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.