Losing a friend in the internet age.. (Long Message Hound)
All,
The loss of our friend Hound had me thinking a lot this weekend, especially about how we can connect with people that we have never met in person and still feel their loss. A few years back, a gal on an email list I am on was killed in a hit & run accident. As the majority of the people on that email list lived in the SF Bay area, there were a number whom I had never met in person, including Jenni, the gall who was killed. Below is a message I wrote at the time, which I think has some direct correlation to what I thought and felt when I heard that Hound had passed on. The internet is a strange and wonderful thing, and I think that this type of communication (one to many to one) like what goes on in AFB and Alt.Coffee and many other newsgroups is something completely new (well, maybe there is something similar amongst shortwave enthusiasts). We meet each other. We chat, talk, argue, agree, tease, help, chastise and laugh together, while miles away from each other and maybe never seeing each others face or hearing each others voice. We develop friendships through this strange new medium that are a little different from the ones we have in our more-present world, and can be at a loss to explain them to our non-internet savvy friends. It doesn't mean that we appreciate these friendships any less than those of people we've communed with in the flesh, just that they are somehow different. And it doesn't hurt any less when we lose an "Internet Friend". Anyway, here's that letter I mentioned, along with the lyrics of a song that I put on while I grilled some Lamb chops on my "pottery" as Hound called it. Rest easy, friend. -Chef Juke Tuesday, June 9th, 1998 Last night... I was working in the garage on a shelf that I was building for the room we're moving our home office into. I had the radio on to the local community college/NPR station that was playing its weekly folk music show. As I was working on sanding and staining the shelf a song came on called "Down To A River, a moving song about the loss of a loved one - and I immediately thought of Jenni, then realized that the memorial was happening right at that moment. I didn't catch the name of the artist but I will find it and post the lyrics to the list shortly because I think it is very appropriate. Now one thing I feel I should mention is that I don't even know if I ever met Jenni in person or not. As most people on this email list can understand, the with the many people, places, faces and last but not least, intoxicants that come from the fount that flows from the our group of friends, sometimes it can be difficult to totally connect a name/face/experience. Also, living so far away (Eugene, OR) from the main stomping grounds of this group (S.F. Bay Area), I don't see even the people that I DO know on the list anywhere NEAR as much as I would like. But, I *have* known her a little by her emails to the list (especially her notes of thanks after each of the list related parties/events that she'd been to), and even more so through a reflection of her as it bounced of other list members. It seems that the last few weeks have been full of images and feelings loss in and around my consciousness. One of my co-workers' nephew was killed in the Thurston High School shooting, 3 others had relatives wounded. The local media was filled with far too many images of grief that hit far too close to home. Then last week we received two company-wide emails, each telling us of a different work colleague from our California office that had passed away. Then Jenni. I'd like to think I've learned something about loss & remembrance in my life. In 1985 my 17-year-old stepbrother Erik was killed in a motorcycle accident, then 1 month later my stepfather Lew was killed in a car accident. A lady who had been driving the opposite direction in a Cadillac, looked down in her purse for something, crossed the double line and hit him head on. He was driving a little Honda CRX - she got a sprained wrist - he was killed instantly. My Mom was waiting for him at home in their hot tub when the Sheriff rang the bell - she thought it was Lew joking around. <sigh...> As to remembrance and reincarnations... Last year I had an experience that solidified my belief in, well, if not reincarnation exactly, then perhaps a continuity of spirit: Every summer for the last 9 years I have worked at a booth at the Oregon Country Fair selling homemade ice cream. The booth just adjacent to ours is The Blintz Booth. This booth, like many at the OCF is run by a conglomeration of friends & families that have been running their booth at the Fair for many years. They are a great bunch of people and over the years we have laughed a lot together and enjoyed each other's company. I have watched their children grow up, seeing them only once a year, like a time-elapsed camera taking one frame per year. Anyway, I had noticed that they had a gathering in the small pathway between our booths every year on the fair's opening night (after the fair had closed to the general public). It had always seemed like a private affair. Well this last year I had been standing nearby when one of the Blintzes (well, that's what we called the folks who worked in their booth), asked me to come sit with her as they had their yearly ceremony. As I sat there I listened and learned what their ceremony was about. The Blintzes were involved in the Country Fair it seemed, in a large part due to one woman, Melise, whom most of them considered to be pretty much the extended family's matriarch. She was the one who kept them going when adversity hit, did the things that reminded them of the joy of living and pretty much had instilled in them part of the common spark that they all seemed to share. I had seen her pictures on the wall of their booth where they had 20 some odd years of Country Fair pictures hanging. One year, just before the Country Fair, she died suddenly. The Blintzes almost didn't come to the Fair that year they were so heartbroken, but they somehow managed to do it anyway. That year someone made a special handblown bottle with many beautiful accoutrements and some special liquor (homemade?) and they all took a sip, said a remembrance to Melise. Every year since then they made a new bottle, and repeated the tradition. Before this night I had seen the slew of bottles hanging from the ceiling of their booth but I never knew the significance. Each bottle had the year it was from either painted or engraved on it and most of them looked not unlike a miniature version of some of the art cars we have seen out on the playa. Little glass curlicues stuck on here & there, colored ribbons strung through them, some years' bottle wilder than others. Well I sat there and listened as each of the Blintzes, young & old, took the bottle, told of a memory they had of Melise, took sip from the bottle, then passed the bottle on. Those who were too young to remember her related a way in that she had touched their lives. Brothers, Sisters, Cousins, Daughters, Friends. Each took their turn. Eventually the bottle came down to where I was sitting next to one of my Blintz friends. Feeling like somewhat of an intruder of sorts, I politely went to pass the bottle to her and she said no. She wanted me to partake. She said that I was part of their extended family and could say anything that I wanted to share whether it related to Melise or not. The entire group (all 25 or so of them) nodded in agreement. I, who am usually not at a loss for words, cannot adequately express how deeply moved I was by this. So I took the bottle. And I told, as best I could what sitting there with them at this gathering meant to me. I was honored that they invited me to sit & share with them. I told them how I had realized just a few minutes before, that Melise had died just a few weeks before I came to my first Country Fair. I had never met her in person, but I knew her, or at least a part of her through the reflection of her that shone off of the people that she had touched in her life. I now knew, from listening to the folks who had spoken before me, things about them that showed the reflection of Melise, like the fact that one of those Blintz kids that I had watched grow up - who's laugh that I loved so much - was Melise's same laugh... that much of the Blintzes spirit that I loved was a direct expression of Melise's spirit. And that a part of what I had experienced with them had been a part of Melise showing through. I told them that what it really came down to is that through them a part of Melise had become a part of me through them and that I would, and do cherish it. We do carry parts of each other's spirit on with us. Whether friend, family or stranger, the people who have an effect on our lives, no matter how small, become a part of our consciousness. It's not necessarily a mystical thing and you don't have to be a Shirley Maclaine / mysticism fan to be able see it, you just have to look. I know that my Daughter Sofia who met her Great Grandmother, "Nonny" only once when she was very young, carries a part of Nonny's spirit with her. It shows in her stubborn streak. : I know that I carry part of my Great Grandma Harriett's spirit with me - it was handed to me by my Father, who she raised when he was a boy in the Georgia Backwoods. She died 15 years before I was born, but the part of her that I carry with me will be here always -I will pass it on to my daughters Sofia & Isabel and they will pass on part of it to their friends & family. So even if it is just the small effect of an enthusiastic email or two that you read from someone far away, it makes a difference. Anyway, y'all probably know all this stuff, and I'm just goin' on & on to the point of being preachy... But just so's ya know, I care about you all in that strangely disjointed-but-still-connected way that we be what we are..... -Chef Juke ps. I found the lyrics to that song... The song is called Down To a River by Connie Kaldor: Down To a River There are dinners, there's music There is laughter there were tears There are memories that go back Over the years There are the marks made in a life Like only good friends do Now I must choose to make a mark For the things I loved in you CHORUS: I'll go down to a river And plant a tree Something strong, wild and living Those are my memories And I'll go up to a mountain And sing to the stars Can you hear me Where ever you are. And there's phone calls and there's crying And there's clutching to the chest And there's singing songs and throwing dirt And laying down to rest And there's carving words on stone And making church bells ring But the river when it freezes over Still thaws and runs each spring So I will go down to a river And plant a tree Something strong, wild and living Those are my memories And I'll go up to a mountain And sing to the stars Can you hear me Where ever you are. Do you hear the ones who loved you And who were glad they knew you well Do the hearts you left that miss you Ring like a bell I will go down to a river And plant a tree Strong, wild and living Those are my memories And I'll go up to a mountain And sing to the stars Can you hear me Where ever you are Can you hear me Can you hear me Can you hear me Where ever you are |
Losing a friend in the internet age.. (Long Message Hound)
"Chef Juke" > wrote in message ... > All, > > The loss of our friend Hound had me thinking a lot this weekend, > especially about how we can connect with people that we have never met > in person and still feel their loss. A few years back, a gal on an > email list I am on was killed in a hit & run accident. As the > majority of the people on that email list lived in the SF Bay area, > there were a number whom I had never met in person, including Jenni, > the gall who was killed. > > Below is a message I wrote at the time, which I think has some direct > correlation to what I thought and felt when I heard that Hound had > passed on. > <snipped too long to quote> I fully concur with Chef Juke. My family prefers to rejoice in the remembrance of friendship rather then dwell on the pain of loss. It's not that we belittle the loss in any way. We just feel like we would be making light of a valued relationship by putting away pictures and memories. Hound will be sorely missed and I for one will remember him fondly. Brick |
Losing a friend in the internet age.. (Long Message Hound)
Thank you for the very moving Eulogy, Chef Juke.
Harry On Mon, 27 Oct 2003 15:10:17 -0800, Chef Juke > wrote: >All, > >The loss of our friend Hound had me thinking a lot this weekend, >especially about how we can connect with people that we have never met >in person and still feel their loss. A few years back, a gal on an >email list I am on was killed in a hit & run accident. As the >majority of the people on that email list lived in the SF Bay area, >there were a number whom I had never met in person, including Jenni, >the gall who was killed. > >Below is a message I wrote at the time, which I think has some direct >correlation to what I thought and felt when I heard that Hound had >passed on. > >The internet is a strange and wonderful thing, and I think that this >type of communication (one to many to one) like what goes on in AFB >and Alt.Coffee and many other newsgroups is something completely new >(well, maybe there is something similar amongst shortwave >enthusiasts). > >We meet each other. We chat, talk, argue, agree, tease, help, >chastise and laugh together, while miles away from each other and >maybe never seeing each others face or hearing each others voice. We >develop friendships through this strange new medium that are a little >different from the ones we have in our more-present world, and can be >at a loss to explain them to our non-internet savvy friends. It >doesn't mean that we appreciate these friendships any less than those >of people we've communed with in the flesh, just that they are somehow >different. > >And it doesn't hurt any less when we lose an "Internet Friend". > >Anyway, here's that letter I mentioned, along with the lyrics of a >song that I put on while I grilled some Lamb chops on my "pottery" as >Hound called it. > >Rest easy, friend. > >-Chef Juke > >Tuesday, June 9th, 1998 > >Last night... > >I was working in the garage on a shelf that I was building for the >room we're moving our home office into. I had the radio on to the >local community college/NPR station that was playing its weekly folk >music show. > >As I was working on sanding and staining the shelf a song came on >called "Down To A River, a moving song about the loss of a loved one - >and I immediately thought of Jenni, then realized that the memorial >was happening right at that moment. I didn't catch the name of the >artist but I will find it and post the lyrics to the list shortly >because I think it is very appropriate. > >Now one thing I feel I should mention is that I don't even know if I >ever met Jenni in person or not. As most people on this email list >can understand, the with the many people, places, faces and last but >not least, intoxicants that come from the fount that flows from the >our group of friends, sometimes it can be difficult to totally >connect a name/face/experience. > >Also, living so far away (Eugene, OR) from the main stomping grounds >of this group (S.F. Bay Area), I don't see even the people that I DO >know on the list anywhere NEAR as much as I would like. > >But, I *have* known her a little by her emails to the list (especially >her notes of thanks after each of the list related parties/events that >she'd been to), and even more so through a reflection of her as it >bounced of other list members. > >It seems that the last few weeks have been full of images and feelings >loss in and around my consciousness. One of my co-workers' nephew was >killed in the Thurston High School shooting, 3 others had relatives >wounded. The local media was filled with far too many images of grief >that hit far too close to home. Then last week we received two >company-wide emails, each telling us of a different work colleague >from our California office that had passed away. > >Then Jenni. > >I'd like to think I've learned something about loss & remembrance in >my life. In 1985 my 17-year-old stepbrother Erik was killed in a >motorcycle accident, then 1 month later my stepfather Lew was killed >in a car accident. A lady who had been driving the opposite direction >in a Cadillac, looked down in her purse for something, crossed the >double line and hit him head on. He was driving a little Honda CRX - >she got a sprained wrist - he was killed instantly. My Mom was >waiting for him at home in their hot tub when the Sheriff rang the >bell - she thought it was Lew joking around. > ><sigh...> > >As to remembrance and reincarnations... > >Last year I had an experience that solidified my belief in, well, if >not reincarnation exactly, then perhaps a continuity of spirit: > >Every summer for the last 9 years I have worked at a booth at the >Oregon Country Fair selling homemade ice cream. The booth just >adjacent to ours is The Blintz Booth. This booth, like many at the >OCF is run by a conglomeration of friends & families that have been >running their booth at the Fair for many years. They are a great >bunch of people and over the years we have laughed a lot together and >enjoyed each other's company. I have watched their children grow up, >seeing them only once a year, like a time-elapsed camera taking one >frame per year. > >Anyway, I had noticed that they had a gathering in the small pathway >between our booths every year on the fair's opening night (after the >fair had closed to the general public). It had always seemed like a >private affair. > >Well this last year I had been standing nearby when one of the >Blintzes (well, that's what we called the folks who worked in their >booth), asked me to come sit with her as they had their yearly >ceremony. As I sat there I listened and learned what their ceremony >was about. > >The Blintzes were involved in the Country Fair it seemed, in a large >part due to one woman, Melise, whom most of them considered to be >pretty much the extended family's matriarch. She was the one who kept >them going when adversity hit, did the things that reminded them of >the joy of living and pretty much had instilled in them part of the >common spark that they all seemed to share. I had seen her pictures >on the wall of their booth where they had 20 some odd years of Country >Fair pictures hanging. > >One year, just before the Country Fair, she died suddenly. The >Blintzes almost didn't come to the Fair that year they were so >heartbroken, but they somehow managed to do it anyway. That year >someone made a special handblown bottle with many beautiful >accoutrements and some special liquor (homemade?) and they all took a >sip, said a remembrance to Melise. Every year since then they made a >new bottle, and repeated the tradition. Before this night I had seen >the slew of bottles hanging from the ceiling of their booth but I >never knew the significance. Each bottle had the year it was from >either painted or engraved on it and most of them looked not unlike a >miniature version of some of the art cars we have seen out on the >playa. Little glass curlicues stuck on here & there, colored ribbons >strung through them, some years' bottle wilder than others. > >Well I sat there and listened as each of the Blintzes, young & old, >took the bottle, told of a memory they had of Melise, took sip from >the bottle, then passed the bottle on. Those who were too young to >remember her related a way in that she had touched their lives. >Brothers, Sisters, Cousins, Daughters, Friends. Each took their turn. > >Eventually the bottle came down to where I was sitting next to one of >my Blintz friends. Feeling like somewhat of an intruder of sorts, I >politely went to pass the bottle to her and she said no. She wanted >me to partake. She said that I was part of their extended family and >could say anything that I wanted to share whether it related to Melise >or not. The entire group (all 25 or so of them) nodded in agreement. >I, who am usually not at a loss for words, cannot adequately express >how deeply moved I was by this. > >So I took the bottle. And I told, as best I could what sitting there >with them at this gathering meant to me. I was honored that they >invited me to sit & share with them. I told them how I had realized >just a few minutes before, that Melise had died just a few weeks >before I came to my first Country Fair. I had never met her in >person, but I knew her, or at least a part of her through the >reflection of her that shone off of the people that she had touched in >her life. I now knew, from listening to the folks who had spoken >before me, things about them that showed the reflection of Melise, >like the fact that one of those Blintz kids that I had watched grow up >- who's laugh that I loved so much - was Melise's same laugh... that >much of the Blintzes spirit that I loved was a direct expression of >Melise's spirit. And that a part of what I had experienced with them >had been a part of Melise showing through. > >I told them that what it really came down to is that through them a >part of Melise had become a part of me through them and that I would, >and do cherish it. > >We do carry parts of each other's spirit on with us. Whether friend, >family or stranger, the people who have an effect on our lives, no >matter how small, become a part of our consciousness. It's not >necessarily a mystical thing and you don't have to be a Shirley >Maclaine / mysticism fan to be able see it, you just have to look. I >know that my Daughter Sofia who met her Great Grandmother, "Nonny" >only once when she was very young, carries a part of Nonny's spirit >with her. It shows in her stubborn streak. : >I know that I carry part of my Great Grandma Harriett's spirit with me >- it was handed to me by my Father, who she raised when he was a boy >in the Georgia Backwoods. She died 15 years before I was born, but the >part of her that I carry with me will be here always -I will pass it >on to my daughters Sofia & Isabel and they will pass on part of it to >their friends & family. > >So even if it is just the small effect of an enthusiastic email or two >that you read from someone far away, it makes a difference. > >Anyway, y'all probably know all this stuff, and I'm just goin' on & on >to the point of being preachy... > >But just so's ya know, I care about you all in that strangely >disjointed-but-still-connected way that we be what we are..... > >-Chef Juke > >ps. I found the lyrics to that song... > >The song is called Down To a River by Connie Kaldor: > >Down To a River > >There are dinners, there's music >There is laughter there were tears >There are memories that go back >Over the years >There are the marks made in a life >Like only good friends do >Now I must choose to make a mark >For the things I loved in you > >CHORUS: >I'll go down to a river >And plant a tree >Something strong, wild and living >Those are my memories >And I'll go up to a mountain >And sing to the stars >Can you hear me >Where ever you are. > >And there's phone calls and there's crying >And there's clutching to the chest >And there's singing songs and throwing dirt >And laying down to rest >And there's carving words on stone >And making church bells ring >But the river when it freezes over >Still thaws and runs each spring > > >So I will go down to a river >And plant a tree >Something strong, wild and living >Those are my memories >And I'll go up to a mountain >And sing to the stars >Can you hear me >Where ever you are. > > >Do you hear the ones who loved you >And who were glad they knew you well >Do the hearts you left that miss you >Ring like a bell > >I will go down to a river >And plant a tree >Strong, wild and living >Those are my memories >And I'll go up to a mountain >And sing to the stars >Can you hear me >Where ever you are > >Can you hear me >Can you hear me >Can you hear me >Where ever you are > > |
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