Tag Archives: Death of a Friend

For Jay, April 23, 1947––December 14, 2020

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For Jay, April 23, 1947—December 14, 2020

The billow of the curtains, the deep tolling of a bell
below me in the village, what stories they might tell
if I only knew their language. The voice of bronze and wind
may just be a passing zephyr, or the tale told of a friend
seven days departed, now reduced to ash and bone.
Words scattered by a priest, to bless and to atone
for some small ineptitudes, hardly sin at all,
now he sits upon a shelf in my entrance hall.
Does he sense our daily passing? Does he know we know his worth?
Does he long for his reunion with water and with earth?
Soon, my friend, you’ll be released for a final time—
freed from the ineptitude of flames and bells and rhyme
to record your passing in sermon or in verse
as you rise again once more to join the universe.

R.I.P. Jay—friend, father, brother, lover. Fellow expat, now a citizen of the Universe.

We spread Jay’s ashes in Lake Chapala on December 29, 2020. If you’d like to read about the ceremony and see photos, go HERE.

Prompt words today are billow, inept, admire and bells.

The Bee Keeper

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A fine poet and wonderful man passed away a few days ago, just a few days before the private launch party for his newest book of poetry, The Alphabet of Longing and Other Poems. Today, I attended the memorial and celebration of life for Jim Tipton that took the place of festivities meant to be his book launch. In all, there were two hours of tributes and readings from Jim’s work. For my tribute, I wrote this brief poem in which I try to wed a number of the loves of his life: bee keeping, poetry and his appreciation of women.

 

The Bee Keeper

A keeper of words,
he was a tender man with fine vision
and a honeyed tongue adept at sharing it.

A man who loved women,
but not a ladies man,
his heart could stretch to fit everyone.

He was the one among us who knew how to see the other side.
A champion of the beleaguered,
when most found fault, he always had a kind word to say.

Words lived with him. He set them free and always grew more.
Poetry buzzed around him like bees.
He was a man who knew both bees and how to be.

 

 

Because Jim missed this party, I wanted to include these photos of him enjoying the last party I saw him at—last September’s awards luncheon for El Ojo del Lago. As you can see, he was a man who knew how to enjoy life to its fullest. Those of us who knew him through the poetry or music world, his neighbors and his family will feel the huge space left by his exit from our lives. Fly free, lovely man.

Jim’s earlier book of poetry Letters from a Stranger (with an introduction by Isabel Allende) may be purchased here: https://www.amazon.com/Letters-Stranger-James-Tipton/dp/0965715922

His newest book, The Alphabet of Longing, will be available on Amazon in June.  It is presently available at Diane Pearl’s Colecciones  and Yves Restaurant in Ajijic. 

Leap Year

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Leap Year

This year, indivisible by four,
is nonetheless a leap year.
As friends fall away from my life
like leaves losing hold,
I make adjustments,
searching for a direction
other than down,
spread my wings,
letting that stubborn wind
that blows me
determine my direction.

 

A quadrille for dVerse Poets. The prompt is “leap.”

Nosegay

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Nosegay

The faint trace
of ashes and cardamom
sing in the air
you used to pass through.
They fit into my memory
 in their accustomed places,
your aroma lingering
years longer
than the touch of you.

 

The prompt today is faint.

Flower of the Day: Orange Mums and Memories

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(Click on any photo to enlarge all.)

R.I.P., Grimmer

Heading South

My friend put on her traveling gown
for London was her sort of town
where mouths share tales and shoulders rub
when friends or strangers meet at the pub.

My friend put on her traveling gown
for Paris was her sort of town—
gone to the boulevard to eat
and watch life from a streetside seat.

A demitasse or two, or more,
a shared baguette or petit four—
approachable down to the bone.
Better not to eat alone.

She was a traveler, born to roam
when she was not ensconced in home.
Back home, a cat upon her lap.
Away from home, a well-creased map.

On maps, the south is always down,
be it Paris or London town.
So be not sad or down at mouth.
Our friend is merely going south!

As I grow older, I like to think
one day we’ll meet there for a drink.
Well-versed, our friend will show us where
to sip our coffee in open air.

Or snuggle in for shepherd’s pie
in company fit for roving eye.
To lift a pint or raise a glass
once we have joined her there en masse.

 

When I was at my friend Patty’s house for a few nights this week, I shared the room with a shoebox-sized carton that contained the ashes of an old friend, sorority sister and traveling companion. Although I’ve seen her many times both in the States and in Mexico over the years, my last trip abroad with her and Patty was to Paris over thirty years ago. It is a place she returned to again and again, so when she passed away in a hotel room in London enroute to her favorite place over a year ago, I wrote the above poem. Although she requested that her ashes be spread in Paris, her lawyer said that this was illegal, so the morning I left Sheridan for Missouri two days ago, we buried Grimmer’s ashes in Patty’s beautiful flower and rock garden next to a busy road and across from a rodeo stadium. We could imagine her sitting on that nearby large rock to watch the action. It was a place more fitting for an observer of life than any ocean or mountaintop. R.I.P. Grimmer.

Thi

For Cee’s Daily Flower Prompt.

Heading South

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Heading South

My friend put on her traveling gown
for London was her sort of town
where mouths share tales and shoulders rub
when friends or strangers meet at the pub.

My friend put on her traveling gown
for Paris was her sort of town—
gone to the boulevard to eat
where strangers she perchance would meet.

A demitasse or two, or more,
a shared baguette or petit four—
approachable down to the bone.
Better not to eat alone.

She was a traveler, born to roam
when she was not ensconced in home.
Back home, a cat upon her lap.
Away from home, a well-creased map.

On maps, the south is always down,
be it Paris or London town.
So be not sad or down at mouth.
Our friend is merely going south!

As I grow older, I like to think
one day we’ll meet there for a drink.
Well-versed, our friend will show us where
to sip our coffee in open air.

Or snuggle in for shepherd’s pie
in company fit for roving eye.
To lift a pint or raise a glass
once we have joined her there en masse.


(Word came yesterday that my friend of 49 years had passed away in a London hotel room, where she was just finishing up a month long vacation.  If you haven’t read yesterday’s post, go HERE.)

Marilyn suggested this song which my poem reminded her of.  It is one of my favorites, so I’m including it here…the link provided by okcforgottenman. In his words,  ‘It is Fort Worth Blues, written by Steve Earle in tribute to the then recent passing of Townes Van Zandt. You can see him sing it –HERE- in a Townes tribute on Austin City Limits. It’s a worthy tribute to Grimmer, too, I think.’

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/south/

Dr. Judy

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(To enlarge photos and read the captions, it is necessary to click on the first photo.)

This is Judy G on the train to Spain. As I recall, we had a bit of a problem getting that bottle open as we hadn’t brought an opener. I think the cork was still intact when I took this picture.
Grimmer and our mutual best friend Patty, in Germany.

Her name was Judy Grimm. She was a “little sister” assigned to me by Chimes—a junior women’s honorary at the University of Wyoming. The year was 1967 and that summer, we started up a correspondence that consisted mainly of her asking questions and my answering them.  She was a freshman coming from Colorado to Wyoming  and her main fear was that she wouldn’t be able to wear cut-offs to class.

She was a relaxed sort of girl.  We were different in many ways, but alike in others.  She pledged my sorority. We were both English majors. We shared a first name and since we also shared a best friend, we were to weave in and out of each other’s lives for the next 49 years. She was a funny tomboyish girl with a devilish grin. We spent a lot of the two years we were in the house together forsaking our early afternoon classes to play bridge with the hashers after lunch. She had an infectious sense of humor and when she married one of the BMOC’s and became Judy Hill, it was to be just one of the surprises her life had in store for us.

After earning an undergraduate degree in English, she discovered that her true talent was in science and she went on to become a dental surgeon. When she divorced her BMOC and joined the military to see the world, I went with our mutual best friend Patty to give her a send-off in New Orleans, and when she was sent to Germany and Patty went to teach nearby, I went to visit them there and we traveled to Paris and Spain together as well.

Years later, after she moved back to the states and I moved to Mexico, she came to visit me in Mexico several times. When I went to Denver, I stayed at her house and when she sold her house and downsized, I visited her in her new high rise luxury apartment overlooking the park.  We were making plans to see each other in Denver at a mini-college reunion when I go through enroute to a family reunion in Cheyenne this June/July.

But a phone call early this morning changed those plans, for it was Patty telling me that Judy had died the night before in a London hotel room.  Due back in the states a few days ago, she had phoned to say she was cancelling her flight reservations to check into a hotel and get over a bout of the flu.  She had said earlier that her month in England had been the best of many vacations she had taken in her life. And so in the end, she seemingly died the way we all would probably like to die—doing what she liked best.  She was scheduled for back surgery in a few weeks, and if it had to happen, I am so happy she died in a London hotel room instead of a Denver operating theater.

R.I.P. Dr. Grimmer.  We didn’t write much and although we didn’t always see life the same, we did continue to see each other over the nearly 50 years since we first met. You always did enjoy traveling, whether it was with company or alone, buddy.  I hope your last trip continues to be as enjoyable as your penultimate one was.

I’ve since written THIS about Grimmer.

Ironically, the Daily Prompt today was “buddy.”  https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/buddy/