I wrote of the passing of a matriarchal figure in our family in March; last weekend we were in Vermont for a memorial "celebration" of her life. A late afternoon gathering in the lovely backyard of the little house she had lived in; a tent set up, an open bar and some food. Backyard Vermont
I had mentioned her exceptional qualities; for this celebration of a few hours perhaps 150 people or more made it to this remote Vermont village, people from California and Chicago, South Carolina and Colorado, many from closer environs and people from the town, most all who had know her for decades. Many were relatives that I hardly knew and, as the evening turned to night, we tried to get a group shot of the remaining celebrants but there really was not room enough. Late, Most of the Remaining Crowd
The weather was lovely, a small podium had been set up in the tent where we all gathered. People of all generations told stories, recalled memories, many laughs and tears. There was a little music as well, including a "farewell sing-along" to the tune of "Bye, Bye, Blackbird." Of course, it was my sister who orchestrated this and she passed out to all a printed copy of her created lyrics to which we all sang along. On the passed out sheets there was remarkable image: apparently not long ago, my sister and her guy were visiting Marge at her other little house, this one on a lake near Canada. As the day was getting late, Marge declared she wanted to go out in a canoe, by herself, so they helped her frail 90 year old body over the rocks and into the canoe and off she paddled. And then my sister got this picture of her, in the canoe, silhouetted on the empty lake as the sun faded behind the mountain... there you go, bye, bye, Marge... Bye, Bye Marge
