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.