Irish Wit(t)

It has turned out to be an Irish themed weekend for me, full of celebrations of life.  Yesterday I was at the wedding of my 24 year old cousin Maggie, a celebration of life for a young couple starting out together.  She chose an Irish theme for her wedding.  On my side (her dad’s side) we are part Irish but she’s very Irish on her mom’s side.  So the bridesmaids wore green, the groomsmen’s vests were pale green, there was an Irish blessing at the wedding ceremony and there were shamrocks on the cake.  The bride’s twin sister, Mollie, gave an Irish toast, and there was much laughter as everyone claimed she mangled it. I don’t remember exactly what she said but it was supposed to be:

May the saddest day of your future be no worse
Than the happiest day of your past.

It’s a nice thought.

But there will always be sad days. 

Today I’m going to an “Irish Wake”.  My old friend Jim, who had battled cancer for a long time, died last weekend.  He was always a strong-willed man and toward the end they say he didn’t want visitors.  He also insisted that there be no funeral service.   He always hated funerals.  But he did allow that there should be a wake.  An Irish Wake.

There is an old Irish Blessing that goes like this:

May your glass be ever full.
May the roof over your head be always strong.
And may you be in heaven
half an hour before the devil knows you're dead.

I don’t know if Jim believed in heaven, but having his wake a full week after his death is a good way of fooling the devil.

The celebration of Jim’s life will be at a local Irish establishment and I’m sure we’ll lift a glass or two in his honor.  And I’m sure we’ll tell stories about him. As the Irish say, “There is no tax on talk.”   Some of the stories will evoke nods, “Oh I remember when he did that”, and others will be new.  And maybe there will be a few tears.  But there will also be laughter.  It’s what he would have wanted. 

So it is an Irish weekend with both ends of the emotional spectrum represented.  

And there is a twist to both celebrations. My cousin Maggie married a nice Texas boy with a good German last name: “Witt”.   My friend Jim came into my life when he married my friend Deb, who grew up next door to me and who died a few years ago.   Her maiden name was a good German name: “Witt”.  That seems like something out of an Irish novel. 

I’ll leave you with a final piece of Irish Wit:

If you’re enough lucky to be Irish...
You’re lucky enough

Afterglow

I'd like the memory of me
to be a happy one.
I'd like to leave an afterglow
of smiles when life is done.
I'd like to leave an echo
whispering softly down the ways,
Of happy times and laughing times
and bright and sunny days.
I'd like the tears of those who grieve,
to dry before the sun
of happy memories
that I leave when life is done.

unknown

Grayce McGuigan Schiller
died December 10, 2009

Graycie, your afterglow is blinding. 

Lux Aeterna

Remembrance

November 11. A day for remembering.

Veterans Day in the United States, Armistice Day in France, Remembrance Day in parts of the British Commonwealth. A day set aside to remember those who gave their lives in war, especially the war to end all wars, World War I.

November 11, 1918 was the day that World War I ended. But that is not the November 11 on my mind.

On November 11 I will set aside a moment of the day to remember my friend, Larry, who died November 11, 1999 at the much-too-young age of 41. I won't dwell on his professional accomplishments, which were many. I won't dwell on his love for this city, which was deep. I will remember him as a friend.

I will remember him at the picnics on the lawn at Opera Theatre, entertaining us with made-up synopses of the operas while we ate extra rich chocolate brownies and drank wine.

I will remember him at the race track where we placed our measly little $2 bets and cheered as though we had placed $200,000 bets, as we sat in lawn chairs in the cheap section with the people who had no business being at the track

I will remember him at Bar Italia (the old Bar Italia) where we were celebrating a birthday dinner for friends with lots of bottles of Italian wine and protesting that we couldn't possibly drink any more as the owner of the restaurant insisted on opening the special bottle of Limoncello to share a toast with us after dinner.

I will remember him at our 12th Night Celebration, the year that Barry fixed the 12 course feast that still ranks as one of the best meals of my life.

I will remember him in London standing on the platform of the Tube with the look of horror on his face as the doors of the train slid shut with all of us except him on the inside of the train. Perhaps I might even remember him explaining how the pigeons in Trafalgar Square rose up in a great cloud and showered bird poop down on him - and that was why he was late meeting the rest of us. :)

I will remember him in Paris, at the top of the Eiffel Tower at dusk watching the lights of the city come on as a giant thunderstorm rolled toward us.

And I will remember him, as I remembered him last Tuesday, as he was in November, 1992. Us gathered around the television in his condo, watching the the election returns come in, barely believing that Clinton had won and suddenly all of us piled in cars heading toward Union Station and the big Democratic Victory Party.

Mostly I will just remember ... him.