Barb Caffrey's Blog

Writing the Elfyverse . . . and beyond

Posts Tagged ‘in memoriam

My Favorite Milwaukee Brewers Baseball Player Ever, Charlie Moore, Dies at 72

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Folks, this is a hard blog to write.

When I was young, my mother went up to a young catcher, Charlie Moore, and told him how much he’d meant to me and that I just loved his play. I was too shy to go up to tell him myself, you see…I was at that gawky stage, and I just didn’t want to be seen or talked to. (Yes, even me.)

Charlie was classy, and he had a sense of humor. He clearly saw me, hiding behind my mother, but he said, “I hope she’s legal.”

I laughed, but still didn’t come out from behind my mother.

Anyway, he ended up signing my baseball card, he signed a glove for me, and he signed a t-shirt. I wish I had all three of those things now. (The glove got lost during an early move. The baseball card was inadvertently sold, put in with a bunch of cards into a rummage sale by someone who wasn’t me — not sure which family did this, but I know my mother apologized for it when she realized. The t-shirt, I outgrew, but kept for at least fifteen years. Where it went after that, I don’t know.)

Charlie was the type of guy who would do anything for anyone, and as a player he just exemplified the term “unselfish.” One year, they’d traded for Ted Simmons, a future Hall of Famer, at catcher. Charlie knew he couldn’t compete with Simmons; no one could. While he talked with Simmons about the pitchers and who liked to throw what when (Bob Uecker, announcer extraordinaire and also a former catcher, did this as well), Charlie knew he’d better learn a new position to stay on the team.

He did.

It wasn’t easy for him, but he learned how to play the outfield in spring training (this was either 1980 or 1981). He became one of the best right fielders in baseball, because he knew how to position himself from all the catching he’d done, and his arm was quite strong.

Many people, with their condolences to the Milwaukee Brewers on their Facebook page, have mentioned the most famous play Charlie ever made, that being throwing out Reggie Jackson in Game 5 of the American League Championship Series (ALCS) at third base from right field. (It wasn’t shallow right, either.) Jackson thought he could take an extra base on Charlie, and Charlie wasn’t having it.

The first things I thought of, though, were when he hit for the cycle in 1980 (that’s when you hit a single, double, triple, and homer, all in the same game) and also stole two bases, and when he broke up a no-hit bid by Nolan Ryan, hitting a triple.

See, Charlie was just a lot faster than most catchers. (He hadn’t taken up the outfield, then.)

With his characteristic wit, Charlie said once that he’d not have been able to learn the outfield in today’s day and age, not with YouTube. He’d have been too embarrassed to try.

I find that hard to believe, because Charlie was just the type of guy who’d do whatever was needed. You needed him to catch? He caught. You needed him to play right field? He played right field. Whatever he needed to do, he did.

Ted Simmons once said of Charlie that Charlie was “the best guess hitter I ever saw. Others might hit a single. He’d hit a homer.”

All in all, Charlie Moore was the full package. He could run, hit, throw, take an extra base, used his intelligence to keep him relevant in the baseball world by changing positions, and was a kind-hearted man to boot.

Other tributes that came in on the Milwaukee Brewers official Facebook page pointed out times Charlie helped someone, either by staying extra time to sign autographs, by bringing them something that the fan had won in a contest (bringing it to their home, mind you, without fanfare and without attitude), and so on.

All I can say is this: When I was young, if I could have had a boyfriend, Charlie Moore would’ve been it. I’m proud that I have always seen Charlie Moore as the best Brewers unsung hero, as my absolute all-time favorite player because of his grittiness and heart, and I still remember the banners my mother and I made to put in the bleachers once:

They said, “We want Moore of Charlie.”

Amen.

Mentor, Friend, and Superlative Writer, Always…Rosemary Edghill Has Died

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There are some sorts of blogs I don’t ever want to write, and this is one of them. But I must.

Earlier this week, Sharon Lee posted that Rosemary Edghill (who also wrote as eluki bes shahar and James Mallory, among other noms de plume) passed away. Sharon knew Rosemary far longer than I, and Rosemary’s widow knew how to contact Sharon to let everyone else know as best we could.

This is a huge loss.

Rosemary was my first writing mentor besides my late husband Michael, and she championed ELFY (later turned into two books, AN ELFY ON THE LOOSE and A LITTLE ELFY IN BIG TROUBLE) fiercely and well. My husband was also mentored by Rosemary, and Rosemary, upon Michael’s passing, paid for an online obituary in perpetuity (as far as I can tell) so people could pay their respects to his memory, something I greatly appreciated.

But to say that isn’t enough.

You see, Rosemary helped writers of all sorts. She also raised dogs, King Charles Cavalier spaniels, to be exact, and competed with them in agility and other things. Later in life, she rescued dogs, especially the aforesaid King Charles Cavalier spaniels, and was a firm believer in lifelong pet ownership. (Which makes sense to me, completely.) She had many different careers, including an editorial internship at Avon Books (I think this was a paid internship), and she taught me much of writing as well as editing (especially after Michael died, as Michael was himself a good editor), along with the whole business of publishing.

She had a huge presence, did Rosemary. Just seemed like one of those people who’d never die, because they are so vibrant, so full of life even when laid low (due to illness, a broken leg, or whatever), that you can’t imagine them being dead. It just seems unthinkable.

As Sharon Lee put it, Rosemary was brilliant and sometimes difficult. Maybe we all are, we writers. I’m not sure.

I do know that Rosemary and I butted heads once and only once, and due to that, we were estranged for several years. (I felt terrible about this, but I respected her wishes in this, figuring she’d seek me out again when she could.) She eventually re-established ties, and we never once talked about what had estranged us, possibly because there was no point in rehashing old things. (A few people who’ve known me for a long time know what this was, and why, but I see no point in bringing it up now except as an explanation of why Rosemary and I were estranged when I cared about her so much and she cared about me so much, too.)

I loved her writing, the way she used language, how she could write effortlessly in any genre, how fertile her mind and imagination were, how many different interests she had (and she seemed to be expert in all of them, a true rarity)…in many ways, I thought Rosemary was a polymath, of sorts.

Rosemary was also politically active, and raised money for liberal causes. I admired that, too. She knew I was part of the effort to recall then-Governor Scott Walker (R) back in 2011, and she respected that, even though we weren’t ultimately able to get Walker out. (He was indeed recalled, another election was held, but he won that election and was never replaced, finishing out his original term in the process.) She knew I tried not to be hypocritical, and thus if any Republicans were upset with their office-holders who could be recalled, I supported their right to recall said office-holders…though I also worked on behalf of one state senator, Bob Wirch, to successfully retain his seat (in the same manner as Walker had; he was recalled but won the new election and continued to serve in office).

She was complimentary of my efforts to let people know about LGBTQ issues (or as my niece would point out, more formally LGBTQIA) and was married herself to a woman of great worth and strength. (I never met Rosemary’s wife, don’t know her name, haven’t been introduced. But anyone who was married to Rosemary must be a woman of great worth and strength, as Rosemary just did not put up with fools whatsoever, and would not waste her time on anyone who wasn’t a phenomenal person.) While I am not on the whole LGBTQIA spectrum myself, I deeply respect it, partly because my late brother-in-law, Sam, was gay, and partly because I worked with a bunch of lesbian and bisexual women early in life, when I was about nineteen or twenty, and knew they were no different than I was, excepting that the bisexual women sometimes dated men or women, and that the lesbian women only dated other women. They were as worthy as I of love, care, understanding, concern, and whatever else comes with a true partnership, and that’s why I cared, long before it was fashionable, and very long before I even met Michael, much less knew anything about his brother Sam, about these issues.

Rosemary was one of the first to ever see my novel CHANGING FACES, and gave me several excellent comments. She also gave me a sell-quote for my first Elfy book, gave me encouragement at many times and in many places, recommended me to anthology editors as someone who could and would write a story competently and well…there’s not much more I can say, except that she also was kind and caring after Michael passed, even leaving a telephone message (possibly the only time I ever heard her voice, as we were not fortunate enough to meet in person, ever).

All of that is only scratching the surface of who Rosemary Edghill was. I know that. But I can’t help but at least do that much, to give you all some idea of the huge sense of loss I have now that Rosemary has passed on to whatever the next world is (or the Elysian Fields, or The Good Place TM).

I hope that Rosemary first was reunited with her loved ones, including all of her wonderful dogs. I then hope she and Michael settled down for a good gossip, maybe over some tea and shortbreads, as those were favorite things of Michael’s and I’m sure Rosemary would not have been adverse.

Rosemary wrote Regency romances, SF&F of all sorts, tie-in books, general fiction, and way too much else to list. Everything she ever wrote had value, worth, fun stuff, interesting situations, and fast-paced writing that always held my interest no matter how tired I was and no matter how much nonsense I’d had to deal with before I finally got a precious hour or two to read her books.

I will treasure her books, her writing, and her presence in my life forever.

I really wish she wasn’t gone. She was only 69. That seems too young, to my mind, these days…anyway, the SF&F community is in mourning, and I completely understand why.

All we can do now, though, is emulate her the best we can, and live our best lives, writing however often we’re able, as we may.

If you have memories of Rosemary, or wish to talk about this post, go ahead and leave a comment.

Written by Barb Caffrey

April 12, 2026 at 10:25 am

Father’s Day Has Come and Gone (and I Have Thoughts)

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Folks, yesterday was the second Father’s Day I’ve observed since my Dad died. It wasn’t an easy day in a lot of senses, mostly because the weather has been crappy in addition to observing this day…the air quality here has been downright awful, not just for asthmatics like me, but for everyone due to the Canadian wildfire smoke.

Anyway, Dad and I had a complicated history and relationship. He helped me many times, which I appreciated, but did not want any appreciation for this. (“You’re my daughter,” he’d say firmly. “What am I supposed to do?”) We talked about a lot of sports, we also talked about current events, and while we didn’t always agree on everything, Dad was a good conversationalist and enjoyed verbal sparring to a degree.

I miss him.

He was cantankerous. He delighted in being that way. He felt men should be strong, capable, and caring…but he also really didn’t like a lot of what he was seeing in contemporary society.

For example, to him, Giannis Antetokounmpo should’ve married his wife a lot sooner. They had several children before they married. I think the reason for them not getting married before having the kids is because life as an international superstar is not easy. Scheduling something as big as a wedding must be a difficult endeavor for someone like Giannis.

I do think Dad would be happy that Giannis married at long last (as this happened after Dad’s passing). Giannis always was true to his wife, and he’s been true to his kids, and I think Giannis’s own father would’ve been proud of him whether Giannis ever legally married his wife or not.

The difference, though, is in how Dad, being of an older generation, viewed marriage. He truly believed you should not have kids before marriage. (He knew people had sex before marriage and had for thousands of years, regardless of what that partnership ritual was called.) He thought it a difficult and problematic thing for the children because of things he saw in childhood, no doubt.

See, my father lost his mother when he was just eleven years old. His father was at the time a long-distance trucker, I think…and while other relatives would’ve taken in Dad and his three siblings, they wouldn’t take all four of them. So, my grandfather Edward made the difficult decision to put all four of them in the local orphanage as that was the only way they’d see each other every day. (Dad said it wasn’t easy, either. His two sisters were in the girls’ wing, while he and his brother Richard were in the boys’ wing.)

I don’t know all the people Dad met in the orphanage, much less the lessons he learned there. I do know he was there, as were his sibs, and it marked him for the rest of his life.

Mind you, he was not bitter over it. He understood his father’s reasoning and was glad to be able to see his sibs every day (even if it wasn’t easy to see his sisters).

But his life was upended very early, which is one reason he was a huge supporter of places like the Boys Home and such. He’d been there. He knew that everyone should have as many opportunities as possible.

Dad did his best to make things as stable as they could be despite my parents’ marriage always being difficult. (Loving, but difficult, is the best I’ve got to describe it.) Even after my parents divorced, it was clear that we’d always have a home with him (and also with Mom). This was a good thing, because several times in my life, I needed to stay with Dad in order to sort out things as best I could.

While I’m glad I was with him the last several years until his body just gave out, I wish I could’ve had the big music career everyone had expected of me rather than the series of difficulties and distresses I endured otherwise.

Mind, I will never regret studying music. I continue to compose music when it comes to me, and it remains a big part of my life even though I haven’t been able to play my saxophone, clarinet, or oboe in almost two years.

I still believe that if my health ever improves, because of the talents I possess musically, I might do well overseas in France or Spain. They love classical saxophonists there, and the culture there has a richness that I would love to experience for myself.

Anyway, Dad served in the Navy, and he was stationed in Japan for a year or two (he was a radio technician). Because of this, he was sympathetic to my wish to go overseas and learn whatever there was, while experiencing whatever there was…even as he knew my health has never been robust, and that my dreams may stay just that.

Wisps in the ether.

Dad pivoted several times in his life when he needed to do so, even though he never liked it. (I don’t blame him.) He was an excellent postal carrier. (That’s how he always described it. “Mailman” didn’t seem like nearly enough.) He worked as a cashier and grocery stocker at one point (which I found out after I’d gotten a job as a cashier and stocker myself). He played the drums and spent over ten years in the Racine Municipal Band (starting before they changed the name to the current Racine Concert Band), mostly playing the bass drum. He delivered flowers and newspapers, too.

Dad also didn’t like most modern conveniences whatsoever. He disdained microwaves (though he didn’t mind me using it myself, as I have one), did his dishes by hand, and until the last few years of his life, used a push mower rather than a gas-powered one. He delighted in his orange tiger lilies, enjoyed watching nature — the squirrels, birds, bunny rabbits, etc., were endlessly fascinating to him.

Most of all, he enjoyed being in his own home, where he could make any food he wanted any time he wanted. The simple pleasures, he often said, were the best.

While many things in this world are deeply upsetting, we have to hold on to the positive things. The positive memories, too. We have to know what we stand for, and what ethical purpose we’re here to serve.

That’s what I learned from my father, among other things.

So, when I see bunny rabbits rooting in the yard and they look like they’re about to run away, I talk to them in a gentle voice. (Most of the time, they don’t run away if you’re kind and obviously mean them no harm.) When I see birds nesting in nearby trees, I wish them well raising their chicks. When I see the squirrels on the nearby fence, I laugh at some of their comical actions.

Life is very difficult. It can be frustrating, upsetting, and a hundred other things. But it also can be wonderful with the right people around you, and with a willingness to believe that kindness still matters.

That, too, I learned from my father, though he probably would be astonished to know that if he were still here.

At any rate, I wish everyone well and hope for a safe, peaceful, and enjoyable week ahead. (Drop me a note in the comments, if you’d like. I always enjoy hearing from my readers.)

P.S. For those who’ve asked — the health issues continue. It’s not just the bad air quality we’ve had off and on. I still have that rash and will be seeing the dermatologist again later this week. (Let’s hope that something can be done. At this point, I’m wondering if there’s an underlying infection.)

Written by Barb Caffrey

June 9, 2025 at 3:03 am

Bob Uecker, Voice of the Milwaukee Brewers, Has Died

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I woke up today to the news that my childhood hero Bob Uecker, long-time voice of the Milwaukee Brewers, has died. He was 90.

While that’s a good, long life, Uecker was what I’d call an “American original.” He was a great broadcaster, yes, but also was an actor, a comedian, wrote two books (including Catcher in the Wry), a philanthropist, and was one of the more unforgettable people I’d ever watched, read about, or listened to during the course of my lifetime.

When I was very young, I listened to Uecker on the radio broadcasts with Merle Harmon. (Yes, that goes back a ways, doesn’t it?) Harmon was the play-by-play guy back then, while Uecker was the color man. At one point, Harmon felt Uecker was ready to start doing innings by himself, so the story Uecker often told was that Harmon simply didn’t show up one half-inning. Uecker had to do the game by himself. Harmon eventually did come back and finish the game, and they had a few more good years as radio partners before other announcers came in.

By that point, Uecker was the top dog. Everyone he mentored, whether it was Pat Hughes, Corey Provus, or current announcers Jeff Levering, Lane Grindle, and Josh Mauer, later became far better broadcasters with what assuredly seemed like more knowledge of the world around them.

There have been many tributes already, from former MLB commissioner Bud Selig; former Brewers players Brent Suter (now a pitcher for the Cincinnati Reds) and Ryan Braun; current announcers Grindle and Levering; current players Brandon Woodruff and Christian Yelich; current manager Pat Murphy; and finally, former manager Craig Counsell. Other announcers, both on TV and radio, have chimed in, along with some of the actors Uecker used to work with (Tracy Tofte worked with Uecker on the sitcom “Mr. Belvedere,” and visited Ueck three weeks ago). Fans went out to American Family Field (formerly known as Miller Park) and left cans of Miller Lite at the base of Ueck’s statue outside the stadium in memory of Ueck’s famous commercials for Miller Lite years ago. (They also left flowers, memories, and at least one Brewers baseball cap.)

All I can tell you is, Uecker was the announcer for the Brewers when I was young, as I grew up, and as I matured into the person I am today. He was funny, articulate, often charming, sometimes scathing, but always, always interesting. He made people laugh, even on the worst days of their lives. He charmed iconic TV host Johnny Carson so much that Carson gave Ueck the nickname “Mr. Baseball,” first ironically, then wholeheartedly. (Carson also had Ueck back over one hundred times on his show, including during the last week Carson hosted.)

I think, though, the reason I liked Uecker so much was because he was from Milwaukee. He didn’t lord it over anyone. He enjoyed people and liked cheering them up. He was frank, unassuming, and down-to-earth, and he absolutely loved his job as Voice of the Brewers.

His playing career wasn’t great; he hit .200, was known more for his defense than his offense, and retired at age thirty-three. He tried scouting but wasn’t great at it. Then he reinvented himself as an announcer, became a very good one, then a great one. Did stand-up comedy, charmed Carson (as previously mentioned), acted in Major League (my favorite baseball film ever) and of course on “Mr. Belvedere.” It seemed like anything Ueck turned his hand to, he succeeded.

But Uecker was human, and sometimes awful things happened to him. He had pancreatic cancer, which he fought, that eventually went into remission. He’d had open-heart surgery. He nearly died from a bite from a brown recluse, too. But worst of all, two of his children predeceased him: one because of San Joaquin Valley Fever, the other because of ALS. He leaves behind a wife, kids, grandchildren, the entirety of “Brewers Nation,” and many others who knew of his life, work, and charitable concerns.

In short, Bob Uecker was almost like a family member in a way, even though he didn’t know me from Eve. He was the best-known exponent of Wisconsin in general and Milwaukee in particular, showcasing the charm and humor and razor-sharp intelligence most of us who live here wish we had.

Ueck was the “Voice of Summer” to many — not just me — and he’ll be greatly missed.

Father’s Day Blues

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Folks, this will be the first Father’s Day without my father. I am not looking forward to this whatsoever.

Granted, I’m fortunate that my father lived as long as he did. There were things he didn’t get to see, that he wanted to see again, such as watching the Milwaukee Brewers make it back to the World Series (they’ve only been there once), and eventually winning a WS. I know he wanted to see at least one of my books succeed and thrive, too…

The thing is, he did get to see a lot of excellent things. He got to see both of the Milwaukee Bucks championships on TV. (He liked watching better on TV. When he went to the arena, he didn’t enjoy it as much.) He got to see Brett Favre and the Packers win a Super Bowl, then a few years later Aaron Rodgers and the Packers win another Super Bowl. He got to see a lot of good college basketball, a lot of good WNBA basketball (Dad loved the WNBA; he thought they played better as a team than most NBA clubs), and he enjoyed watching Brewers games on Sundays (when Telemundo has a free broadcast providing it’s a home game) while listening every other day on the Brewers Radio Network.

He also got to see me at my best, worst, and everything in between. (I would dare to say that my sibs probably feel the same way.) Just as I saw him (and so did my sibs) in the same ways.

I also know that as long as I live, some of him remains in this world. (Same for my sibs.)

It’s not the same, though. And as it’s the first Father’s Day observance without him, I definitely am feeling the worse for wear.

Those of you whose fathers are alive, please hug them and make much of them. Life is so damned short. You don’t know how much time you two may have left to be together, so don’t waste whatever is left.

Also, play a game of cribbage, smear, or, I suppose, Scrabble in my father’s honor. (Those were his three favorite games.) If your father likes ’em, too, give yourself double bonus points.

Written by Barb Caffrey

June 15, 2024 at 11:37 pm

Five-Year Anniversary of Pulse Nightclub Shooting…#LGBTQ

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Folks, I can’t let today go by without a mention of one of the most disgusting, disgraceful, and straight-up awful actions of the last five years. (Those years being full of such actions, mind you…but I digress.)

Five years ago today, forty-nine people in Orlando, FL, lost their lives while dancing and drinking at the Pulse Nightclub. They weren’t doing anything wrong. They were just out for a night on the town.

And a shooter murdered them out of hand, for no reason at all.

Edited to add: My first version of this blog post said the shooter hated #LGBTQ people. A friend sent me a link to this website, which shows the shooter was more interested in killing any Americans than he was about killing any #LGBTQ people. He also abused his wife physically and cheated on her, so overall he was a terrible individual. This makes his actions no less painful, unfortunately.

Back to the original blog post, already in progress:

However, I wanted to remind you of something else. The rise of human decency after the terrible shooting was something to behold.

I tried to depict this in my book, CHANGING FACES. A memorial walk for the folks who died at the Pulse Nightclub is the last major scene in the novel. My transgender characters Allen and Elaine, plus the others on that walk lived and walked in Lincoln, NE. This was done for a reason, mind.

Lincoln, you see, isn’t exactly the gay-rights capital of the world. But it is learning, and growing, and changing, just as the rest of us are. And there really was a walk there in memoriam for the innocents killed at the Pulse Nightclub, from what I remember…just as there were many other walks in many other places throughout the United States and the world.

Though it’s five years later, I continue to mourn the innocents who died at the Pulse Nightclub. But as one of the survivors said recently on CNN, “Thoughts and prayers are not enough.”

I don’t know what the answers are, mind you. I only know the questions.

So, here are those questions.

For the shooter himself, who’s now dead (so I can’t ask him these questions): Why were you so intent on killing innocent people? What is wrong with you that you thought hate was stronger than love? Why didn’t you get mental health treatment before it was too late?

To those who hate LGBTQ people on principle who have somehow found this blog, I want to ask this: “Why do you feel so superior? Why do you feel you’re any different than anyone else? Why do you feel like you should make your viewpoint the only viewpoint? Why can’t you live, learn, and grow like everyone else? Why must you kill what you do not understand?”

We need to stop hating people just for the sake of whatever label they fall under. Whether they’re LGBTQ, Wiccan, conservative Christian, Jewish, Muslim, whatever, we need to stop the hate.

I just don’t know how to say it any better.

But if anyone has any ideas on how we can learn how to stop the hate, please chime in. I’m all ears.

———-

Even though this particular shooter wasn’t specifically looking for LGBTQ people (I believe the HuffPost article, along with several others I found after looking including one by NPR and another by the New Yorker), he was a horrible person and he did way too much wrong.

That this shooter’s widow was persecuted afterward was flat-out wrong, too. She had nothing to do with any of that. (I thought that at the time, too, but I didn’t say so. Bad me.)

Seems like there’s a whole lot of wrong in this example, with no good answers. (I am glad the shooter’s widow was acquitted, in case anyone is in doubt.)

The important thing now is, how do we stop the hate?

Peace and Remembrance

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Yesterday was my eighteenth wedding anniversary, AKA the sixteenth wedding anniversary I’ve spent alone since my husband Michael died suddenly and without warning in 2004. Usually, observing this day and remembering how wonderful Michael was in all his allness crushes me. (I’m not going to lie.)

But this year was different.

(Why? I don’t know.)

I decided that I was going to do my best to remember Michael as he was. How he loved to make me laugh. How he enjoyed doing just about anything with me. How he wanted to hear whatever I had to say on whatever subject, and about how interested he was to hear about my day even when I had been sick for three days running and hadn’t even been able to go to the computer.

In short, Michael was an outstandingly good husband as well as an outstandingly good man. And I felt better for remembering him that way.

Many anniversaries, I’ve thought more about what I’ve lost than what I’ve gained. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that, either. It’s how I felt at the time, it was authentic, and it was the best I could do to process my catastrophic level of grief.

But this time, I was able to think more about what Michael and I did together. How we wrote, together and separately, and talked our stories out together. How we watched current events, sometimes bemusedly, sometimes with great insight, and could talk them through in a historical context. How we were able to talk about spiritual matters, him being a Zen Buddhist and me being a spiritual seeker who probably best aligns with NeoPaganism (but isn’t NeoPagan enough for some because I still appreciate the life and works of Jesus Christ and try to make common cause with what makes sense to me, especially “love one another”). How we were able to forge a life together despite previous divorces…

Anyway, concentrating on what we were good at together, and how good we were together, helped me a lot. I was able to get through the day with more peace than usual.

I will always wish Michael were still alive, beside me, on this plane of existence. I wish he were still here, writing his stories, writing with me, helping me with my stories, and editing for other people. I wish he were able to tell me what he thinks of the state of the world — most particularly the coronavirus concerns and the #BlackLivesMatter protests, though I’d be interested to hear his (likely trenchant) takes on the current crop of DC politicians (most especially President Trump, someone I don’t think Michael would’ve cared for at all due to that gentleman’s previous experiences as a reality TV star). I wish he were still here so I could see his smile, hear his laugh, enjoy his touch, and get to watch and listen and observe how he got through the world with such serenity and optimism.

But as he’s not alive on this plane — though I do believe the spirit is eternal, and that love never dies either, so in those senses he’ll always be with me — I can only do what I can to remember. And yesterday, I chose to remember the good.

Written by Barb Caffrey

June 25, 2020 at 5:15 am

Remembering Barbara Bush

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Former First Lady Barbara Bush died a few days ago at age 92, and her life was so extraordinary, I had to gather my thoughts for a few days in order to write about her.

First, she was an outspoken First Lady in many respects. She could be tart, was opinionated and made no bones about it, was often amusing (in a wry way), refused to be what was considered “the perfect political spouse” — and the American public adored her for all of that.

Second, as both the wife of one President and the mother of another, she stands alone among modern First Ladies of the United States, and probably will for a long time (if not for all time).**

Third, she was a pro-choice Republican. These are rarer than hen’s teeth on the ground these days in the U.S., but once upon a time, there were any number of women (and, probably, a few men also) in the GOP who believed that women had the right to deal with their own bodies that no one else could — or should — gainsay. (Pro-choice does not mean pro-abortion, counter to what right-wing pundits may say these days. What it does mean is closer to Hillary Clinton’s view of abortion: “Safe, legal, and rare.”)

Fourth, Mrs. Bush proved that you could both be for “female causes” and still be what is considered by most a “traditional woman” — i.e., her family was at the center of her life, and she fought like tooth and nails for them. This is what feminism can and should be: the right to choose your own life, in or outside of the home.

Fifth, Mrs. Bush was a lifelong advocate for literacy. She believed you should read. Educate yourself. Learn something. And keep on learning until the end of your life.

These five things seem to me to be the most important things no one is talking about in relation to Mrs. Bush. And yet, they were the underpinnings of what she was all about. Family. Literacy. Independence. The right to choose your own fate.

Oops, almost forgot one. She was a proud grandmother, too. She enjoyed “kissing their boo-boos” (their minor injuries) and giving her love and support to them, and showed them the power of unconditional love and support.

All in all, I think we need more women like Mrs. Bush. She wasn’t always easy to handle, could be stubborn as a mule when it came to her family (and, perhaps, her causes), certainly had her moments of anger and frustration and heartache and pain — but she rose above all of it, and had a life that many would envy: one filled with love, happiness, and public service.

Those six things are what comes to mind, when I think about the long and fruitful life of Barbara Bush. What do you think about, when you think of her? Let me know in the comments!

——-

**As Kamas says in one of the comments, Abigail Adams was also the wife of one POTUS and the mother of another. As Kamas also said, Mrs. Adams had passed on before her son, John Quincy (J.Q.) Adams was elected to the Presidency. 

**Mind you, J.Q. Adams was a very interesting guy in his own right. He found out in one term as POTUS that he wanted nothing else to do with the executive branch. Instead, he went to the House of Representatives, and served for another eighteen years. He also was one of the U.S. Secretaries of State, was a one-term U.S. Senator, and had a varied political career (to put mildly). He remains the only former POTUS who went back to serving the public in either the House or the Senate, though Harry S. Truman had famously said that if he made it to age 90, he was going to run for the U.S. Senate in Missouri (his home state).

Missed Connections

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Folks, earlier tonight I heard from a friend that another of our circle had died. I felt terrible about this for many reasons, and I still do — but much of why I feel so awful may surprise you.

See, I think in some ways I dropped the ball with this individual. She was a bright, funny, caring woman, and I liked talking to her when I saw her online, but for a long time, I wasn’t completely able to reach out or let anyone else reach in.

After my husband Michael died, it took years to get to the point where I could again have reasonably normal friendships where grief didn’t completely overwhelm me (and my friend). And while I knew this woman a little bit before Michael died, I actually got to know her better afterward…when I wasn’t exactly at my best.

Now, I feel like I missed a connection somewhere with regards to this woman.

See, she tried — and several times, if my memory is not mistaken — to reach out to me after Michael died. This wasn’t an easy thing to do considering the depths of my grief, but I was in no shape to be able to appreciate her efforts.

Then, as I got more accustomed to widowhood, I was still withdrawn in many ways. Because of that, I never told her that I did appreciate her efforts. That they did mean something to me, and that partially because of her, I did keep trying and did eventually find a way out of my grief long enough to realize that I still had something worthwhile left to share with others.

This particular lady was someone that I think I could’ve really had a solid and strong friendship with, rather than be on the fringes of each other’s lives, had I been less withdrawn due to grief.

But it didn’t happen, partly because of circumstances…and partly because when she made her overtures of friendship, I wasn’t ready to receive them.

When I was ready, time got away from me. I never circled around and told her I appreciated that she’d tried to reach me, and that she did her best to support me emotionally at a difficult time.

Worse yet, when she needed help (she’d started a GoFundMe appeal recently), I wasn’t aware of it so I couldn’t help. She’d made it public, but I hadn’t gone to look at her Facebook page in a while, and the algorithms Facebook employs didn’t put her posts front and center on my feed…so I flat missed it.

Granted, I didn’t miss it out of malice aforethought. But I did miss it, and the help I could’ve provided wasn’t forthcoming.

All because of missed connections.

Because I’m now mourning her loss, I would like to tell you all something.

Do your best to tell those who help you that you appreciate what they’re doing. Even if it’s hard; even if you’re afraid it’ll sound wrong; even if you don’t really know how to tell them. Do your best, and let them know that you care.

Don’t assume that you’ll have tomorrow to do it, either. Because time has a funny way of getting away from you. And then, you’ll think, “Oh, that was years ago, she won’t care, and anyway, she’s got different people to talk with now…what difference would it make if I told her I appreciated things back then, anyway?”

Maybe it wouldn’t have. But maybe it would. And if it would’ve, who knows what sort of deep friendship might’ve occurred?

Now, all I can do is ask that you tell those you care about that you care about them today. Don’t wait.

And if you want to thank someone for something they did years ago that meant something to you, do it. Even if they don’t remember, or if it wasn’t a big deal to them, do it anyway — because it matters, and it’s good that you know it.

As for my friend, I hope she is being feted in the afterlife by all her friends and loved ones who passed before her. She was a lively, well-read woman with talent and wit and integrity, so I’m sure there are many on the Other Side waiting to greet her. (Probably including my husband, for all I know. It’s the type of thing Michael would’ve enjoyed doing, so I’d like to picture him there.)

Still, as I mourn her loss, I also mourn the loss of possibility. And wish very much that I could go back, just a few days, even, and tell her that I really did appreciate her.

But now, it’s too late.

And I hate that.

Written by Barb Caffrey

June 15, 2017 at 1:44 am