A friend has sent me this photo of Martin and me....
...taken at the top of a smallish mountain, not far from our Maine farm. Martin, in his younger years, had climbed many of the New England mountains, and skiied Tuckerman's Ravine, the mecca for stalwart and sturdy skiiers... But though those days had passed, he still enjoyed the outdoors and these small treks to places where we could look down on lakes and sky and beyond.
Our trips over the years had often been to places where the scenery was monumental—the African grasslands; the fjords of Norway; the blue-gray splendor of Antarctica. While I remembered Austria for the cafes and strudel mit schlag...he remembered the bright yellow fields of wild mustard. When we bought the farm in Maine I lamented briefly that it wasn't on the coast, that we couldn't watch the ocean and its changes minute to minute---but he pointed out the sky, so vast across our hilly meadow, and how it changed in the same way.
Friends and family will gather on June 12th to say our goodbyes, through some favorite readings and some rememembered anecdotes...and music, of course; Martin's life centered around music.
Then I will head to Maine and settle into some neglected work. The book that I had hoped to finish by June 1st —and couldn't, when Martin's illness intervened—will come back to life (I hope) and maybe the delay will have been good for it: a chance for some re-thinking.
" Martin's life centered around music."
What music style was Mr. Small's favorite?
Posted by: ojimenez | May 31, 2011 at 08:05 AM
Classical. Particularly chamber music.
Posted by: Lois Lowry | May 31, 2011 at 08:36 AM
He led a generous and Artful life. Very inspiring.
Thank you.
Posted by: ojimenez | May 31, 2011 at 11:05 AM
Sometimes I think the best we can hope from this life is to be remembered as fondly and meaningfully as you speak of Martin.
Wishing you all the best from afar,
Revely
Posted by: Revely Culver | May 31, 2011 at 02:17 PM
Thank you for sharing a glimpse of a life well lived.
Posted by: Betty Birney | May 31, 2011 at 05:26 PM
Reading your posts about your loss made me think of this poem. May you feel the nearness of him while Martin is away.
When we are old will we still send emails?
Even if we share the same bed, the same couch?
I hope not.
I hope you slide love notes under my pillow
so that I can smell the ink of your pen
and memorize each stroke of your handwriting.
I will tie them with ribbons and keep them
in a box in the pantry; and when you are away,
I will read each one again and again
to feel the nearness of you.
Posted by: Holly Rabalais | June 13, 2011 at 01:43 PM