1. Have you noticed how obituaries are getting smaller? They used to be long, extremely well written things and even threw in adjectives for the deceased that they probably never enjoyed in life. Nowadays they are a paragraph and contain a sentence that attempts to encapsulate who the person was. That sentence I despise. Invariably they throw in "life long (insert favorite sports team) fan" and I even saw one that had the person was a member of AARP. You cannot tell who someone was with two activities they peripherally participated in. Better not to say anything at all that diminish them with nothing more than trivial banalities.
Jane, here, did something I totally agree with and hope we can learn from. She wrote her own, and did it with grace, humor, thanks to many and a sprinkling of the facts.
Jane Catherine Lotter
One of the few advantages of dying from Grade 3, Stage IIIC endometrial cancer, recurrent and metastasized to the liver and abdomen, is that you have time to write your own obituary. (The other advantages are no longer bothering with sunscreen and no longer worrying about your cholesterol.) To wit:
I was born in Seattle on August 10, 1952, at Northgate Hospital (since torn down) at Northgate Mall. Grew up in Shoreline, attended Shorecrest High, graduated from the University of Washington in 1975 with a Bachelor of Arts in History. Aside from eight memorable months lived in New York City when I was nineteen (and where I worked happily and insouciantly on the telephone order board for B. Altman & Co.), I was a lifelong Seattle resident.
In my professional life, I was a freelance writer, editor, and proofreader. Among career honors, I received a First Place Society of Professional Journalists award for Humorous Writing for my column Jane Explains, which ran from 1999-2005 in the Jet City Maven, later called The Seattle Sun. Also won First Place in the Mainstream Novel category of the 2009 Pacific Northwest Writers Association Literary Contest for my comic novel, The Bette Davis Club (available at Amazon.com). I would demonstrate my keen sense of humor by telling a few jokes here, but the Times charges for these listings by the column inch and we must move on.
I want to thank Mrs. Senour, my first grade teacher, for teaching me to read. I loved witty conversation, long walks, and good books. Among my favorite authors were Iris Murdoch (particularly The Sea, The Sea) and Charles Dickens.
I was preceded in death by my generous and loving parents, Michael Gallagher Lotter and Margaret Anne Lotter (nee Robertson), and by my dear younger sister, Julie Marie Lotter. I am survived by my beloved husband, Robert ("Bob") Lee Marts, and our two adult children: daughter, Tessa Jane Marts, and son, Riley William Marts. Also my dear sisters Barbara Lotter Azzato, Kathleen Nora Lahti, and Patricia Anne Crisp (husband Adrian). And many much-loved nieces and nephews, in-laws, and friends.
I met Bob Marts at the Central Tavern in Pioneer Square on November 22, 1975, which was the luckiest night of my life. We were married on April 7, 1984. Bobby M, I love you up to the sky. Thank you for all the laughter and the love, and for standing by me at the end. Tessa and Riley, I love you so much, and I'm so proud of you. I wish you such good things. May you, every day, connect with the brilliancy of your own spirit. And may you always remember that obstacles in the path are not obstacles, they ARE the path.
I believe we are each of us connected to every person and everything on this Earth, that we are in fact one divine organism having an infinite spiritual existence. Of course, we may not always comprehend that. And really, that's a discussion for another time. So let's cut to the chase:
I was given the gift of life, and now I have to give it back. This is hard. But I was a lucky woman, who led a lucky existence, and for this I am grateful. I first got sick in January 2010. When the cancer recurred last year and was terminal, I decided to be joyful about having had a full life, rather than sad about having to die. Amazingly, this outlook worked for me. (Well, you know, most of the time.) Meditation and the study of Buddhist philosophy also helped me accept what I could not change. At any rate, I am at peace. And on that upbeat note, I take my mortal leave of this rollicking, revolving world-this sun, that moon, that walk around Green Lake, that stroll through the Pike Place Market, the memory of a child's hand in mine.
My beloved Bob, Tessa, and Riley. My beloved friends and family. How precious you all have been to me. Knowing and loving each one of you was the success story of my life. Metaphorically speaking, we will meet again, joyfully, on the other side.
Beautiful day, happy to have been here.
XOXO, Jane/Mom
I AM STARTING A CAMPAIGN. WRITE YOUR OWN! Grab a drink and do it alone or grab some friends, go to the local pub and let them help. Then make sure your family pays the necessary funds to have it published in the paper. Why cede control in death to folks who may or may not remember your real loves, your birth date or your real passions. I'm doing mine, do yours, too.
2. It is fascinating the way things change. Used to be a daily newspaper was one of the real bargains in life. You could get all the news, entertainment and everything else that was included for a quarter. At the same time, photography was expensive: rolls of film and processing cost money. Polaroid photography was grossly expensive. Now, a daily newspaper down here in Tampa Bay costs a dollar, and photography is virtually free.
3. Spotted these guys on the front walk the other week. Now, I'm no expert on mollusks, but I'd say these guys were having snail sex.
I tried moving them off the sidewalk so no one would come along and squish them, but they were pretty well glued to the spot.
I also discovered in looking up snail porn on the Internet that the University of Iowa received a $878,562 grant to study what the benefit is for snails to have sex. Seems the little shelled creatures can have little shelled creatures asexually or doing it the old fashioned way. Scientists are studying why they would choose the real thing rather than a more efficient asexual way. Gee whiz, scientists need to get out more.
Jane, here, did something I totally agree with and hope we can learn from. She wrote her own, and did it with grace, humor, thanks to many and a sprinkling of the facts.
One of the few advantages of dying from Grade 3, Stage IIIC endometrial cancer, recurrent and metastasized to the liver and abdomen, is that you have time to write your own obituary. (The other advantages are no longer bothering with sunscreen and no longer worrying about your cholesterol.) To wit:
I was born in Seattle on August 10, 1952, at Northgate Hospital (since torn down) at Northgate Mall. Grew up in Shoreline, attended Shorecrest High, graduated from the University of Washington in 1975 with a Bachelor of Arts in History. Aside from eight memorable months lived in New York City when I was nineteen (and where I worked happily and insouciantly on the telephone order board for B. Altman & Co.), I was a lifelong Seattle resident.
In my professional life, I was a freelance writer, editor, and proofreader. Among career honors, I received a First Place Society of Professional Journalists award for Humorous Writing for my column Jane Explains, which ran from 1999-2005 in the Jet City Maven, later called The Seattle Sun. Also won First Place in the Mainstream Novel category of the 2009 Pacific Northwest Writers Association Literary Contest for my comic novel, The Bette Davis Club (available at Amazon.com). I would demonstrate my keen sense of humor by telling a few jokes here, but the Times charges for these listings by the column inch and we must move on.
I want to thank Mrs. Senour, my first grade teacher, for teaching me to read. I loved witty conversation, long walks, and good books. Among my favorite authors were Iris Murdoch (particularly The Sea, The Sea) and Charles Dickens.
I was preceded in death by my generous and loving parents, Michael Gallagher Lotter and Margaret Anne Lotter (nee Robertson), and by my dear younger sister, Julie Marie Lotter. I am survived by my beloved husband, Robert ("Bob") Lee Marts, and our two adult children: daughter, Tessa Jane Marts, and son, Riley William Marts. Also my dear sisters Barbara Lotter Azzato, Kathleen Nora Lahti, and Patricia Anne Crisp (husband Adrian). And many much-loved nieces and nephews, in-laws, and friends.
I met Bob Marts at the Central Tavern in Pioneer Square on November 22, 1975, which was the luckiest night of my life. We were married on April 7, 1984. Bobby M, I love you up to the sky. Thank you for all the laughter and the love, and for standing by me at the end. Tessa and Riley, I love you so much, and I'm so proud of you. I wish you such good things. May you, every day, connect with the brilliancy of your own spirit. And may you always remember that obstacles in the path are not obstacles, they ARE the path.
I believe we are each of us connected to every person and everything on this Earth, that we are in fact one divine organism having an infinite spiritual existence. Of course, we may not always comprehend that. And really, that's a discussion for another time. So let's cut to the chase:
I was given the gift of life, and now I have to give it back. This is hard. But I was a lucky woman, who led a lucky existence, and for this I am grateful. I first got sick in January 2010. When the cancer recurred last year and was terminal, I decided to be joyful about having had a full life, rather than sad about having to die. Amazingly, this outlook worked for me. (Well, you know, most of the time.) Meditation and the study of Buddhist philosophy also helped me accept what I could not change. At any rate, I am at peace. And on that upbeat note, I take my mortal leave of this rollicking, revolving world-this sun, that moon, that walk around Green Lake, that stroll through the Pike Place Market, the memory of a child's hand in mine.
My beloved Bob, Tessa, and Riley. My beloved friends and family. How precious you all have been to me. Knowing and loving each one of you was the success story of my life. Metaphorically speaking, we will meet again, joyfully, on the other side.
Beautiful day, happy to have been here.
XOXO, Jane/Mom
I AM STARTING A CAMPAIGN. WRITE YOUR OWN! Grab a drink and do it alone or grab some friends, go to the local pub and let them help. Then make sure your family pays the necessary funds to have it published in the paper. Why cede control in death to folks who may or may not remember your real loves, your birth date or your real passions. I'm doing mine, do yours, too.
2. It is fascinating the way things change. Used to be a daily newspaper was one of the real bargains in life. You could get all the news, entertainment and everything else that was included for a quarter. At the same time, photography was expensive: rolls of film and processing cost money. Polaroid photography was grossly expensive. Now, a daily newspaper down here in Tampa Bay costs a dollar, and photography is virtually free.
I tried moving them off the sidewalk so no one would come along and squish them, but they were pretty well glued to the spot.
I also discovered in looking up snail porn on the Internet that the University of Iowa received a $878,562 grant to study what the benefit is for snails to have sex. Seems the little shelled creatures can have little shelled creatures asexually or doing it the old fashioned way. Scientists are studying why they would choose the real thing rather than a more efficient asexual way. Gee whiz, scientists need to get out more.
I didn't see them squished the next morning so I am assuming they did their deed and went on their way, slowly.
4. A pretty cloud formation.
5. Imagine being called Athole your whole life.
This stone is at Candor Cemetery in Seaton. Athole was apparently a name given to girls.
6. A Vietnamese restaurant here in St. Pete.
Sometimes the languages don't translate smoothly.
7. More proof Florida is the dumbest state:
8. Football is back. This is the time of year where on Sundays we can watch every third commercial with one of the Mannings.
9. This from reader and friend Russ Foust in Nebraska who has had many Jerry's pizzas from his days at Iowa Wesleyan:
"And just seeing the Jerry's pizza pieces kicked in an entire sensory memory. I could see the square pizza (including the grease that had to be wicked up with a napkin on the pepperoni pizzas), I could hear the hub-bub and noise of the place (I remember the one on the town square the best) I could smell that disctinctive Jerry's Pizza smell (that which called the pizza moochers to come out in a shark-like feeding frenzy). I don't know how they developed that smell, but it was part crust, part cheese, part warm cardboard - you are right, there was and is nothing like it. And finally that pizza taste. It was not simply something you experienced with you taste buds - it was a tactile experience as well with the crisp crust yielding to the initial dental attach, then becoming muted as the cheese and toppings were finally masticated. Ahh, the memories... As I recall, our fellow Brother Phi, the now deceased Keith Pierson claimed to be allergic to all milk products, but he could eat Jerry's pizza, which he did in great quantity. Kind of makes me wonder exactly what their "secret ingredients" were."
10.
This ever-hopeful bird was patiently waiting for garbage to arrive behind the "El Cap" burger joint here in St. Petersburg.
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