Janetism

Having been told by our dog training friend Nan that you should never move around a dog, but make them move, lest they put on airs, Janet invented a new dog command.

"Move butt"

Training is real simply. Kick them in the fuzzy tush until they start moving, say the command, then reward.

Come to think of it, I think she used it on me a few times.

Nanowrimo

National Novel Writing month. It's a bit silly. Every November, it's a challenge to write 50,000 words by midnight November 30th. Janet always encouraged me to do it. She once did what she called NaNoSymphMo, which was her writing a symphony in a month. Obviously quite harder. I don't think she finished, or at least she didn't consider it good enough to give me a listen. But I hope I'll find it someday as I poke around her music files. There's a lot.

This year, I was all set to write a fiction about a tough gal on a space station riding a Victorian bike. It was the kind of story she'd like. I'll still write it someday.

On November first, the day of the Nano kick off I had lunch with a friend who survived stomach cancer, although she lost 75% of her stomach in the process. She asked me what I was doing, and I told her.

She shook her head and said, "You have to write about her. For her. And for you." Funny how we don't mind cliched dialogue when it carries truth. When it's real.

This blog is about happy stuff, about Janet the person. Like what she liked, and even her silly habits. Like, why did she think vanilla extract had to stay in the fridge? What was with the "no folding over the towels on the towel rack" rule? And did she really ice her feet before getting into bed? Just saying.

But I'm not writing about just the happy stuff with this book. It's a Yang Yin thing, eh? The good sometimes needs the bad to make us realize how precious the good is. It's kind of like Janet and me in public. She looked even prettier when juxtaposed next to my ugly mug.

It's not an easy thing to write. I'm about 9000 words in. But I'll finish it, even if I'm the only one who reads it. For her, and yeah, for me.

Deming, NM

I'm paralleling the same route that we took 15 years ago in the Citabria. Right after I left the Navy, we piled into the little two seater and flew, pretty much at highway speed, east to my Mom's place in West Palm Beach. Right out of the California hills, we hit a bit of turbulence, which may have given Janet, or at least her tummy, second thoughts. But at an Arizona FBO, we met up with the couple who ran the place. While the husband showed me his biplane he was working on, his wife plied Janet with ginger candy. Airsickness disappeared immediately. Janet was in love. With the candy, and I suppose with me, too, or she wouldn't have made it that far.

Come evening, we landed in Deming, NM, where I'm writing this. The cabbie who took us into town told us it was the land of clean water and fast ducks. The town is set on a spring, and every year, they have a duck race. Later, we'd discover they used plastic floaty ducks, much to Janet's disappointment. She always did like ducks, maintaining that the best part of the Disneyland Jungle Boat tour was seeing real ducks nesting on fake crocodiles.

That evening, we found ourselves watching Sesame Street. Hey, it's better than most of the other stuff on TV! And I remember this song coming on:


We waltzed around the room, singing "Batty batty bat bat bat bat" until we got tired and went to sleep. Or something like that.

I won't be somber, but just before she passed, I held her up and we waltzed as best as we could to that song, then finished with an Arbeau pavane. But in deference to M. Arbeau, I think Janet liked the bats better.

Bat bat bat bat bat...

Beethoven Bear

Janet's teddy from when she was six. She thought he had the same scowl as old LVB. Flower was a gift from a student, although I'm afraid I can't remember which one.

Tunes

For the last couple of weeks, I've been busy tracking down some of Janet's old performances. Josef Kucera, the recording engineer UCSD (among a few thousand other hats) retrieved the recordings done at university performances and mastered them for me. So I've got four CDs of her music now, as well as a DVD of her Master's recital from 1994. I've put most of the last up on YouTube now, as well as all of the Apparatus and Goliard CDs.

With those and the UCSD recordings, there should be enough to put together a decent amount of her work up on a memorial site. In the meantime, if you want to watch and listen, they're over at http://www.youtube.com/user/DPW1889

Perhaps it's the early musician in me, but this is my favorite, a pair of 14th century madrigals she performed with Kristin Korb. This is how I like to remember Janet, in full on performance mode, the life shining through her.

And cute ears. They always seemed to poke through her hair like she was some sort of Tolkien elf. But don't let that distract you from the music.




And wickedness prompts me to tease her about the ever present kleenex she'd wad up and leave in her pants/skirt pocket. At least she didn't drop it on the stage.

Flutes

Janet always described her medieval flutes as "basically just a tube with holes in it". It's literally true. Even the basic taper bore (which helps upper octave intonation) wouldn't appear until the 17th century. I think. She was the flute nerd, not me. And what a flute nerd she was. The expressiveness she'd pull out of those simple instruments was amazing, as was her ability to come up with weird fingering for the accidentals, and still stay in tune. I've been playing her flutes lately, and truthfully, there's a couple that are essentially unplayable. By me, that is.

Janet's old enemy Rheumatoid Arthritis kept her from playing baroque period flutes for the most part. Their length required too much of a finger stretch. It's a crying shame, because she had a hard plastic baroque flute that she could rip away on in her early twenties, before RA showed up. I remember her entering an SCA music contest (a medieval/renaissance themed group). I know, sounds like slumming, but the organization actually has a number of good early and folk musicians in it. Still, as one of the judges told me later, the discussion about the winners started with "Okay, everyone's agreed on the girl with the flute, right? Now, let's decide on the runners up..."

She did have a special baroque flute made for her by the instrument maker Jim French, who also made that deerbone flute she played on the Goliard album. It required her to bend every note up or down up to a quarter step. Even for Janet, it was pushing things, but it did allow for a closer finger spacing. She'd haul it out from time to time, though. I'm pretty sure she's the only one who was ever able to play it. Call it the Excalibur of flutes. I have it, and it's beautiful. But it just can't sing without her.

Car Talk

The more time I spend without Janet, the more I realize just how much less annoying the world was with her around. For one, she was the mistress of "fixing the little stuff". Perhaps that's a reversal of traditional gender roles, as I was the cook and tidier (not that I was ever allowed to touch her desk)(desk loosely defined as the office, office floor and dining table), and she was the one who would deal with things like wrestling with the taxes and buying cars. But, as Clint Eastwood once said, a man's got to know his limitations.

I was thinking about this as I was getting the alternator fixed. That's my former "airport car", that is, a car capable of usually making it to the airport and back. Janet always boasted about how she got it for $400, as she'd found out about a California smoggy car buyback program. Our beloved Tercel, "Mel", had finally failed the annual smog check. It was a sad day, as that beast had been with us since the day we started out "not dates", me driving her to the grocery store in exchange for flute lessons. 330,000 miles later, we'd traveled across the country multiple times, east to west and north to south, with side trips to Canada and Mexico. But Mel had acquired the car equivalent of old man smell, and we had to put him down. But thanks to Janet, the state gave us $1000 for doing so (California residents, look it up, but you have to be fast-- usually they run out of money just a few weeks into the fiscal year).

Consulting with our mechanic, Janet was able to find another car for $1400, for a net of $400. She always did the bargaining, again something she was good at. I remember the car dealer who sold us the car before that telling me that she was a toughie. Car dealers say lots of things, but he looked so mournful that I believed him (perhaps tellingly, the dealership went out of business shortly thereafter) . Janet's schtick was to look up all the local prices on that model, bluebook, etc, then go in with her price in mind and a mechanical checklist. She didn't put up with nonsense, either. No, you can't have her keys-- not unless you want her teeth in your arm.
So, she got her "$400 car", and danced her usual "Yay for me!" dance. Then she asked me to make Fred, our mechanic, a cake for all his help. Lemon bundt, if memory serves. Well, hey, I can do some things. And hey, Janet also knitted and I drink beer. So it wasn't as if we were adverse to some traditional gender roles. But we'd never let it get in the way of getting a good deal on a car.

Never could get her to change the oil, though.

Janetism #8

"Computers are not intrinsically interesting."

Janet was completely capable of wrestling with computers and bending them to her brilliant but cute will (and yes, she'd occasionally say "Bwah ha ha" at evil overlordette appropriate moments). Anyone who can write quasi-AI programs that improvise music with a human player knows something about computers (for you computer geeks out there, she wrote that one in Forth)

But to her, they were a tool to an end. She never could understand the fascination some computer hobbyists had with the device itself. She viewed that as akin to being fond of vacuum cleaners. Actually, come to think of it, she liked her Roomba better than her computers. It was sort of a pet that did housework, much like our dog would mop the kitchen floor.

All the music

I've finished putting all of the music from the Goliard CD up. Eventually, I'd like to get a website where her music will be available for download (free, or perhaps a donation to the ACS or some such). But in the meantime, youtube it is. I listed it as Creative Commons-- I would be delighted if people used it elsewhere.

The Youtube link is below (my video channel), but I'll post the videos here as well. The Deerbone flute is probably my favorite. It really shows off her improvisatory chops, as well as her ability to play almost anything vaguely flutelike.

http://www.youtube.com/user/DPW1889?feature=mhee



8th Century Deerbone Flute

Janetism #7

On cancer:

"It could be worse. I could be in a marching band."

Janet Sings

From the Goliard CD, made circa 2000. Janet had to be convinced to sing. "I'm a flute player, not a singer!" But we pointed out that the rest of the group-- Dave Brewer, Geoffery Adams and I-- was rather lacking in people who could sing soprano.

Glad we bullied her into it.

Voicemail

I just found out that after three months, T-Mobile automatically deletes voicemails, and no, you can't get them back. The last message Janet left on my phone is gone. But I remember it.

"Hey love, just got your message. I'd left my phone at the nurse's station, but I'm up in 703 so you can always call there.....I miss you, too."

Me too, love. Every second.

Janet's Tree 2

Annabeth Hinderling painted this portrait of Janet's memorial tree. I've got it hanging in the living room now, right above Janet's Lava Lamp.

Janet Wisdom

My niece Adrianna asked my mom the other day "The blog talks about what Uncle David did for Aunt Janet, but what did she do for him?" I have to admit, I was taken aback, as I didn't think I was being that self centered. But perhaps I'm focusing on what I could do, as that makes me feel better about my otherwise somewhat torpid self.

The quick answer is, of course, "everything". But if I had to say the one thing I truly miss in a daily functional sense is her perspective. As most of you know, I'm a bit frenetic, which is a polite word for scattered. I tend to chase down fourteen projects at once, often at the expense of, you know, actually finishing them. Janet on the other hand would nip onto something and hold on until she'd thoroughly shredded it (for some reason, canid analogies come easily). She'd turn to me and often say "Your problem is that whenever you're doing something, you're feeling guilty that you aren't doing something else."

And that's something she never had. Well, perhaps occasional guilty feelings (certainly more so than Molly). But I'd be hard pressed to think of many regrets she had due to her own actions. Frustrations and wishes she could do more, sadly yes. But as the saying goes, "No one on their death bed ever wishes they'd spent more time at the office". Thankfully, that wasn't an issue with her. And I try to hear that perspective as I go through the day, and feel less guilt that I'm playing with the dog when I should be practicing. Certainly, she never felt that way!

Dog training

Spent the morning at flyball, a dog relay sport (go over hurdles, grab tennis ball, come back, go fast). Strange that we've never gotten into it before, as the local team meets every Sunday right next door to us, but it's really more Molly's sport than it was Susie's. Janet was not a fan of flyball, as it seemed to bring out the barkiness in our otherwise quiet Susie Dog. And as she pointed out, having a barky German Shepherd would win us few friends with the neighbors.

Molly's needed a sport, though, so I've been taking her. And so far, she hasn't been barking too much more. She has been acting up somewhat since Janet left us. Truthfully, while I don't think I'm an awful handler, I'm not Janet. Somehow, Janet always was able to keep the mutt under control, usually without the need to look up from what she was doing. She had these eyes on the back of her head, and a quick growl was all that it took to bring the pup in from the porch (or other mischief making location) and return her to gnawing on her rubber bone, aka "The Doggy Gameboy" (yet another Janetism).

Of course, Janet spent a fair amount of time cultivating the illusion of omniscience. Both dogs spent their formative years learning that at any moment, Janet could appear in a puff of smoke, ready to dispense Justice. Basically, I'd watch them as they snuck into the kitchen or wherever, then relayed reports to Janet who'd yell at them while clearly out of the line of sight. Alternatively, she'd just lie in wait herself, then pounce on them from her office hidey hole. Barking cessation was taught by crating the pup, then going downstairs to the parking lot, where she'd hang out reading her usual mystery novel. One woof, and You Know Who would be there in a flash. You could just see the dog thinking "But...but....didn't you go to work?"

I'm doing the best that I can these days. Tough with a border collie-- I might exercise her more, but I think Janet was more mentally stimulating. Come to think of it, the dog is hardly alone in that assessment.

The Little Mermaid

Janet would roll her eyes at the title, recalling years ago when we endured a child swarm to attempt taking our niece Marissa (now all grown up and playing violin) to the eponymous Disney movie. Well, it was a break from her Cinderella fixation. Marissa's, that is, not Janet's. Although she did like the mice.

I'm talking about the darker original version by Hans Christen Anderson, which is part of a round about apology I'm making for not posting more on this blog. As my mother pointed out the other day (as mothers do), I haven't written anything here in weeks. A situation that she fretted, with probable justness, as writing here is a form of therapy for me as well as a way of preserving Janet's memory.

It's the last clause there that is the sticking point. I've been trying to be upbeat, as Janet was, despite her illnesses, largely an upbeat person. Not stupidly Polyannaish, but the kind of person who delighted in the small things of living, be it a cup of tea I'd managed to prepare right for once, a dog's slobbery tongue, or simply a good day teaching.

But I'll have to say that my mood has been anything but. My brain isn't where it should be, and when it works it reminds me of the darker things that won out in the end. I hate polluting Janet's memory with my own moodiness, so the keyboard hasn't been clacking. At least not for things I'm willing to post.

Janet was perfectly aware of those darker things, of course. Arthritis had squelched her orchestral career just as it started. And yet, as I keep pointing out, she'd play through the pain on a regular basis.

And God, she had that expressive tone. Lacking the fireworks of lightning fast dexterous runs, she put everything into the sound. And I would be just as guilty if I were to gloss over the obstacles she faced as if I never spoke of happier things.

Maybe it was her bargain with the Sea Witch. Remember the latter's bargain with the Mermaid? The Mermaid would get to walk and dance but as the Witch said

...you will feel great pain, as if a sword were passing through you. But all who see you will say that you are the prettiest little human being they ever saw. You will still have the same floating gracefulness of movement, and no dancer will ever tread so lightly; but at every step you take it will feel as if you were treading upon sharp knives, and that the blood must flow.

So, today, I'm going to start writing again. And if it's hard for me, I have to think of my Little Mermaid, playing though her fingers felt like knives were passing through them. And she was the prettiest little human being I ever saw.

Coffee shops

Visited our friend Helen today, who used to own. the sadly closed Dollshie's Coffee in Encinitas, and now owns and runs the happily busy coffee cart at Scripps Rancho Bernado Clinic. Helen and Janet hit it right off as fellow dog lovers (Dollshie was the name of Helen's dog). We spent many afternoons there, with Susie tucked under the table and a good book tucked in Janet's hands.

While Helen is more of a coffee person (after all, she's from Eritrea), she nonetheless remains the only barista who ever made tea to Janet's politely exacting standards. Janet helpfully bought Yorkshire Gold for Helen, and that became the secret stash under the counter. You had to ask for it. Think of it as a tea speakeasy.

Well, except for the time Helen tried to surprise Janet with Earl Grey. It didn't even get past Janet's nose. "Earl Grey is not black tea." Janet had a general dislike for flavored tea on a religious basis (The First Church of Pre-Heat the Pot, Please). And she really didn't like the bergamot flavoring in Earl Grey, possibly because so many people would give it to her when she'd asked for black tea. Heck, even Parisians, who after all are known for a certain gastronomical fussiness, would get confuzzled when she asked for "une tasse de the noir, s'il vous plait". Janet quickly learned to just ask for Lipton.

But Helen took it in stride. She had similar feelings about coffee, having once told me a proper cup took an afternoon to prepare. You start by roasting, you see. Call them sisters in caffeine addiction, perhaps the English and Eritrean varieties of same.

Janet's Tree

At the planting, I played Madre de Dios from the Cantigas de Santa Maria on Janet's wooden C flute, a song that the flute had sung perhaps a thousand times, but perhaps never so poorly. But it seemed right.

Annabeth Hinderling, whose daughter Leia was a long time student of Janet's, read this poem.

WHEN I AM AMONG TREES

by Mary Oliver

When I am among the trees,
especially the willows and the honey locust,
equally the beech, the oaks, and the pines,
they give off such hints of gladness.

I would almost say that they save me, and daily.
I am so distant from the hope of myself,
in which I have goodness, and discernment,
and never hurry through the world
but walk slowly, and bow often.
Around me the trees stir in their leaves
and call out, “Stay awhile.”

The light flows from their branches.
And they call again, “It’s simple,”
they say, “and you, too, have come
into the world to do this, to go easy,
to be filled with light, and to shine.”

Janetism #6

On my ability as a flutist--

"You're my favorite student, but not my best."

Janetism #5

On marrying a flute student--

"It was completely unprofessional, but I vowed never to do it again."

Saturday's Memorial

Hi all, Janet's memorial will be at 2pm on Saturday the 25th, at Mission San Luis Rey, a Franciscan mission. Janet always did like animals, and had performed there once with me and the guys for Saint Francis day. It is a private event, although of course all of you are invited-- if you can think of anyone who hasn't gotten an invite, please let me know. Potluck, and if you play, by all means bring an instrument. This is not a formal, somber affair, but about Janet's LIFE. I refuse to let her passing cast a cloud over all she was and did.

Location:
Mission San Luis Rey Parish Dining room, located at 4070 Mission Avenue. If you go to the Old Mission, you'll be in the wrong place. The parish is right next door. Park in the Via Maria Parking lot

Dishes

I'm going to toss an apology for my radio silence out there. In one sense, as I've said, this blog is really a form of therapy for me. Writing about Janet makes me feel as if she's still around. Which, I suppose in a way, she is. As I've said, her presence is felt everywhere. If nothing else, were it not for her, Molly would no doubt be sleeping and shedding on the living room couch right now.

But last week was the one month point since we said goodbye, and a bad weekend stretched into a bad week. That's just how it is, I suppose. But it was hard to write for a while. And I'll admit that all the little things that indicate that life is going on went out the window for a few days. I found myself staring at a huge wonking pile of dishes in the sink, despite the fact that we have a dishwasher.

Then I remembered that it was hardly as if the dishes never piled up in happier days. I mean, this is the girl who I'd come home to after a four day trip and find stacked up pizza boxes on top of the dog crate. As I may have mentioned, neither of us were particularly Susie Homemaker types. Well, we did have a dog named Susie who'd mop the kitchen floor, but I suspect Better Homes and Garden wouldn't have approved of her methods. Slurp.

The realization cheered me up, at least enough to metaphorically roll up the sleeves and get to work on the mess. And while I was scrubbing away, I could hear her singing a song she'd often sing after dinner (if I cooked, she'd promise to clean). It went to the tune of There Is a Tavern in the Town:

Leave the dishes in the sink (in the sink)
Leave the dishes in the sink (in the sink)
Those dirty plates will have to wait
Tonight we're going to celebrate
So, leave the dishes in the sink!

From Kristina Boerger

Kristina is currently Director of Choral Activities at Carroll University, and was the last roommate Janet had besides me (I'm being silly-- Janet had moved into a one room efficiency next to the music building by the time I met her). Like so many of Janet's friends, Kristina has done about a million musical things, but she's also managed to do her fair share of political activism in her copious spare time. When Janet was rooming with her, Krisitina was the president of the Gay and Lesbian Illini, a group that espoused the radical for the eighties notion that people shouldn't be harassed or shunned on the basis of what the gender of the people they fell in love with was.

Kristina writes....

One day we were chatting, and Janet quietly mentioned her bafflement over responses she had gotten from schoolmates about her having asked me to room with her: they were stunned that she would have knowingly invited a Lesbian to live with her, and they questioned the wisdom of that choice -- how it might impair her comfort level at home and how it might reflect on her.

These concerns she dismissed in her simple, gentle way as being laughably stupid -- pitiable, even. Something in the way she related this to me communicated the loveliest, most uncomplicated kind of bedrock respect for me; I was very touched by it. Up until then, it had not occurred to me that I could have found myself without a rent-mate to cooperate with, had it not been for clear-headed, compassionate Janet Whittaker. How unfailingly kind she was, always, to me.

Janet got her share of misunderstandings (perhaps understandable, since at that time, Kristina was going out with a flute player whose name was also Janet), as well as the less amusing harassing phone calls. Janet told me the calls had been no big deal for her, since it wasn't personal. She just felt bad that Kristina had to endure that nonsense. But I could tell she was bothered, because it was personal-- Kristina was a friend. I think those days had their influence in later years. Janet never was a rally going type-- but she always voted and would proudly slap that "I voted" sticker on the fridge. And there were more than a few Prop 8 signs that earned the wrath of a swift kick and the epithet of "stupid jerk".

Sailing

Her father Alec writes....

When I came to write these remembrances I found myself surprised at how few were individually of Janet. We camped as a family, we sailed as a family, we did most things as a family. The boats we owned were big enough for the four of us to sleep aboard when we explored the coast of North Carolina. When my job took us to Singapore, Janet was eleven. I wanted to continue sailing but my contract with the Telecommunications Authority covered only one year so a relatively expensive cabin craft didn’t seem a good idea. So I bought the Lark!





The Lark, a 14 ft. dinghy rigged for racing was a veritable explosion in a spaghetti factory. It proved a poor choice for exploring the coastal islands. But since it was being sold by a departing expatriate it was cheap. It had been many years since I had sailed dinghies and after I closed the deal I wanted to take it (the Lark never deserved the dignity of nautical gender or even of a name) and work out what all the lines, halyards and sheets did. Whether I made the mistake of inviting Janet to crew or whether she volunteered, I don’t remember.

We launched the Lark from the Changi Yacht Club on the Jahor Strait between Singapore and Malaysia. Sheltered from the northeasterly breeze blowing at probably no more than six or seven knots, even in that light wind, the low gunwales with only inches of freeboard splashed us. Janet, who had been used to handling the jib on the larger, more stable boats, cleated the sheet and relaxed, trailing her hand in the water. I, learning the handling of the new boat, tested the responsiveness of the helm, easing and tightening the mainsail. Then, as we reached wider parts of the strait the wind stiffened. We were not yet out into the South China Sea but the waves became choppy, splashing into the hull.

I decided to go about and made the big mistake. Instead of asking Janet to release the jib sheet, I reached forward to do it myself, shifting weight without easing the main, just as a wave washed over the gunwale. Janet remained perfectly calm but it was in my mind that I must not make her nervous of sailing in such a small craft by giving her anxious instructions, so I made the second mistake. Instead of releasing the main I attempted to turn into the wind.

It was about then that I realized that what I had bought did not include a baling bucket and the amount of water sloshing around in the hull probably weighed more than the boat itself. The helm was totally unresponsive, the still cleated jib, the shifting weight of the water we had taken and the continuing increase in wind combined to pull the lee gunwale under water.

The proper reaction on my part would have been to step over onto the centerboard and use my weight to keep us upright. I took a moment to explain to Janet and it was a moment too long. The Lark was flat on the water and I, dumped into the water, came up under the mainsail. It seemed to me a long, panicky time to find the edge of the sail and reach the surface just as the Lark turned turtle. Janet was calmly holding onto the hull. We both wore life jackets and climbed onto the upside down hull. Janet sat coolly and seeming to regard everything as a completely normal event. I never did ask her if her reaction was due to confidence in me.

Fortunately the South China Sea is warm and even more fortunately Alma had been watching through binoculars and had seen our misadventure. Her story of organizing our rescue is worthy of a separate posting.

Janetism #4

"Crabs are bugs. I don't eat bugs."

Janetism #3

"My favorite food is someone else's cooking"

Janetism #2

"Fashion is what doesn't itch"

Janetism #1

"I didn't become a musician to wake up before 9 AM"

Janet's Song

I'm trying hard here not to focus on the last few months of Janet's time with us. Not to say that it was nothing but misery-- she may have had pain, but we also smiled a lot together. But it's far too easy to make the end of things the totality, and I'm trying to avoid that.

That said, I came across this on the music stand today. I don't have the melody, but I think I can get that from the music therapy folks at the hospital. They pretty much jammed in Janet's room every afternoon, and I think they were part of the making of this one.

If it's true that endings aren't the everything, they're still part of the overall composition. Reading this, it can sound a tad testy, but I know what she was trying to say. Everyone wanted so hard to do something, even when there was nothing that could be done. Janet didn't need tales of courage. She had enough for a battalion. She just wanted to cling to what mattered most to her-- the love and companionship of friends and family. So, for Janet, I'll pass on what she wrote in the hospital in that last month:

JANET'S SONG

When you visit me
And know what to say,
Don't bring me your survivors
I have my own story.
No Reader's Digest
Or Chicken Soup
Don't want to hear your pep talk
What I want is your love and support
That's all I need
Be my friend
And just sit for a while
That's enough distraction
For me

Janet, Girl Adventurer

Here she is, after landing on a dry lake in Ocotillo Wells (in the desert east of the San Diego mountains), circa 2000. Thanks to Dan Hubert, whose Maul can be seen just behind ours. Flying about in the old rag wing was a regular part of our life back then, and Janet always looked like she'd stepped out of some Victorian Big Book of Adventure. Perhaps she had.

The Burro Bend cafeteria was across the road from the lake bed, always good for a burger and fries (the traditional post flight food, and a favorite of Janet's. No salad and diet coke girl, her).

From my mother

Dear David,

After reading your blog, memories of when you first brought Janet home to Atlanta came back as if it were yesterday.

I remember your calling me and saying "Mom, last night I told the woman I love, that I love her. She loves me too. " Of course, I immediately asked "Who is on the phone because, my son, David, doesn't share information on his personal dating life?" Then you said, "Last night we had a blizzard in Illinois and Janet offered me the floor. I didn't stay there!"

(not QUITE true, Mom. Actually, Janet's bed got soaked by a huge leak in the ceiling, so she joined me on the floor. And for the record, we only kissed. No really, I'm not just saying that because her parents read this blog. That's all. But it was enough)

The other part of the conversation was that you and Janet would not have children and I said "Don't worry, your sister will give me grandchildren and you don't marry someone to have children. You marry because you love them."

(Janet's health was always a known factor-- she had just finished radiation treatment when I met her. But Mom was right, love is more important than having a 'normal' life. Whatever that means)

We discussed the upcoming plans for your to come home for your birthday to Atlanta then you wanted to meet Janet's parents in Raleigh and spend Christmas with them. Afterward, you would return to Atlanta and bring Janet.

Of course, I should have guessed that you were falling in love with your "music teacher" because you stopped dating Meng (my then girlfriend) and were most involved in your flute lessons. It got to be that was pretty much all you talked about. One time you even asked me to buy you a new sweater because your were going to your teacher's concert. You never cared about clothes! That was the first hint of your developing relationship with Janet.

The unusual part of the first meeting with Janet, was the fact that you brought this beautiful, lovely, sweet girl home and left her with me for 3 days while you met your obligation to your friends to go spelunking in Tennessee (the guys leaned on me pretty hard to go. Next time around, Janet's strength was good enough to come. She never was the 'wait patiently at home' type). It was probably the best way to meet a prospective daughter in law.

I found out very quickly how smart and kind she was. My leg was in a cast from a tennis injury and Janet helped with everything around the house while sharing stories of everything from meeting and falling in love with you to school in Interlochen; life in Singapore, and her love of dogs. She loved little Benji (our household's Yorkie, aka dog substitute) right away.

One of the most endearing qualities that Janet had was being able to discuss the great composers lives as if they were the next door neighbors. She brought these people to life by talking about their wives, children, (sometimes an extra girlfriend), their inspirations; their tempers, even the food they ate! Janet had such varied interests and could bring up the composers and then switch to how wedding traditions began!

The most memorable evening at that time is when you came home from spelunking. It was like watching a movie they way Janet opened the French doors and went outside to the patio. You came running up the brick walkway and you both fell not only into each others arms, but into the bushes where you proceeded to cling to each other for a long time. Your friends came carrying their things into the house and neither of you moved.

The glow you both emanated when you looked at each other was purely joyful to me to see. This continued until the end. The love you had was very special to see. It made everyone who loved you both happy to know that you were lucky enough to have found each other.

Janet became a second daughter and I loved her tremendously for who she was and how she was with you. A mother always hopes that her child will find someone who will love them as much as they do. Janet achieved that and for that I am most grateful.

Spice Girl

Janet was a firm believer in the Geir Lanesskog adage that "Food shouldn't hurt". Hot peppers and she kept their distance from each other. Occasionally, I'd sneak a itty bitty shot of tabasco sauce into a dish like Thai noodles, but even then I had to be cautious. If there was anything more than a slight "zip" to things, the whole kit and kaboodle got designated as hazardous waste.

I often served as food tester for packaged dishes like those Trader Joe's instant Indian packets. "Is it okay?" she'd ask, scrutinizing my face for any sign of chile reaction. "Um....I think so," I'd reply, swirling the food around in my mouth like a wine taster judging mouth feel. "I mean, okay for me," she'd elaborate. Any reach on my part for a glass of water, and she'd ask for macaroni and cheese instead.

That's not to say that she didn't like spicy food. Far from it. She and I shared a love for garlic. A clove apiece wasn't out of the question. None of this sprinkle of aged powder to give a subtlely stale background to the food. Janet liked her garlic up there in her face saying howdy. Or ciao, I suppose. One of our early culinary experiences in our marriage involved my discovery of a recipe for roast garlic ("recipe" is stretching it-- cut off top of head, drizzle with olive oil, roast). I think we downed at least two heads (not cloves, heads) apiece, with some bread to spread it on and nothing else for the evening.

Let's just say, the next day we had serious garlic hangover. You wouldn't have wanted to light a match in our apartment. But, as I had so many times before, I knew I'd married the right girl.

Janet also liked her share of pepper in things, which often brought on the Wonderland song from when Alice confronted the Duchess ("There's certainly too much pepper in that soup!"),

Speak roughly to your little boy,
And beat him when he sneezes:
He only does it to annoy,
Because he knows it teases.

Chorus: Wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow!

You see, that's what the Duchess sang when she was putting too much pepper in the soup, so Janet would sing it when she had a dish with a lot of pepper because...eh, I suppose like so many marital in-jokes, it makes more sense to the participants.

But if I had to name Janet's favorite spice, it would be ginger. It's a wonder she didn't dye her hair red. She loved ginger in soup, ginger in food, ginger bread, ginger chews from the Asian market, and candied ginger. The last (pure ginger crystalized with sugar) was a taste she picked up when we were flying through Arizona. Janet always had a tetchy stomach (as she worded it), and afternoon turbulence wasn't being kind to her. This lady at the local FBO (wish I could remember where) plied Janet with ginger candies while I futzed about gawking at her husband's Smith Miniplane. I came back to a girl ready to pile in and zip across the desert. Later on when we were running our aerobatic ride/instruction outfit, Janet would keep a big canning jar of candied ginger for the tourists to gnaw on before she'd bung them into the plane. Really did work, and some years later I'd read that NASA had done a study and found that ginger was one of the few natural nausea remedies that was really effective against motion sickness.

The simultaneous love for ginger and dislike for hot peppers made for someone who loved Vindaloo-- without the peppers. Trust me, it's got plenty of other spices. And Janet was enough of a Red Dwarf fan to want to try Vindaloo. If you don't know the series, the reference is a bit obscure. But that's okay. As I said, we had our share of in-house references. "I thought a Tyrannosaurus would be hard!"

And lest I forget, her favorite tipple was ginger beer. The strong stuff, like Blenheim's, not the pretenders like Reeds. Janet wanted "ginger whisky", as she put it. Stuff that would make you sneeze and cough if you drank it too fast. She'd drink it straight up, no ice, thanks. When we lived in Clairmont, the local liquor store kept Cock and Bull in stock just for her.

It was no accident that our wedding mead was spiked with ginger.

Visiting Sarah

My sister Sarah sent a bunch of pictures from our visits over the years. Janet really didn't change much over the years, did she?



Janet and Sarah, early nineties


Janet and Mom, about 2005ish





All of us, not sure about dates, but that's now 18 year old Adrianna being held by Sarah!

Broughton High Flute

Janet's mother Alma writes...

With Janet on first flute, Broughton High School entered the annual North Carolina statewide orchestra competition where each year visiting contestants from around the state would stay overnight in the homes of local parents for the two-day event. But that year, with the contest scheduled in Asheboro, NC, there were not enough hosts available for the Broughton musicians. Broughton would have to withdraw.

A determined fourteen year-old Janet refused to accept the cancellation. Raleigh to Asheboro is a little less than eighty miles. Starting with her own mother and the mothers of her friends she wheedled, pleaded and begged until a convoy of very early rising parents left Raleigh at 6 a.m. in cars packed with sleepy young musicians to arrive in time for the 8 a.m. start. Some parents stayed all Saturday to drive the competitors home. The journey was repeated on Sunday when there were not enough parents and Alec and I were dragooned into driving two separate carloads.

Broughton won again!

Letters

I never thought I'd ever be glad that ships couldn't get email back when I was in the Navy. Apparently now, our boys and girls at sea can log on (in their copious spare time) and IM away to each other. Heck, I probably never would have left my stateroom.

As it was, the one thing that kept me sane was the evening letter writing to Janet. Well, not the one thing. I'd have to say her letters to me were an even greater balm during the separation. That, and of course, the goodies. Janet was smart (as I may have mentioned), and she always tossed in a packet or two of biscuits or some such as a "sacrificial offering" to my ravenous fellow squadron buddies. "Hey, Dash got another care package" was about the equivalent of yelling "Soooooooeeeeeey" down at the local hog trough. So I'd hand out the goodies, then grab the rest and high tail it to the stateroom, where I'd munch away on all the things she knew I was missing, from Akmak crackers to coffee she'd ordered from my favorite cafe in Seattle (Cafe Vivace, for the record).

Navy post having to be flown out, the actual reception of letters was beyond erratic. But I knew she was writing everyday, and that alone kept me going. Biscuit in mouth, pile of missives in my mitt, somehow it felt as if she was right there in the room.

I'd forgotten about the letters until a couple of weeks before I said goodbye to her. But poking around, there they were, all tied up with a ribbon in a bag adorned with cute Artic animals. By this point, Janet was fading in and out, but I know she heard me as I read them to her. She told my mother the evening of the first reading, "We have to finish those letters".

And so I did.

You can imagine my emotion as I picked up the first letter to read from her. I remembered how much I missed her, and she me. I paused for a bit before opening it, wondering what it would say, wondering what she had said to me in those first few days that presaged many more apart.

Much of what she wrote is between us. But I will share the first words I read:

Hey love,

I hope this gets to you in a reasonable time. Remember to use your diaphram. Practice-- preferably in front of a mirror using diaphram accents instead of tonguing. Start off w/ 4 per note and just go up and down a scale "huh huh huh huh huh"

(here she drew a little etude for me)

The thing to watch for is lip movement since it is very hard not to help things along w/ your mouth. Start off with just a minute or so as a warmup and work your way gradually up to 5 minutes. Don't do it if it makes you queasy! Strive for short fast and loud.

I love you.


To me, that means more than a thousand Hallmark sentiments. It's so Janet. She knew me, and she wanted me to practice. So I did. I also ate all the snacks. And this week, I'm practicing flute again, for the first time in years. All that harp playing has really played havok with my ability to remember to breathe. But that takes me back to our first lessons together, which isn't a bad thing.

And I'm practicing those diaphram exercises, too. So far, I haven't gotten too queasy.

From her Father

Fathers and daughters have a special relationship


I loved Janet not because she was smart, funny, talented and a beautiful person – which she was - but because she was my daughter. At some level she remained, to me, always the curious twelve year old girl who hacked into my Apple II and modified the code of Star Trek to run up fabulous scores which neither I nor her brother could approach. When she was awarded a four-year unlimited ITT scholarship, I suggested that Computer Science at MIT or Rensselaer could lead to a career that a woman might pursue without disadvantage. But she chose music.

David writes of her love of dogs. True, her hard-hearted father would not let her have a dog in the days when we travelled so much but she did adopt horses in Singapore and in New Zealand.

I try hard to recall happy times and just now it is difficult, but one day stands out in memory. It must have been the late sixties or early seventies, the early days of satellite communications and my work was exciting and enjoyable. I was doing something in the yard and watched as my children played. Malcolm was about eight, Janet perhaps six. She rode in the red wagon while Malcolm pulled. Janet – I see her in my mind in a bright yellow dress - screamed and laughed, excited and a little afraid. Alma opened the kitchen window, leaned out to tell Malcolm to be careful of his sister. Malcolm slowed but Janet urged him on faster and faster until he ran out of breath. Alma smiled and shook her head in despair at their antics. The people I loved most in the world, all together in a perfect moment. Forty years later I still remember thinking of life at that instant as perfect and knowing that there could be few times of ideal happiness. Thinking of those moments does help, just a little, now.

Janet is the tiny creature I held on her first day, the skinny rabbit shaking the bars of her crib, the rambunctious six-year old, the little girl climbing onto my lap to be read to, the early musician sounding the cheap recorder, the rider taking Aliesha over the jumps at the Singapore Polo Club, the teen-ager going away, far too soon, the young bride standing alongside David and the mature adult who told me, “Well, Dad, we have worked out a pretty good relationship.”

There feels to be something amiss in cosmic time when the child goes before the parent, something wrong with the universe. The day is less bright; the wine of life has less taste.


-Alec Whittaker

It's in the cards

Had a wonderful evening last night playing penny poker with friends, but there was a large Janet sized hole at the table. She always loved those poker nights, not only for the conviviality but also because it gave her an opportunity to flash her ruthless competitor streak. Frankly, as much as everyone loved her, she came close to getting banned (well, not really, but she got threatened). Most of the guys played fairly "loose", as is usually the case in friendly games. You know, toss a nickle in to keep things going, most raises are in the neighborhood of a quarter. Not Janet. She played to win. She'd fold instantly on what couldn't win, raise the pot through the roof when she could, and bluff often and well enough that no one was really sure what she was up to. I know, I know, that's how one is supposed to play poker, but these were obstensibly friendly games. And to be honest, giggling and chanting "I win! I win!" while scooping up the pot didn't help matters.

Hey, at least she usually bought pizza with what she won.

Poker wasn't her only card game, although it was the only one she'd bet money at. She found blackjack boring, "because it is". Actually, she's right. Once you get good at the game, there's really only one response for each hand, with some minor variations based on card count. Janet was perfectly capable of card counting, she just found it about as exciting as accounting, and at the levels she was willing to bet, less profitable. About her only casino betting was one pull on a slot machine every time we visited my sister, back when she lived in Vegas. Janet would walk up to a likely looking machine, drop a dollar in, then call it quits for the rest of the trip. Janet being Janet, she often won, which got her the stink eye from some of the operantly conditioned slot machine fanatics diligently shoveling their pensions into the machines. I think it's a violation of gambling etiquette or some nonsense like that. Whatever, she had fun.

But really, Janet just liked to play cards. She was a huge solitaire buff, with real cards back in the day before she moved onto a few thousand computer variations (they're out there, if you look on sites like Jayisgames). And there were the various two person games we'd play together. When we met, she liked a two hand version of whist, which she'd learnt from her grandfather. It was called "Norwegian Whist", but later on when we looked up the rules to the game of that name, it didn't sound like the variation she could remember. She also was the primary play tester for my book on 17th century cards. I was okay with deciphering the rules from old manuscripts, but it took Janet to figure out the actual strategies. So in addition to the ever popular Gin Rummy, we'd fill the odd empty hour with games like Maw, All Fours and Noddy (a version of Cribbage without a crib).

And, doggone it all, she usually won. And gloated. But she was sooooooo cute when she did.

Alpha Female

Janet, as I've said, loved dogs. But she had no illusions about their morals. As she put it, dogs were never evil, but they were often wicked. And since we've had nothing but girl dogs, Janet sometimes found herself getting challenged occasionally by wannabe alpha mutts trying to work their way up the pack social ladder. Seriously, dogs are like that.

Not that our dogs ever had a chance. Janet had long years of teaching teenage girls behind her. Janet got to go first. All the time. Janet got to have the nice food. And so on. And having Janet's sense of humor, she would occasionally rub their fuzzy little noses in it (figuratively speaking). I remember getting her a stuffed Wells Fargo pony when she wasn't feeling well and needed some bedrest. Janet promptly freed from its corporate bondage by removing its logo-encrusted tack, then set it on the bed next to her. Cue dog jealousy, as Molly adored stuffed toys. By adore, I mean liked to eviscerate them given 27 seconds alone with them. So Molly snuck up to the veeeeeery edge of the bedroom doorway, giving Pony the border collie stare. Pony was safe enough, though. The bedroom prohibition was yet another way of enforcing pack hierarchy, and poor Molly knew there was no coming in and getting to play with Pony. Not with Janet ready to give her the proverbial hairy eyeball.

Janet didn't leave it there, though. When she spotted Molly lusting after her toys, Janet picked up Pony and started galloping him across the bedcovers, glancing over to Molly to make sure that the dog got the idea that there were people in the house that got to play with the best toys, and Molly wasn't included in their number. God, how that dog whined. Until Janet told her to be quiet. Then we got this itty bitty whimper, followed by a severe sulk.

I don't know. Perhaps this wasn't the best dog training technique, but particularly with Janet's health, she couldn't risked getting bowled over by disobedient animals. But, to be perfectly honest, I think she just thought it was hilarious. And you know what? Those dogs loved her desperately, or at least knew they needed to suck up to her.

Just an image

Pensacola, Florida. Married, I dunno, less than a year, living in a place only college students would think was a step up, strolling hand in hand under a graffiti covered bridge, then later onto an empty sandbar, almost no surf to speak of, warm and humid, spinning increasingly sillier stories together. Oddly enough, I remember one was about a unicorn who desperately wanted to apply for a position as a dwarf. I think it was Janet's idea. Something about stuffed animals. And no, neither of us was a Pratchett fan. Yet.

From Charissa Ebersole

I met Janet & David through our mutual love of music and historical reenactment. We played medieval and renaissance music together. Janet and I worked on some modern flute duets, too. David and Janet gamed with us. We attended Cons, per...formed gigs, at concerts & at Ren Fairs together. We shared birthday celebrations and other special times. I vividly recall the day, Janet and David came over after Wolfgang was born. David cooked a gourmet meal of pasta with pesto sauce, while Janet cheered me up with intelligent conversation beyond diapers and nighttime feedings. At my father's memorial service, Janet played the Sarabande from Bach's Sonata for Flute in A minor. We reconnected at Pennsic some years back. Janet taught me a lot about being a strong woman and being comfortable in my own skin. I treasure the time I spent with them in 2009, when I went back to San Diego. David, I am sorry for your loss.


As a side note, if anyone else has any memories or photos of Janet they want to share, send them to me and I'll post them.

More Dogs

Lest Molly get jealous at my talking about our other dog (and Molly gets really jealous, really easily), here's a picture our friend Charissa Ebersole took of her son Wolfgang with Janet and Molly. It's a couple of years old, both Wolfy and Molly aren't quite as gangly anymore.




It was a great visit with the Ebersoles, who we know from way back in the day when Janet (and later, I) played in their band the Jubilatores. We talked of old times, played with Molly, hit the Wild Animal Park, then visited an old game store haunt in Old Towne.

Old friends, music, fuzzy animals and games. Should have fit chocolate in there somewhere, but other than that, a perfect Janet day.

Dogs

Janet, to put it mildly, loved dogs. She wasn't allowed one growing up, a fact that she hadn't completely forgiven her parents for decades later. To be fair, they did move around quite a bit-- hard to drag a puppy all the way over to Singapore. So she contented herself with a few hundred stuffed animals (only a slight exaggeration) and playing with the neighborhood beagle, Ginger.

It wasn't until Janet hit thirty or so that she really got dog crazy, though. Obsessed is probably a more accurate word for it. Make those jokes about a biological clock if you would (and perhaps I did), but Janet would tell you that she didn't want a baby, she wanted a dog. Because they're cute. And fuzzy. And above else, because they're dogs.

I remember doing a street fair without her, as she was recovering from surgery. We called her, and one of the first things she asked was "Were there any dogs there?" Dave, our drummer, obliged by describing each and every fuzzbutt (her term) that was padding about the street. Sure, we were teasing her. But I think it made her happier. I mean, when we were out, she'd point out dogs that were literally blocks away.

For a while, we lived in a granny flat (one room house in our landlord's backyard). Our landlady to be asked Janet if she minded dogs. Janet told her that was a major plus. So we shared the backyard with our landlord's dogs, and she couldn't have been happier. Unless, of course, we got our own. In the meantime, she'd carry pictures of Murphy, Pete and Annie around in her wallet and show them to people, then grudgingly admit that they weren't hers.

We finally got our own dog when we moved into our current place. We honestly didn't know we were moving next to a rescue shelter, but move there we did. It's literally next door to our condo complex. We hadn't even finished unpacking when Susie bounded into our lives.

"Susie," Janet said, "was a freak of nature." Our current dog, Molly, is as smart as border collies are. But Susie seemed convinced that she was a person. She'd follow conversations, and pick up words in casual use without us even trying to teach them to her.

This is Janet's blog, but Susie was a huge part of Janet's life. I posted Susie's story before on my livejournal (since fallen into disuse, I think I like blogs better). If you want to read about a girl and her dog, click on "Susie's Story":

Susie's Story

Apparatus

In 1996-97, Janet collaborated with Harry Castle a fantastic computer musician and pianist. They spent hours improvising together, Janet mostly on flute, Harry mostly on keyboard and computer. The result of these jam sessions was the CD Apparatus. The track Juggernaut went on to be the featured computer and instrumental duo at the 1997 International Computer Music Conference held in Thessaloniki.

Two years ago, Harry's mother called to tell Janet that he'd passed away at the age of 47 from natural causes. Today, I called her to tell her about Janet.

Apparatus is too much fun, too full of life and strangeness to sit quietly in a box of CDs in my storage locker. Mrs. Castle gave her permission for me to post the work on the web, and hopefully (my meager computer skills permitting), I'll have it available for listening in a week or so.

In the meantime, here's the lovely cover art by Sophie Plassard, which has the distinction of getting removed from an art show in Florida for being "unsuitable for public display" or some such. Okay, fine, it was entitled Lucifer. So, what's next, banning Paradise Lost? Anyway, this amused Janet to no end-- she'd tell everyone that she'd worked on an album which had gotten banned in Florida.

Then again, I suspect that the music itself would give the local biddies a heart attack. Do you know how many times people misinterpeted "Blue Mensuration"? It probably says something about those two that it never occurred to them that the title would sound funny-- the title refers to the way they used some rhythms from blues music.

Kleenexes

Janet had few faults, really. But there were those few. A certain fussyness at times, an inability to get out of the house in less than 15 minutes, a packrat tendency that kept her from throwing out anything with any remote sentimental value, and probably the biggest-- she was a bit of a slob. No, really, she was. Those who haven't lived with her will be surprised by this, because she was so organized. But she never had problems keeping music, schedules and paperwork in order. She was only sloppy when she was "off the clock". Heck, she was working part time as a maid when we met, yet her apartment was strewn with laundry, papers and her signature wadded up kleenexes.

I'd point out the contradiction and she'd say "I don't make money for cleaning up MY place."

I should emphasize that she was untidy, not unclean. It was hardly as if anything was rotting in her place. No suspicious smells would emanate from the kitchen. Then again, she didn't really cook, so perhaps this was a gimmee. Clean bathroom, clean sinks, trash taken out. It was just all her various projects that would be in "organized" heaps across the floor. And don't touch! That ripped envelope had important notes on the back of it.

But those kleenexes... Janet had allergies to most "smelly flowers", so come springtime, you could always tell where Janet had been reading because there would a be a few wads of tissue laying about. I'd drag wastebaskets over to her in the hopes that she'd spot them and become motivated to actually get them in. And to be fair, she would try, but she read with her glasses off. What with her being as blind as a bat, her ability to sink a basket was pretty low. It did help to localize the pile, though, so that was something. And sometimes, she'd shove them down between sofa cushions. 24 years, and I still have absolutely no idea why she did that. I don't think she did, either, because she'd get this surprised look of embarassment when I'd clean them out.

I guess as character flaws go, it's pretty low on the list. In a way, it was a bit endearing. I mean, how many guys would go on road trips to come home to a stack of pizza boxes on the living room table? It was like Janet was one of the guys, for all her petite, skirt wearing, stuffed animal collecting, giggle-wumpus ways. And she played videogames. Like I said, a geek's dream girl.

Nicknames

Like all couples, or at least most, we had our pet names for each other. Actually, they were simply our college nicknames. I'd ended up with the moniker "Mouse" for somewhat unclear reasons, allegedly having something to do with a resemblance to Matthew Broderick's character with that name in the movie Ladyhawke.

Janet had acquired the name Dormouse. She told me she was called that because she fell asleep at parties. She also had a near religious love of tea. I never found her actually in a teapot, but she seemed to try at times.

Sure, it was silly, but so were we, and without much apology. So that's what we always called each other. Dormousie and Mouse had a nice symmetry. "Mice mate for life," she told me more than once.

`You might just as well say,' added the Dormouse, who seemed to be talking in his sleep, `that "I breathe when I sleep" is the same thing as "I sleep when I breathe"!'

Arrrrrrgh!

That's what Janet would say whenever her computer would act up. Usually followed by "Arrrrrggh!!! Aaaaaaaaaaaarrrrgh!! Stupid, STUPID computer!!!" To be honest, she never cursed all that well, even when she tried. Very, very occasionally, she'd use the f-word, but her cuteness made it a bit unconvincing. She'd dart her eyes left and right, pursing her lips together in what I always thought of as her Squashed Muppet Face. Think Kermit when he got mad.

But make no mistake, you didn't want to be too close when she was "Arggh-ing". Best just to go into the other room and play with the dog while she sorted things out.

I'm pretty sure I heard her say this yesterday when Blogger managed to delete the entire blog about half a day after I started it. After getting no response from customer service (another arggh there), I was able to find the posts by using the Google reader on my feed. The links were broken, but I was able to readthe posts, re-register the URL and reconstruct the blog that way.

Janet always did have a love hate relationship with computers. She was programming quasi-AI music programs back in the late 90s using Forth and Max. Her biggest project was "Acoustic Reflex" which would improvise with her as she played flute with it monitored by a pitch follower. Amazing stuff, done back when the internet was still pretty much nothing more than a bunch of message boards. But she didn't like computers, she regarded them as a tool, and a frequently malfunctioning tool at that.

"Computers," she'd always say, "are not intrinsically interesting." But for all of that, when she passed, she was busily learning Flash CS4 and LUA. We were going to do a multimedia game-esque thingee together. The fact that we never got it finished makes me sad, but I try to remind myself of how much she did do.

The day before surgery

Janet asked me to take pictures of her, and remember her that way. She's 44 in this pictures, and looks pretty much like the silly, geeky, talented and affectionate girl I married. Well, she lost the bangs in 1990, as so many of us did.

I hope that the possibly apocryphal tribe that believes your soul is stolen by cameras is right. I like to think I have part of her soul here.

Chocolate

Lots of it, almost constantly. Seriously, she went through a "Pound Plus" bar from Trader Joe's a week. And no, she never got fat. Side effect of radiation treatment, or perhaps just her genes (her mother is a very slight woman). Heck, she never could gain weight, even when she tried. She would wince if someone told her "I wish I had your problem!", though. Too much time trying to keep the calories in throughout her illnesses.

But not to dwell on that, I prefer to think of her stuffing her cute chimpmunk face with a bar of Cadbury's. Or a cup of Nestle's. Or just a handfull of M&Ms.

Janetisms:

Hershey's is evil.

Lady Godiva is overrated (too much wax or something to make it hard enough for those fancy shapes)

Sorry, chocolate snobs, nothing wrong with milk chocolate. She'd prefer it to dark.
Her mother loves white chocolate. So did Janet. Sure, it isn't "real" chocolate, but neither are wine gums. And she loved winegums. And blackberry pastilles.

English candy was in her blood. Favorite (or favourite, I suppose) was chocolate covered Turkish Delight.

Cadbury's cocoa. I still have tins of it. She'd buy it, squirrel it away, then seemingly forget about it, because she'd buy more at the store. Maybe she was waiting for winter.

She prefered her chocolate straight up, but would still happily munch on Cadbury's Fruit and Nut. Actually, since I like my chocolate with nuts, her preference for straight chocolate may have been to keep me out of it.

And yes, hell hath no nippyness like Janet discovering that someone, and not to mention names but it was me, ate the last of her chocolate.

Tea needs to be a separate post.

I first saw her

I was sitting behind the counter in the PLATO lab of the basement of the Foreign Language Building. Despite no computer skill whatsoever, I'd gotten a job as a computer monitor thanks to a bit of nepotism.

She had long brown hair, lovely thick hornrimmed glasses, a big blue coat and was carrying a flute. Basically, she was a geek's dream girl. Heck, she even played computer games on the PLATO system.

I forgot exactly what we said, but she negotiated our terms. She'd teach me flute, I'd pay her back by driving her to the grocery store. I offered to cook for her, if she liked. My mother is an amazing cook, and some of it rubbed off on me.

I don't know if she said this then, but she would often say "My favorite food is someone else's cooking."

How we met

My mother wouldn't let me play flute. I wanted to, but perhaps she rightly realized that her geeky son had enough trouble without playing a "girl's instrument". So, I played clarinet, which can be a beautiful instrument in the hands of someone other than me.

In college, I got the idea to play flute again. I think I was listening to a lot of Paul Horn at the time, and thought it would be a spiritually calming thing to do. I thought like that back then.

When I mentioned this to a friend of mine he said, "Hey, my girlfriend teaches flute".

After 24 years of being together, I think we can be forgiven for that, right?

About this

On May 10th, 2011, I lost my wife, flute teacher, duet partner, editor, collaborator, dog trainer, fellow adventurer, lover, inspiration, support and best friend.

We married out of college, and for 23 years, we tried our darndest to spend as little time apart as possible.

She fought off three cancers, rheumatoid arthritis, heart problems, and seizures, yet somehow managed to have a successful music career, travel the world and work with me (by which I mean, drive me) on several other projects.

The fourth cancer was pancreatic, and it took her away. She passed at home, surrounded by friends and family. We played for her as best we could.

But it doesn't change the fact that she's gone.

This blog is really for me. I want to write down random things I remember about her. No huge eulogies, just the minutiae of her life. There will be other places I put up her work and such. Here is for me, and perhaps for those who knew her as well.