Marjorie
Saturday we learned that Marjorie passed away during the night. This news was received with great sadness, but it was also occasion to reflect on a special and remarkable person. Marjorie was a woman who, possibly more than any I’ve known, could not have been faulted for a nihilistic view of life, from the hardships and tragedies it dealt her. But, that was not Marjorie, not at all. She was always buoyant, animated, even exuberant. I can’t recall her complaining about anything; I can recall her enthusiasm about family, golf, cards, everything. She could talk about anything; the breadth of her knowledge and scope of her conversationalism often left me hard pressed to keep up. 
I don’t think anybody could intimidate her; yet she was unpretentious and unassuming. She could cut through any kind of hodge podge and make a point with succinct and incontrovertible insight; yet she was empathetic and open minded. I think above all else she valued and treasured family. In this regard, I feel like I let her down. She would never say so, of course; if somebody sought forgiveness she would insist there was nothing to forgive. So, let me add magnanimous to the list of qualities that made her so special. As so often happens at the loss of a loved one, I wish I had spent more time with her, in person or even just by phone. Any time spent with Marjorie was time well spent. I miss her already; a lot.
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Jeff says:
Maybe it’s because I’m a musician, but what I remember most about Marge was her voice. If a smile had a sound, that was the sound of her voice. And her laugh was a cascade of high, light, staccato notes that was the most carefree thing in the world–in spite of, as John pointed out, any hardships life dealt her. A martyr she was definitely not! She seemed to harbor an amusing secret about the world.
She had a pragmatic side to her that was quite fearless. In her last years, going to dialysis three times a week was definitely a drag, but it was just what had to be done, so there was no wishing things were different. And some people don’t want to speak about their own eventual death, but Marge gave me the impression, in an offhand remark she made once, that hers was just one more thing that would happen, no big deal. The fact that she made all of her own funeral arrangements tells that she wasn’t shying away from this subject.
I wish I had a nice little biographical sketch of her, a chronology of her life, where she lived and went to school and worked and all that. Let’s try to get one put together somehow. All I really knew about her was that my father was, according to my mother (who delighted in the fact), pretty much in love with her. But who wasn’t?
I will especially treasure the memories of Christmas 2002, when I went and stayed with her in Oklahoma (I always thought I heard her pronounce it “Okloma”) City, visited there also by her son Jim and his wife Carol. That was a special time.
And I second John’s description of her.
Love to you, Margie.