Pansies -- That's for thoughts....

« Pansies, that’s for thoughts… »
From _Hamlet_

When I was six, I did not know about Ophelia nor did I speak French so I could not know that the word for « pansy » in French is “pensée”, meaning also « thought », nor could I, did I know, that the pansy is a symbol of Christian remembrance.

But when my mother told me, in November in our living room in Storrs, Connecticut, that my best friend, Johnny Lougee, had died that day from childhood leukemia, I said,
“I want to give him pansies for his grave.”

Purple pansies.

Purple, the color of royalty but also the color of passion, from the Latin, “patire” –
to suffer.

Pansies then became very important in my family because of course my parents knew all of the meanings of this dear flower.

Johnny’s parents, Bob and Grace Lougee, were the best friends my parents had. They were all soul mates. As I said in the remembrance of my father, “Grace and Dad provided the Irish influence, Bob and Mom were the poets.” I call Grace and Bob “Aunt Grace and Uncle Bob” and they are as dear to me as were my own mother and father. The happiest and most carefree hours of my life – until now – were spent with them and my parents at the seashore every summer at their homes in Quonochontaug,
Rhode Island.

When my mother was dying, they came. I was not there but my father told me that when Uncle Bob, a reserved and self-contained man, a New Englander after all, descended the stairs after visiting my mother, tears were streaming down his face.

On the day of my mother’s memorial service I gave Aunt Grace a porcelain “pansy” box that I had given my mother and that was on her dresser where she could see it every day. To Uncle Bob I gave my mother’s favorite book that they discussed every summer.

War and Peace.

“The end of all meetings, parting;
The end of all striving, peace.”


Christiana Adams-Caille
June 3, 2008
11:40 am


June 28, 2009

It further occurred to me last year that my father's belovèd brother, Robert -- Bob -- called his little brother "Johnny."

May perpetual Light shine upon them all and envelop all of us.

I give you, my friends and family, violets because they still bloom.

John and Mary Adams by Robert W. Lougee

John and Mary

Chris, you asked me to write an “essay on John and Mary.” Since essays, like sonnets, have a standard form, I fear, benighted as I am, that should I attempt an essay I would produce a defective work to the scorn of the literati, so let us call this merely a piece.

As an historian I cannot escape the imperative to start with a brief account of our relationship with John and Mary. I will follow with some thoughts on my perceptions of them.

As an inveterate pedestrian, I walked to work daily past your house on Hillside Circle. After observing a little girl solitarily at play and since we had a little boy often solitarily at play, it occurred to me that together they might enhance the fun of their play time.

One day I boldly knocked on your door to be greeted by your sister and then your mother. Visits were arranged and I took pleasure in seeing you two doing things that kids best do together. I particularly noted the zeal which you both displayed in placing a number of coat hangers on bushes throughout the adjacent woodlands.

The social interaction of the children was soon followed by that of the parents. The foundation of this relationship was the first of a lengthy series of “birthday dinners” designed to celebrate the birthdays of Mary and Grace. This primal event was held at the Public House in Sturbridge and proved a most enjoyable evening as did all subsequent ones. As for paying the tab for these dinners, you acute father proposed that each of us would be responsible in alternate years, thus eliminating any unseemly altercations to end the meal. He even kept a record in his ever present pocket notebook. So I was never able to welch.

In the mid-60s, your family moved to Washington (Rockville), and we acquired the humble sea-green cottage at Quonochontaug. The geographical separation did not end our friendship. Indeed, it grew in closeness and mutual affection in subsequent years. We frequently visited you and spent a number of Thanksgivings at your house. Each summer during many years, “your growing up years,” you and your folks were with us at Quonochontaug.

My memories of our times together there are many, none more vivid than the picnics on the long lonely stretch of beach west of the breachway which we reached by my little sloop. My recollection is particularly sharp of the day John and I got on the outgoing current of the breachway and capsized. Fortunately, we were rescued and the “Irish Navy,” as your father called it, survived for another day.

During these years, we scrupulously attended each others family functions. You were all present at both Lorraine and Bobby’s weddings. (At Bobby’s wedding John arrived with a bag of garbage in his car. He assured me he could not find a place to deposit it, and that he did not mean to use it at the reception.) You came also to our 50th wedding anniversary celebration, and we were present at your graduation from Mt. Holyoke. I had the honor to serve as head usher at your wedding and to propose the toast at your reception. (I proposed the toast in French, probably so badly pronounced that only the English speaking people there could understand it.)

On a sad note we visited your mother during her last days and took comfort that she managed a smile when we arrived. Several years later we visited your grievously ill father at the Washington nursing home. He bravely got out of bed to greet us but soon weakened, and my farewell to John was to help him back into his bed.

On a brighter note, I must not neglect to express the joy that was ours to observe as you matured through the years, to sense the enthusiasm you felt for the beach and the waves, and to appreciate the kindness and affection you showed us.

Now, as for my perceptions of John and Mary, I believe succinctness rather than prolixity may best convey them.

John had a directness in his approach to persons and things. Thus, Sartre-like he saw “existence before essence” and let the essence, i.e., his view, derive from the existence of the subject under discussion. His ranging interest of “how things are going,” in politics, in higher education, in contemporary culture, or in the pharmaceutical industry, and his comments on them were critical but without petulance or cynicism. His ethical judgments were not as a moralist drawing on principle, but as an appraiser assigning a value. Endless hours of conversations I had with him made these and other characteristics evident, but most of all revealed a conscientious man, not always at peace with the world, but very much a part of it.

Mary, with her immersion in literature, her keen and penetrating grasp of the people whom she encountered, her subdued sense of humor, and appreciation of irony (even mine), and with her need to unburden herself (as indeed she did with Grace in their late nocturnal sessions) was a woman delightfully pleasant and engaging, but not completely knowable. It has been said of “War and Peace” that no thought or experience or human situation is left out. That Mary could find fascination and perhaps solace in her reiterated reading of this rich and variegated work helps us to know her better, I think, than anything else.

My piece on “John and Mary” may not touch on all you wish me to write. However, I hope it does reflect the sincere and deep friendship which it was our good fortune to have with them through many years.


Robert W. Lougee
Storrs, Connecticut
November 2008

In loving memory. A tribute to John G. Adams by his niece, Suzanne. August 2000

This is the first time in my life that I don’t have an Uncle John. I had an Uncle Earl [Aunt Florence’s husband], three Uncle Ed’s, but only one Uncle John, Uncle JG, or Uncle Doctor, Sir…depending upon his stature at the time. My Dad always called him Johnny.

This may seem strange to those of you who knew Uncle John later in life. But, he was the little brother whose Father died when he was 13. He started working in the drug store to contribute to the family well-being, just as his older brothers and sisters were doing to help Grandma. When he returned from the War, he bought the drug store..aka/Adams Pharmacy, in 1946…the rest is history!

What a wonderful drug store it was…with booths in the back for ice cream Sundaes, with nuts and whipped cream…and everyone in the family kept their jewels in the pill boxes! The drug store became quite important when my Father was diagnosed with cancer only months after he returned from Germany. Uncle John and Sooner [John Forbarick—my father’s best friend] let my Mother practice on them..giving shots…soon they handed her oranges and let her make her mistakes there! Uncle John was much more patient and understanding then.

I was lucky to be born at the time I was because I was the only baby in the Family and Uncle John spoiled me rotten…everything was fun..the whole Clan as well as surrogate family members congregated at Grandma’s at least once a week. I found a letter he had written to Grandma while he was on R&R in Austria in June of 1945 where he actually said to his Mother..they were having “one hell of a good time.”

Uncle John was probably Pittsburgh’s Bachelor No. 1, with his yellow Mercury convertible, his Springer Spaniel, Jaggers, his golf clubs, tennis racquets and other trappings. Luckily for him and all of us, he met Mary and he gave me my newest—best friend, Beth. I was no longer the center of attention, but that was OK. Subsequently, we got Chris, who Beth and I, as teenagers, tolerated until she became quite the lovely lady and is most loved by us both..as Beth’s real sister and my adopted sister.

Uncle John helped everyone in the family…and everyone looked to him for advice and counsel. Uncle John always tolerated things from me that he would never have from others [AND THAT IS THE TRUTH!], but Uncle John and I had a bond that lasted my entire life. We each understood that nothing was the same after March of 1947 in that special part of our hearts [and that is also the truth—my father worshipped your grandfather], and we always cut each other slack because of it. I loved Uncle John with my whole heart…he spoiled me as a child, and treated me as an equal when I reached adulthood. My eyes are blinded with tears…tears of love for a great man who was the survivor of this generation of Adams’s.

To Chris…I offer this from “Hamlet”:

“There’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance, pray, love, remember:
And there’s pansies…that for thoughts…there fennel for you, and Columbines. There’s a daisy; I would give you some violets, but
They withered all when my father died.
They say he made a good end.”

Joshua

Saint-Caradec, France
June 24, 2009
Noon
The Feast of Saint John the Baptist

A Tribute to and a Prayer for Joshua and His Family
by Christiana Adams-Caille, a friend of the family

Note: Joshua and Nicholas wanted to make a bonfire and they found gasoline, which they used and that burned them both over 90 percent of their childs' bodies. Thanks be to God, their suffering has ended. I wrote this on the very day that Joshua passed to the other side of the Veil. Amen.

Joshua Jon. Belovèd son, grandson, nephew, friend. Belovèd child of God, whose name means “God is Salvation”and “God is Gracious”:

“The English name Joshua is a rendering of the Hebrew: יהושע‎, "Yehoshua," meaning means "Yahweh is Salvation," "Yahweh delivers," or "Yahweh rescues" from the Hebrew root ישע, "salvation," "to deliver/be liberated," or "to be victorious" "salvation." It often lacks a Hebrew letter vav (ו) after the shin (ש), allowing a reading of the vocalization of the name as Yehoshea
(יְהוֹשֵׁעַ) - the name is described in the Torah as having been originally Hoshea before being changed to Yehoshua by Moses (Numbers 13:16).”

Recalling also the story of another Joshua, whom Moses entrusted with the leadership of the Israelites:

“According to the Bible, Joshua was the son of Nun, of the tribe of Ephraim, which would become known as the most militaristic of the tribes of Israel, largely through Joshua's campaigns. He was born in Egypt prior to The Exodus, and was probably the same age as Caleb, with whom he is occasionally associated.

“As Moses' apprentice, Joshua was a major figure in all the events of the Exodus. He accompanied Moses part of the way when he ascended Mount Sinai to receive the Ten Commandments (Exd. 32:17). He was one of the twelve spies who were sent on by Moses to explore the land of Canaan (Num. 13:16, 17), and only he and Caleb gave an encouraging report, a reward for which would be that only these two of the spies would enter the promised land (Num 14:23-24). He was commander at their first battle after exiting Egypt, against the Amalekites in Rephidim (Ex. 17:8-16), in which they were victorious.

“Joshua was appointed by Moses to succeed him as leader of the Israelites. The first part of the book that bears Joshua's name covers the period when he commanded the conquest of Canaan. At the Jordan River, the waters parted, as they had for Moses at the Red Sea. Joshua led the destruction of Jericho, then moved on to Ai, a small neighboring city to the west. However, they were defeated and thirty-six Israelite warriors were killed, because Achan had taken the ‘accursed thing’ (some treasures from Jericho). When Achan's sin was exposed, he and his family and his animals were stoned to death and the favor of God was again restored. Joshua was then able to defeat Ai. The Israelites faced an alliance of Amorite kings from Jerusalem, Hebron, Jarmuth, Lachish, and Eglon. At Gibeon Joshua asked God to cause the Sun and Moon to stand still, so that he could finish the battle in daylight. This event is most notable because ‘there was no day like that before it or after it, that the LORD hearkened unto the voice of a man: for the LORD fought for Israel.’(KJV Josh 10:14). From there on, Joshua was able to lead the Israelites to several victories, securing much of the land of Canaan.

“In the second part of the book that bears his name (Joshua 13 onwards), Joshua describes the extent of the ‘promised land’ and divided it among the tribes of Israel. At this time, much of this land remained unconquered.

“When he was ‘old and well advanced in years’ Joshua convened the elders and chiefs of the Israelites and exhorted them to have no fellowship with the native population because it could lead them to be unfaithful to God. At a general assembly of the clans at Shechem he took leave of the people, admonishing them to be loyal to their God, who had been so mightily manifested in the midst of them. As a witness of their promise to serve God, Joshua set up a great stone under an oak by the sanctuary of God. Soon afterward he died, at the age of 110, and was buried at Timnath Serah.”

We recall also the stories of Jonathan and David, of John the Baptist and John, Christ’s beloved disciple and friend….

***

Since April 18 it seems for all of us that “there was no day like that before it or after it, that the LORD hearkened unto the voice of a man: for the LORD fought for Israel.”

On this day, the carefree little boy, Joshua, became a “warrior”, our leader and our teacher.

On this 24th of June 2009, the Feast Day of Saint John the Baptist, we thank God for this child’s life as he prepares to join the communion of saints whom we can no longer see but whose presence is felt, through the Holy Spirit, in our daily lives. We thank God for Joshua’s life and sacrifice because through his life and death and through the life and death of his friend, Nicholas, many lives – and of this I am certain – will and perhaps have already been saved.

Joshua is and shall always remain – in deed and in truth – salvation for others.

I am convinced that each person who knows the story of Joshua and Nicholas will now and forever warn parents and children of the dangers of fire. I believe that as they heal, Joshua's family and friends will join together to ensure that vast and renewed public education efforts concerning fire safety throughout North America and beyond will occur. The telling of the story of Joshua and Nicholas will become, if I may, the new “Book of Joshua.”

This is the victory of this precious child, Joshua, and of his friend, Nicholas.

***
And now I ask that you join me in a Prayer for Joshua and his Family.
Gracious Mother, Father God,

We give you thanks for the life of Joshua. We trust in your Love for this child and his Family as his soul prepares to come unto You and as his Family prepares to release him to Your Spirit. We trust in Your constant presence with him and with his family. We trust in your saving mercy and through your Grace, the absence and end of suffering for this child. May his Passion on this earth soon be over.

Lord in your Mercy,
Hear our prayer.

Thy Will Be Done.

Lord in your Mercy,
Hear our prayer.

We pray that the Holy Spirit will descend as a dove from heaven soon to take this child, in a divine Chariot of Fire, straight into your welcoming Arms.

Lord in your Mercy,
Hear our prayer.

We pray for the peace of Joshua’s family. Have mercy upon them and grant them peace.
In their great sorrow, be for them a constant and abiding presence.

Grant that they may feel Your saving presence.

Grant that they may feel You holding them in your Arms as you do their belovèd son, grandson, and nephew.

Lord in your Mercy,
Hear our prayer.

***
We ask all of these things in the name of your Son, Jesus Christ.
In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit.
Amen.

****

Ever since writing my tribute to Joshua yesterday, the opening lines of the following poem have been in my heart and my mind.

The poem, by John Greenleaf Whittier, is
"The Barefoot Boy" ....

Blessings on thee, little man,
Barefoot boy, with cheek of tan!
With thy turned-up pantaloons,
And thy merry whistled tunes;
With thy red lip, redder still
Kissed bystrawberries on the hill;
With the sunshine on thy face,
Through thy torn brim’s jaunty grace;
From my heart I give thee joy,—
I was once a barefoot boy!
Prince thou art,—the grown-up man
Only is republican.
Let the million-dollared ride!
Barefoot, trudging at his side,
Thou hast more than he can buy
In the reach of ear and eye,—
Outward sunshine, inward joy:
Blessings on thee, barefoot boy!

Oh for boyhood’s painless play,
Sleep that wakes in laughing day,
Health that mocks the doctor’s rules,
Knowledge never learned of schools,
Of the wild bee’s morning chase,
Of the wild-flower’s time and place,
Flight of fowl and habitude
Of the tenants of the wood;
How the tortoise bears his shell,
How the woodchuck digs his cell,
And the ground-mole sinks his well;
How the robin feeds her young,
How the oriole’s nest is hung;
Where the whitest lilies blow,
Where the freshest berries grow,
Where the ground-nut trails its vine,
Where the wood-grape’s clusters shine;
Of the black wasp’s cunning way,
Mason of his walls of clay,
And the architectural plans
Of gray hornet artisans!

For, eschewing books and tasks, Nature answers all he asks;
Hand in hand with her he walks,
Face to face with her he talks,
Part and parcel of her joy,—
Blessings on the barefoot boy!

Oh for boyhood’s time of June,
Crowding years in one brief moon,
When all things I heard or saw, Me, their master, waited for.
I was rich in flowers and trees,
Humming-birds and honey-bees;
For my sport the squirrel played,
Plied the snouted mole his spade;
For my taste the blackberry cone
Purpled over hedge and stone;
Laughed the brook for my delight
Through the day and through the night,
Whispering at the garden wall,
Talked with me from fall to fall;
Mine the sand-rimmed pickerel pond,
Mine the walnut slopes beyond,
Mine, on bending orchard trees, Apples of Hesperides!
Still as my horizon grew,
Larger grew my riches too;
All the world I saw or knew
Seemed a complex Chinese toy,
Fashioned for a barefoot boy!
Oh for festal dainties spread,
Like my bowl of milk and bread;
Pewter spoon and bowl of wood,
On the door-stone, gray and rude!
O’er me, like a regal tent,
Cloudy-ribbed, the sunset bent,
Purple-curtained, fringed with gold,
Looped in many a wind-swung fold;
While for music came the play
Of the pied frogs’ orchestra;
And, to light the noisy choir,
Lit the fly his lamp of fire.
I was monarch : pomp and joy
Waited on the barefoot boy!

Cheerily, then, my little man,
Live and laugh, as boyhood can!
Though the flinty slopes be hard,
Stubble-speared the new-mown sward,
Every morn shall lead thee through
Fresh baptisms of the dew;
Every evening from thy feet
Shall the cool wind kiss the heat:
All too soon these feet must hide
In the prison cells of pride,
Lose the freedom of the sod,
Like a colt’s for work be shod,
Made to tread the mills of toil,
Up and down in ceaseless moil:
Happy if their track be found
Never on forbidden ground;
Happy if they sink not in
Quick and treacherous sands of sin.
AAh! that thou couldst know thy joy,
Ere it passes, barefoot boy!

***


Joshua and Nicholas, as you said in your note to me, are playing now--eternally "barefoot boys with cheek of tan!"

And they know joy.
Blessings are upon them.
Now and always.
Source for the story of Joshua: Wikepedia