Although what I am about to say does in no way apply to everyone I know, it has been my experience, that, generally, in times of crisis, people tend to fall into two categories: the ones who offer to help and then stay where they are; and the ones who get in the car.
Paul and Jackie and their two children drove up from New Jersey yesterday for the night. Jennifer, who used to babysit Jackie years ago, arrived from Boston for the night. Five years ago Jackie had a severe stroke at the age of 43(?) and lost the use of an arm, a leg, and the power of speech. Aphasia, it's called. Jackie was more help in 24 hours than many people I know would have been in a year. I bow down before her, humbly, and her husband and children. http://steveadubato.org/aphasias-impact-on-the-family/
Paul is a lawyer. Paul went through every single document in every single folder and file drawer in the house and within seconds had three piles: save, pitch, and shred. The pitch pile was the biggest. he took the shred pile home with him to do there (when we discovered our shredder was good for little more than almost shredding his 12 year old son Jackson's right hand, who was trying to fix it). Paul examined and advised on every document from the safety deposit box. Paul went to the attic and brought down three trunks, which we all then emptied. Paul moved furniture. Paul did dishes. Paul made breakfast. Jackie meanwhile sorted Blue Book crap. Their kids did what they were told to do, happily and willingly. And the family went home to New Jersey today with a Subaru Outback and roof rack packed full of Becket stuff, from artificial Xmas trees each kid wanted for their room to my father's Norwegian boyscout uniform from 1926 (Jackson is a keen Scout) to needlepoint wall hangings of mine, to the ridiculous 3 foot high helmet I made for actor David Clennon in 1970 in his role as the Knight of the Mirrors in Man of La Mancha, which Peg has fondly kept all these years for reasons that escape me, the formerly bright purple mirror-encrusted ostrich plumes now pukey beige and missing 98% of the plumage. Jackson and Rachel (15) had to practically sit in each other's lap for the ride home.
Jennifer, meanwhile, my maid of honor first time round, was the happy recipient of a similar amount of stuff and her Volvo went back east down the Pike equally stuffed.
At which time the house went from the lively, vibrant home full of people it used to be in its heyday, to me left alone waving them off down the drive--but unbelievably happy that so many Peg-treasured items had found a perfect home, and one that she would be pleased with (Sadly, no one wanted the samovar Peg bought in Moscow in 1968 even thought I sweetened the deal with three boxes of Lipton tea (one already opened) and Introductory Russian Grammar, a book from freshman year Vassar. )
And you know what? The house doesn't look one fucking bit emptier. Even with two full carloads gone. It would be very easy for a less--determined--person to get depressed about this. I imagine.
Meanwhile Peg's website is getting oodles of hits and I answer about 10 Peg fans every day, strangers writing to say how much pleasure she's given them over the years or how thrilled they are to discover her. I can't not answer. She replied to every single fan letter that came to her, personally, always. I can at least do the same.
Meanwhile also, 'Sorry for your loss' cards pour in. Some a bit formal and predictable, some heartfelt.
Someone wants to do a documentary film on her.
Tomorrow I have to go be interviewed by radio whatever Albany. Fortunately only have to go as far as a studio over the mountain in Pittsfield (Albany 90 min) so can multi-task, love it love it, and drop off the Kennedy half dollars still hanging around of Odd's at the coin place on the way, and the Peg picture I came across she'd autographed to Tina her hairdresser, and buy bubble wrap so Louise can start eBaying Peg's 18K gold rimmed Lenox dinner service which I have finally decided I do not want. And tomorrow I will order the 20 cubic yard dumpster.
And, am thinking I might go to Lucky Nails and get my nails done, instead of chewing them. If there's any left.
Card Jennifer and I found today amongst Peg's cardboard box of mismatched stationery, "cute" cards, cards never sent, Valentines addressed and stamped but never sent and so on:
"I've used up all my sick days so I'm calling in DEAD."
I miss Turner Movie Classics blaring in the background. Would turn it on, whatever's playing, if I could figure out the remote.
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