Praise then darkness, and creation unfinished

I will be sitting shiva Monday at Havurat Shalom in Somerville (113 College Avenue, a few blocks from Davis Square) on Monday, April 28, starting at 6:00 p.m. Weather allowing, we'll be outdoors in the yard most of the time, so I don't have to worry about masking/covid exposure. Thursday night, sitting shiva at my mother's flat in London, I started sobbing enough that I had to take my mask off in order to breathe.

Please pass the word to anyone who might want to know, who might not see it here.

Since a couple of people asked about this: the plan is to start the service when we get a minyan, and do either the afternoon or the evening service, as appropriate.

I don't cook broccoli very often, but there was some in tonight's dinner. Halfway through the meal, I picked up a piece of broccoli, looked at it, and said "trees." Vekna always called broccoli that, and often argued that it was an ornamental rather than an edible flower (there was broccoli in her wedding bouquet). I miss her, but that was a mostly cheerful reminder, without the sharper edge of "we were going to do this thing together" or "I could use her advice here."

We had that for dinner tonight because I bought some tofu and vegetables last week, and then didn't cook them before or while rysmiel was visiting. I hadn't felt like being experimental while we had a guest, and the only other time I'd cooked tofu was as adrian_turtle's sous-chef.

So: extra-firm tofu, marinated in a mixture of lemon juice, olive oil, ginger paste, and soy sauce for about three hours. The vegetables were carrot (thin disks), broccoli, scallions, and red bell pepper. I sauteed the carrots, scallions, and pepper in more olive oil for a few minutes; added the broccoli and tofu; cooked for a minute or so; then added the sauce, covered, and cooked everything for about another three minutes. (It's "sort of" stir-fried because I don't have a wok.)

The sauce was the marinade plus more ginger paste, some black bean sauce, and then a bit of water when there wasn't enough liquid. Served over rice, of course.

It was dinner, and is a starting point, now that I am a bit more confident of what I'm doing. The sauce came out a bit bland: next time, use fresh ginger as well as the ginger paste in the marinade. Garlic would be good. Cook the sauce briefly, or at least heat it to near a simmer before it goes into the pan, and reduce the final cooking time.

I wrote this in advance, because I knew I would stumble over my words otherwise:

I’ve known and loved Velma for most of my life, and I’m having trouble getting used to the idea that she won’t be part of the rest of it.

I was thinking about the plans for this memorial. I had the brief and reassuring thought of “I know who I can ask about this question,” and then I realized my subconscious wanted me to ask Velma, and that won’t work. Because we’re so used to bouncing things off each other, and in between the story-telling and the sharing of good and bad news, it’s been a way for one or the other of us to figure out what she thinks about something, a first step in deciding what to do. Sometimes we’d actually solve things for each other, but more often it was collaborative, or reassurance that it was okay to do what we wanted or needed, not what someone else was trying to pressure her, or me, into. When we were in our twenties, Velma agreed to be my standing “previous engagement,” if I really didn’t want to go to something. I could say “I’m sorry, I already have plans” and then call and let her know I’d said that, in case the other person checked. I only remember doing it once, but that one time, it was very helpful to know I had that option. At fifty, I think I can do without it, but knowing I could invoke that if I needed to was a comfort for years.

We met when we were 13 or so—either she was in eighth grade, or I was—and lost touch for a year or so after she graduated from our high school, after the only phone number I had for her was disconnected. Reconnecting with Velma was one of the first good things about getting involved with sf fandom, shortly after I graduated. I’m not sure when we started referring to each other as sisters, but it’s felt right for a long time. When Andy and I decided to move to Seattle, knowing she was here made that decision easier. Being close enough for casual visits again, after the few years separated by a continent, helped me feel like I could do this.

Right now I’m missing some of the little things, because they ran through so much of our time together, and maybe because that made it easier to let them slide. It never specifically seemed to matter that it had been a few years since we’d gone out for Chinese food, with lots of roast duck and mushrooms and rice, and too many cups of tea as the conversation lingered. It didn’t matter because it’s a thing we did, and assumed we would do again. And because the tea and duck really weren’t the point, so much as being in the same place: being face to face meant catching nuances that wouldn’t be there in text, or even on the phone. That extra level of meaning is one more thing to miss, which is to say, one more thing I’m glad we had.

Velma didn’t get me started keeping a journal, but she’s part of why I kept doing it. We use them differently—she would look at old journals, and sometimes find patterns, and I mostly seem to be thinking out loud, and rarely pick up old volumes of the hardcopy—but I’m glad of her example, glad of the encouragement that it’s okay to take out my journal while I’m waiting for someone or while a friend is reading, and it’s one of the many things that feels like a connection, whether or not she’s actually there or we’re doing it together right now.

I was looking at some of Velma’s old LiveJournal posts, which reminded me that she spent a lot of time thinking about boundaries and about appropriate shapes of relationships. She’s one of the people I talked to about how relationships can work, both hypothetically and on the practical level of what was and wasn’t working for each of us, and sometimes for other people. Velma was one of the first people I told when I got involved with rysmiel, and I was delighted, later, to see them becoming friends.

Someone had accused her of holding grudges, but I think that was a consequence of her tendency to give people more chances than I would have, sometimes more than I thought she should. If she did finally decide that someone was demanding too much, or that their apologies were worthless because nothing would change, that was usually after a lot of anger had built up. Someone else might have quietly broken things off, while they still had enough patience left to sort of get along. But Velma was who she was, and part of that was sometimes being too optimistic, or too trusting.


I’d like to end with the sonnet Jo Walton wrote for Velma:

I've said it all before: death sucks! And worse,
We're complex, breathtaking, and we can speak,
All irreplaceable, and each unique,
Each human death must end a universe.

People die young, die old, die at my age!
Die much beloved, or indifferent, die
As everyone must do, as you and I,
And nothing helps, not love, not hope, not rage.

Your biting joy in life, your smile, your wit,
That you were loved and needed -- so unfair,
That death devoured it all, and that we care
Who cared for you, and that's the end of it.

All we can do is live life day by day
Remember what we can, and while we may.

I had talked to elisem on Monday about getting together again today, and last night she proposed that we both go visit Soren, as we had on Monday. He said "any time after noon," though I was skeptical after getting an email from him this morning that he had sent at 3:30 a.m. Nonetheless, I took the bus up to his neighborhood, had clams at Ivar's, and then walked over to his apartment. No answer; since the doorbell is hooked up to the phone, I left a message. Then I heard from Elise; Soren had told her "not feeling well, give me an hour" more than an hour earlier. She was worried, and a neighbor let me into the building, so I went up and knocked, loudly. Soren was sleepy and not up for company, but there was nothing seriously wrong, so I got back on the bus and met Elise in Fremont. We hung out a while in a burger restaurant while she had lunch and I drank iced tea, then walked for a bit, back to where she is staying. There was good conversation, again much of it about Velma (roadnotes.

Also, I posted about Velma's death and notifying people on the "I need a hug" section of the Friends of Captain Awkward site, using real names in the post because it was easier than inventing pseudonyms. I got a PM this morning from someone who knew Velma from a fountain pen forum, asking "I hope not, but is that the same Velma?" I've also gotten a Faceboorequest for Soren's email address from someone who says he's an old friend of theirs—I replied and asked him for a non-Facebook address Soren can reach him at—and a very ill-timed FB friend request on Sunday from an ex of hers, which I hope is coincidence rather than some sort of vulturine response to the bad news.

Meanwhile, our cat julian_tiger has gotten very good at not taking pills, and had almost no appetite yesterday. (He was trying, but after a few nibbles of chicken sausage he had that "I want to be hungry for that" look.) This morning I tried him on bell pepper (again, he ate a little and clearly wanted to be hungry for more) and then plain yogurt. He was happy to lick some off my finger, then licked the bowl, so I gave him another tablespoonful. Then, on a hunch, I offered him some peach jam. Happy cat! He asked for seconds, and thirds, and fourths.

I found clementines at the supermarket this morning, and he was happy to help me with one. OK, he wants soft/moist things, and we're back in "orange food for orange cats." I bought salmon and a sweet potato for dinner. He was very happy to help us with them, in larger quantities than we would normally give him, which is a relief, because the vet confirmed that he can't live on just yogurt and fruit, he needs protein. Rationally, "orange food for orange cats" is as silly a basis for a menu as basing it on blood type, but everything there except maybe the peach jam is something I already knew he liked. We are much more optimistic than we were 24 hours ago, and I have at least enough cooked fish left to give him healthy treats tomorrow.