of himself to serve others to build connection. Much of his life was a quest for an inner and outer place of home. Bob was also quite an individual, a non-conformist. He fit no mold and made the journey of his life on quite his own terms. He wore wild hats. He prided himself in the sophistication of his French up-bringing and then would take forever draw out the world’s corniest and dumbest joke to it punch line. He turned cartwheels at the age of 40. He stood out. Sometimes in a quiet way. Sometimes not so quiet. He liked the attention. He very much wanted to be noticed & remembered for his inner and outer self. And so our dear Bob, seeing no need for barriers, sought to make the entire world his home! He took what he didn’t have as a child and transformed it into what he had to offer as a man. Every friend, colleague, school, organization he was involved with became part "home" for him. His unique combination of being loveable, generous, compassionate, striving for good and being slight left of center endeared him to many. Not caring for possessions, wealth or fame, relationships, along with music and books, were his riches. The map of his friendships stretches far reaching across the globe. This man kept every letter, every postcard he ever received. Whether it had been a day, a week or decades since he had last seen you, Bob would always light up at the chance to call, write and be with friends. It was the essential ingredient in his life. The blend in the kettle of our marriage was a lively mix. Delicious. Flavorful. Real. An unexpected toss of spice. Sometimes too much heat or a heavy dollop of self-absorption. But never, never dull or tasteless. Bob was the earthy wild mushroom to my sprightly, slightly air-born sprig of basil. Always the tortoise to me, the hare, long before "The Turtle Journal", the gift ingredient Bob gave to me was the ceaseless dash to overcome my fear and worry and to live life more fully and presently. I offered him the main ingredients of making a home, letting him know that he was truly loved and worked hard at convincing him to believe it for himself. I also had the delight of watching Bob, the constant seeker, find "home" as he grew and matured in his years of formal and on-the-job training of becoming a Waldorf School teacher. His most recent job as music director at the Lexington Waldorf School was the greatest joy to see, as he shined fully, all the hard work of past years showing itself with newfound ease and joy in the love of teaching children what he loved, music. Our marriage and lives cooked gently along in our journey. Then Bob got ALS. The heat under our soup kettle went into over-boil! Our lives changed so painfully fast and furiously as all that we had known as secure, predictable and normal, evaporated into hot steam. Loss, after loss, after loss, came spilling over without time to settle, stir or consult a recipe on well really… anything. It sent us spinning! We were frightened, angry, hoping, loving and stunned all at once. It was clear we were quickly losing much of what was in the kettle that we had simmered with so much care. Bob had worked for many talented chefs in his time and he had also studied with many wise teachers of life. He knew that a skilled chef wouldn’t see what was happening to the soup as a disaster. A skilled chef sees that this is what is called, "making a reduction". A reduction, in cooking, is boiling off the stock in the kettle that is not needed down to what is, in fact, more than less, the essential, the most flavorful, the most necessary elements. And this is where the miracle happened. Through this painful rampage, Bob and I both felt that we couldn’t keep up with the losses. At the very time we needed it, many, many cooks, our friends who became known as The Circle of Support, gathered around our kettle in an embrace of skills that hasn’t ceased. First, they turned down the heat. They imparted measure upon measure of love. Collectively and each in their own style, they helped to write a new recipe to see us through a journey that could not be stopped or even controlled, but made vastly more meaningful and bearable by countless gifts of kindness, care, celebration, presence and hard work; the highest ingredients of friendship. Bob and I both discovered a newfound "home" surrounded by scores of friends, both old and new, a home really where the heart is. We all dispelled the old adage by clearly demonstrating that too many cooks can vastly improve the broth! All of you, hundreds of cooks, have shared in the making, the tasting, the bettering of our experience. Our friends supported and circled Bob; Bob the seeker, Bob the individualist, helping him to do the extraordinary. Bob was not reduced by ALS. He suffered greatly but did not become suffering. He raged at it, but did not become the rage. In the astounding way he chose to work with ALS, Bob was reduced to his essence, his greatest, most loving and open-hearted self. He offered these gifts of these to all of us in person and in his writings. Bob did not back away. He gave his all. Body. Mind. Heart. Soul. Oh, how I will miss him! How we all will! I have not had the heart just yet to take a new kettle from the shelf. Tears still need to pour into the one that was ours. But as I imagine myself starting my own new soup someday, I imagine Bob’s spirit over my shoulder and him saying: "Choose your ingredients. Choose the finest. Choose them laughing. Choose the flavors you savor the most. Share your soup with others. All soups boils down. All boil away. May this one too, like ours…boil down to love… boil down to love." Submitted with love to "The Turtle Journal"
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