From her best friend's daughter:
A poem in translated into English from Francoise Grab.
The Path
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My mom always taught the little prince in her French classes. As Erica and I were sorting through her old correspondence we found this letter written by one of her students. The student sent it in a sympathy card for her when Luke died.
Excerpts From The Little Prince
I am going back home today…
But it is far , and I cannot
Carry this body with me…
It is too heavy
It is the time I have spent
With you that is important
What you see is nothing but a shell
The essential is visible to the eye.
I shall be as though I were dead;
But that will not be true
You have been like flowers to me,
And I hope that flowers
Will bring the thought of me
Back to you
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
From Uncle Donn
For the last few hours I've been recalling what little memories I have of your mother and reading of your lives with her. I knew she was an extraordinary woman, loved the bit of time I had with her, how with great care she gave her best to those around her.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
From Laura : Here’s one of my favorite Hafiz poems:
Love Dogs
One night a man was crying,
Allah! Allah!
His lips grew sweet with the praising,
until a cynic said,
“So! I have heard you
calling out, but have you ever
gotten any response?”
The man had no answer to that.
He quit praying and fell into a confused sleep.
He dreamed he saw Khidr, the guide of souls,
in a thick, green foliage.
“Why did you stop praising?”
“Because I’ve never heard anything back.”
“This longing
you express IS the return message.”
The grief you cry out from
draws you toward union.
Your pure sadness
that wants help
is the secret cup.
Listen to the moan of a dog for its master.
That whining is the connection.
There are love dogs
no one knows the names of.
Give your life
to be one of them.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
From Thomas Merton: My Lord God,
I have no idea where I am going
I do not see the road ahead of me.
I cannot know for certain where it will end.
Nor do I really know myself,
And the fact that I think I am following
your will does not mean that I am
actually doing so.
But I believe that the desire to please
you does in fact please you.
And I hope that I have that desire in all
that I am doing.
And I know that if I do this, you
will lead me by the right road
though I may know nothing about it.
Therefore will I trust you always
though I may seem to be lost
and in the shadow of death, I will
not fear, for you are ever with me
and you will never leave me
to face my perils alone.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
From Laura:Mark Nepo
Here’s what Mark Nepo says today:
To Harbor or Release
How can you follow the course of your life if you do not let it flow? - Lao-Tzu
The pollen collects until the rain washes away whatever has not been taken as seed. The moss forms on stumps and rocks until the feet of animals wear it off. The leaves that cover the path disintegrate in time to show the lost their way.
It is the same with us. Our dreams collect like pollen until the sweat and tears of our living them washes away whatever has not become possible. Our soft gnarly clumps of attachment grow out of our stone - joy and sorrow alike - until what is food is eaten and what is not is worn away. Like fallen leaves, our memories cover our path until they are remembered out of existence, setting us free.
Often the pain of resisting makes us rust like iron, and in order to re-enter the flow of life, we need to be scraped back to our original surface. Our feelings, if not released, bread the heart with their grit. Like windows filmed by weather, we wait on loving hands to be rubbed clear. It is inevitable. Experience covered us over, and the expressive journey lets us come clean to the table of light. Again.
All things in existence participate in this involuntary cycle. For human beings, the process of living stains us repeatedly with the grit of being here, with heartache and disappointment and the pointedness of being human, which can sicken us if harbored or make us whole if released. Again and again, we, more than any other life form, have this majestic and burdensome power to harbor or release the impact of our experience.
Humbly, we are asked to keep the flow real between what is taken in and what is let out. We have only to breathe to remember our place as a living inlet. Experience in, feelings out. Surprise and challenge in, heartache and joy out. In a constant tide, life rushes in, and in constant release, we must let it all run back off. For this is how the earth was made magnificent by the sea and how humankind is carved upright, again and again, by the ocean of spirit that sets us free.
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A Poem for Simone from Francoise Grab
Ce jour te célèbre chère amie
Combien de fois quatre saisons
De la neige aux chaudes moissons
Ainsi se passe toute une vie.
En pensée sommes réunies
Les mots croisés que nous faisions
Les belles promenades à Richmond
De doux moments de notre vie.
Tu as su au fil des ans
Bien tramer ta tapisserie
Joies et peines de toute une vie
S’entremêlent, un enchaînement
Couleur d’hier et d’aujourd’hui,
Un tableau de toute une vie.
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Thoughts from Candy
I am not a spiritual person. However, I do believe that our loved ones live on through us. Your mother gave you many gifts...your empathy, your creativity, your spirit, your desire to make things better. I never met her in person, however I feel that I know her through you, my amazing friend. I know that you reflect all that your mother gave you.
She will live on through you. You will remember her each day...her words, her actions, her spirit. Your mother was very proud of you. Embrace her.
May you find joy in every day going forward. See her, feel her...for she is with you.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
From Roxane:Mary Elizabeth Frye
Sharing sad news of the passing of MVHS teacher Simone Olmsted. Many of you knew her as a tough, but fair French or Latin teacher (I recall getting a few "demerits" in her Latin class). I knew her outside the classroom too, she was one of my mothers best friends, like an aunt to my siblings and me. Her children ( Erica , Sandra) babysat us and were part of the family. Many summers were spent together in The Berkshires. I haven't seen dear Simone in many years, not since she moved to CA, but she is always in my heart. I will remember her smile, her laugh, her saying "come on girl" as she gave me wine with dinner when I was 16, her amazing cooking, her wonderful stories and of course the Latin phrases illustrated (by a former student) on large cards. Elephantus non capit murem (the elephant doesn't bother w the mouse). Love you Simone.
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From Uncle Donn
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Simone was in good hands with you. Now she’s in other good hands, flying higher now, probably sweeping over Avignon, trying to decide which of J. Schabal’s (I’m never sure of my French spelling) little painted cafes to visit. She takes a table along the sidewalk and sits there watching the wily men stroll by. Sighs in the afterlife are so satisfying. They wing through her like spring robins. She butters the perfect baguette, humming one of those idyllic-sounding French songs that so infuriate Brits and Americans who remain bewildered by the easy confidence of the sensual life. Oui! she sings for the heck of it. Schabal drops by with a nameless friend. She doesn’t care what country the stranger comes from. His face is as lovely and rugged as the French coast, his eyes as stormy as the English Channel, his scent as musky as a Bordeaux vineyard on the cusp of harvest. Her heart rises like a Catholic cathedral, its thousand bells ringing. Mon dieu! she says to her secret self. Romance in the afterlife, and so soon?
“But of course,” she says to the stranger, her words so delicately softened by the butter and baguette.
Then here you are, Erica, and as of right now I have no flight of fancy for you. But perhaps the robins will wing in with one. Please, if I can do anything else for you, tell me.
much Love
Wily (Rob Howard)
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Dear Marc, Erica and Sandra,
I cannot tell you how sad I am to learn of your
mother's death. She was part of my life since before it began and although she
lived on the other side of the world and we only saw her infrequently, through
letters , phone calls and the long uninterrupted friendship she shared with my
mother, she never seemed so very far away. Indeed it was that friendship that
taught me that time and distance need not be barriers to intimacy but can in a
strange way increase and strengthen it.
When people die, they suddenly become mysterious
and we try, differently for each of us, to decipher them through memories,
scraps of forgotten conversations and faded images, I hope that you will not
find this presumptuous. First of all I remember her voice, high pitched and
with a tiny vestige of an accent du midi, hardly discernible because she was
after all a child of the bourgeoisie, but always warm and interested:
"C'est Sim, comment vas-tu ma cocotte? She was the only person who ever
called me that. I remember her delicious profiteroles which she could make
into a piece montee, almost without concentrating, whilst talking about
something far more important like politics or family. Her letters, some of
which my mother showed me were always full of clippings and articles. Despite
her unimaginable losses, despite her grief, she never seemed to lose the
capacity to hope, to be interested in other people, to be of the world and not
withdraw from it in bitterness and despair. Mummy told me that years and years
ago, when they were students they had taken a train to Montpellier and after
various delays arrived at 3 in the morning without anywhere to stay. Sim
declared that this was absolutely not a problem and that they could always stay
with some friends of friends who lived near the station. My mother pointed out
that two complete strangers turning up out of the blue in the middle of the
night asking for a bed might not be welcomed with open arms, to which your
mother replied "Mais non, ils seront ravis!" That is what I admired
the most in her, her generosity and her belief in the generosity of others.
I can only imagine how you must all be feeling
and my thoughts are with you at this horrible time.
She was a remarkable woman and I feel immensely
lucky to have known her.
Caroline Lederer
------------------------------------
Dear Erika,
It is with great sadness that I got your message about Simone's passing. You did so much for her, taking care of her till the very end, such a worthwhile endeavor. Thank you. Simone was a friend of my aunt Berthe-Heline Galland, who died of tuberculosis after the war. I never met her. She was tied to my family very early on. She and Steve have been so kind and generous to me. I will never forget. I witnessed the tragedies she went through and despite it all, never lost her humor and feistiness. A very fine and remarkable lady indeed.
She is the only woman, who called me "ma cherie." My mother didn't. Simone did. I could add many anecdotes. Needless to ay, that she was and is an inspiration for me. I miss her dearly.
Best, Claire Galland...
and all my best, as well,
Stan - I too, have precious memories of Simone.
--------------------
and from Gert Murphy:
Dear Erica and All,
Very belatedly a note to tell you that I share in your sadness - though in such a small bit of yours. You have been blessed with your lifelong experience of your WONDERFUL mother - and the friend she was to so many.
Your mom and I met as teachers and how I wish I had met her sooner! Our last days together were shortly after 9/11 shen she visited me in Montauk. You can well imagine how our talks ranged over life/death/religion/faith topics. She would join some of us for our post retirement GNOs , and then she moved away.
I lost contact with her, in a sense, because I heard from Fay that she had "embarked" on her own sort of journey. However, your wonderful* mom telephoned me to thank me for a note I had sent following your brother's death. What a sweet talk we had again, and how stunningly she ended it with these words: "Au revoir Gert, until we meet in heaven."
I treasure her memory and those words. She adds to the sweetness of that reunion that I hope to enjoy someday.
Love to each,
Gert
*can't be repeated enuf
--------------------------------Caroline Lederer
------------------------------------
Dear Erika,
It is with great sadness that I got your message about Simone's passing. You did so much for her, taking care of her till the very end, such a worthwhile endeavor. Thank you. Simone was a friend of my aunt Berthe-Heline Galland, who died of tuberculosis after the war. I never met her. She was tied to my family very early on. She and Steve have been so kind and generous to me. I will never forget. I witnessed the tragedies she went through and despite it all, never lost her humor and feistiness. A very fine and remarkable lady indeed.
She is the only woman, who called me "ma cherie." My mother didn't. Simone did. I could add many anecdotes. Needless to ay, that she was and is an inspiration for me. I miss her dearly.
Best, Claire Galland...
and all my best, as well,
Stan - I too, have precious memories of Simone.
--------------------
and from Gert Murphy:
Dear Erica and All,
Very belatedly a note to tell you that I share in your sadness - though in such a small bit of yours. You have been blessed with your lifelong experience of your WONDERFUL mother - and the friend she was to so many.
Your mom and I met as teachers and how I wish I had met her sooner! Our last days together were shortly after 9/11 shen she visited me in Montauk. You can well imagine how our talks ranged over life/death/religion/faith topics. She would join some of us for our post retirement GNOs , and then she moved away.
I lost contact with her, in a sense, because I heard from Fay that she had "embarked" on her own sort of journey. However, your wonderful* mom telephoned me to thank me for a note I had sent following your brother's death. What a sweet talk we had again, and how stunningly she ended it with these words: "Au revoir Gert, until we meet in heaven."
I treasure her memory and those words. She adds to the sweetness of that reunion that I hope to enjoy someday.
Love to each,
Gert
*can't be repeated enuf
A poem in translated into English from Francoise Grab.
The Path
Like Orpheus, flute in hand,
I hummed along the road,
A route that goes somewhere
Or a path that goes nowhere.
I choose the path. I listen
Upon the leafy trees, like heaven’s vault
To the sparrow’s joyful arias
And there, I pick some elderberries.
I continue on my road
Sown with wild herbs of thyme
Happy to have borrowed it
For what is named friendship.
The memories are gathered by the dozens
While walking along the paths.
And now In French
And now In French
Le Sentier
Comme Orphée, la flûte á la main
Je fredonne sur le chemin,
Une route qui va quelque part
Où un sentier qui va nulle part.
Je choisis le sentier. J’écoute
Sure l’arbre feuillu comme voûte
L’aria joyeuse des passereaux,
La, je picore quelques sureaux.
Et je continue mon chemin
Semé de serpolet, de thym
Heureuse de l’avoir emprunté
Car il se prénomme …AMITIE
mars 2015
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
My mom always taught the little prince in her French classes. As Erica and I were sorting through her old correspondence we found this letter written by one of her students. The student sent it in a sympathy card for her when Luke died.
Excerpts From The Little Prince
I am going back home today…
But it is far , and I cannot
Carry this body with me…
It is too heavy
It is the time I have spent
With you that is important
What you see is nothing but a shell
The essential is visible to the eye.
I shall be as though I were dead;
But that will not be true
You have been like flowers to me,
And I hope that flowers
Will bring the thought of me
Back to you
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
From Uncle Donn
For the last few hours I've been recalling what little memories I have of your mother and reading of your lives with her. I knew she was an extraordinary woman, loved the bit of time I had with her, how with great care she gave her best to those around her.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
From Laura : Here’s one of my favorite Hafiz poems:
Love Dogs
One night a man was crying,
Allah! Allah!
His lips grew sweet with the praising,
until a cynic said,
“So! I have heard you
calling out, but have you ever
gotten any response?”
The man had no answer to that.
He quit praying and fell into a confused sleep.
He dreamed he saw Khidr, the guide of souls,
in a thick, green foliage.
“Why did you stop praising?”
“Because I’ve never heard anything back.”
“This longing
you express IS the return message.”
The grief you cry out from
draws you toward union.
Your pure sadness
that wants help
is the secret cup.
Listen to the moan of a dog for its master.
That whining is the connection.
There are love dogs
no one knows the names of.
Give your life
to be one of them.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
From Thomas Merton: My Lord God,
I have no idea where I am going
I do not see the road ahead of me.
I cannot know for certain where it will end.
Nor do I really know myself,
And the fact that I think I am following
your will does not mean that I am
actually doing so.
But I believe that the desire to please
you does in fact please you.
And I hope that I have that desire in all
that I am doing.
And I know that if I do this, you
will lead me by the right road
though I may know nothing about it.
Therefore will I trust you always
though I may seem to be lost
and in the shadow of death, I will
not fear, for you are ever with me
and you will never leave me
to face my perils alone.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
From Laura:Mark Nepo
Here’s what Mark Nepo says today:
To Harbor or Release
How can you follow the course of your life if you do not let it flow? - Lao-Tzu
The pollen collects until the rain washes away whatever has not been taken as seed. The moss forms on stumps and rocks until the feet of animals wear it off. The leaves that cover the path disintegrate in time to show the lost their way.
It is the same with us. Our dreams collect like pollen until the sweat and tears of our living them washes away whatever has not become possible. Our soft gnarly clumps of attachment grow out of our stone - joy and sorrow alike - until what is food is eaten and what is not is worn away. Like fallen leaves, our memories cover our path until they are remembered out of existence, setting us free.
Often the pain of resisting makes us rust like iron, and in order to re-enter the flow of life, we need to be scraped back to our original surface. Our feelings, if not released, bread the heart with their grit. Like windows filmed by weather, we wait on loving hands to be rubbed clear. It is inevitable. Experience covered us over, and the expressive journey lets us come clean to the table of light. Again.
All things in existence participate in this involuntary cycle. For human beings, the process of living stains us repeatedly with the grit of being here, with heartache and disappointment and the pointedness of being human, which can sicken us if harbored or make us whole if released. Again and again, we, more than any other life form, have this majestic and burdensome power to harbor or release the impact of our experience.
Humbly, we are asked to keep the flow real between what is taken in and what is let out. We have only to breathe to remember our place as a living inlet. Experience in, feelings out. Surprise and challenge in, heartache and joy out. In a constant tide, life rushes in, and in constant release, we must let it all run back off. For this is how the earth was made magnificent by the sea and how humankind is carved upright, again and again, by the ocean of spirit that sets us free.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A Poem for Simone from Francoise Grab
Ce jour te célèbre chère amie
Combien de fois quatre saisons
De la neige aux chaudes moissons
Ainsi se passe toute une vie.
En pensée sommes réunies
Les mots croisés que nous faisions
Les belles promenades à Richmond
De doux moments de notre vie.
Tu as su au fil des ans
Bien tramer ta tapisserie
Joies et peines de toute une vie
S’entremêlent, un enchaînement
Couleur d’hier et d’aujourd’hui,
Un tableau de toute une vie.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Thoughts from Candy
I am not a spiritual person. However, I do believe that our loved ones live on through us. Your mother gave you many gifts...your empathy, your creativity, your spirit, your desire to make things better. I never met her in person, however I feel that I know her through you, my amazing friend. I know that you reflect all that your mother gave you.
She will live on through you. You will remember her each day...her words, her actions, her spirit. Your mother was very proud of you. Embrace her.
May you find joy in every day going forward. See her, feel her...for she is with you.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
From Roxane:Mary Elizabeth Frye
Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there; I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow,
I am the sun on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circling flight
I am the soft starlight at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there; I did not die.
-Mary Elizabeth Frye
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From Heather Donahue---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A Death in the Family – James Agee
On the rough wet grass of the back yard my father and mother
have spread quilts.
We all lie there, my mother, my father, my uncle, my aunt,
and I too am lying there.
First we were sitting up, then one of us lay down, and then
we all lay down, on our stomachs, or on our sides, or on our backs, and they
have kept on talking.
They are not talking much, and the talk is quiet, of nothing
in particular, of nothing at all in particular, of nothing at all.
The stars are wide and alive, they seem each like a smile of
great sweetness, and they seem very near.
All my people are larger bodies than mine, quiet, with
voices gentle and meaningless like the voices of sleeping birds. One is an artist, he is living at home. One is a musician, she is living at
home. One is my mother who is good to
me. One is my father who is good to me.
By some chance, here they are, all on this earth; and who
shall ever tell the sorrow of being on this earth, lying, on quilts, on the
grass, in a summer evening, among the sounds of night.
May God bless my people, my uncle, my aunt, my mother, my
good father, oh, remember them kindly in their time of trouble; and in the hour
of their taking away.
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We give back to you, O God, those whom you gave to us. You did not lose them when you gave them to us, and we do not lose them by their return to you. Your dear son has taught us that life is eternal, and love cannot die. So death is only an horizon, and an horizon is only the limit of our sight. Open our eyes to see more clearly, and draw us closer to you that we may know that we are nearer to our loved ones, who are with you. You have told us that you are preparing a place for us; prepare us also for that place, that where you are we may also be always, O dear Lord of life and death.
William Penn
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We give back to you, O God, those whom you gave to us. You did not lose them when you gave them to us, and we do not lose them by their return to you. Your dear son has taught us that life is eternal, and love cannot die. So death is only an horizon, and an horizon is only the limit of our sight. Open our eyes to see more clearly, and draw us closer to you that we may know that we are nearer to our loved ones, who are with you. You have told us that you are preparing a place for us; prepare us also for that place, that where you are we may also be always, O dear Lord of life and death.
William Penn
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Many times I have found
my way home in the dark
because my feet felt the road
when my eyes could not see it.
There is Something in us,
deeper than hands or feet,
that finds the way to the Central Reality
and when we arrive we know it.
Rufus Jones
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Sharing sad news of the passing of MVHS teacher Simone Olmsted. Many of you knew her as a tough, but fair French or Latin teacher (I recall getting a few "demerits" in her Latin class). I knew her outside the classroom too, she was one of my mothers best friends, like an aunt to my siblings and me. Her children ( Erica , Sandra) babysat us and were part of the family. Many summers were spent together in The Berkshires. I haven't seen dear Simone in many years, not since she moved to CA, but she is always in my heart. I will remember her smile, her laugh, her saying "come on girl" as she gave me wine with dinner when I was 16, her amazing cooking, her wonderful stories and of course the Latin phrases illustrated (by a former student) on large cards. Elephantus non capit murem (the elephant doesn't bother w the mouse). Love you Simone.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
From Uncle Donn
For the last few hours I've been recalling what little
memories I have of your mother and reading of your lives with her. I knew she
was an extraordinary woman, loved the bit of time I had with her, how with great
care she gave her best to those around her.
17 hours ago
Donn Olmsted Sr.
From Anne: This life chafes especially when one like your
mother dies. I see the love from her to all of you and returned. I've spent my
day thinking and reading of my precious Aunt Simone. I watched Keir's
interviews on YouTube. I did not have enough time with her and this is how I
know Heaven exists. I need more time with her. Erica, when we stayed with you,
I had been thinking of Stephan, Luke, and your father, then read my prayers:
"If I have found favor in your sight, O king, and if it please the king,
let my life be given me at my petition, and my people at my request."
Esther 7:3. I had just asked God for your family. I cannot imagine your loss.
Love, Anne
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Sharing sad news of the passing of MVHS teacher Simone Olmsted. Many of you knew her as a tough, but fair French or Latin teacher (I recall getting a few "demerits" in her Latin class). I knew her outside the classroom too, she was one of my mothers best friends, like an aunt to my siblings and me. Her children ( Erica , Sandra , Mark ) babysat us and were part of the family. Many summers were spent together in The Berkshires. I haven't seen dear Simone in many years, not since she moved to CA, but she is always in my heart. I will remember her smile, her laugh, her saying "come on girl" as she gave me wine with dinner when I was 16, her amazing cooking, her wonderful stories and of course the Latin phrases illustrated (by a former student) on large cards. Elephantus non capit murem (the elephant doesn't bother w the mouse). Love you Simone.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Erica,
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Sharing sad news of the passing of MVHS teacher Simone Olmsted. Many of you knew her as a tough, but fair French or Latin teacher (I recall getting a few "demerits" in her Latin class). I knew her outside the classroom too, she was one of my mothers best friends, like an aunt to my siblings and me. Her children ( Erica , Sandra , Mark ) babysat us and were part of the family. Many summers were spent together in The Berkshires. I haven't seen dear Simone in many years, not since she moved to CA, but she is always in my heart. I will remember her smile, her laugh, her saying "come on girl" as she gave me wine with dinner when I was 16, her amazing cooking, her wonderful stories and of course the Latin phrases illustrated (by a former student) on large cards. Elephantus non capit murem (the elephant doesn't bother w the mouse). Love you Simone.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Erica,
Simone was in good hands with you. Now she’s in other good hands, flying higher now, probably sweeping over Avignon, trying to decide which of J. Schabal’s (I’m never sure of my French spelling) little painted cafes to visit. She takes a table along the sidewalk and sits there watching the wily men stroll by. Sighs in the afterlife are so satisfying. They wing through her like spring robins. She butters the perfect baguette, humming one of those idyllic-sounding French songs that so infuriate Brits and Americans who remain bewildered by the easy confidence of the sensual life. Oui! she sings for the heck of it. Schabal drops by with a nameless friend. She doesn’t care what country the stranger comes from. His face is as lovely and rugged as the French coast, his eyes as stormy as the English Channel, his scent as musky as a Bordeaux vineyard on the cusp of harvest. Her heart rises like a Catholic cathedral, its thousand bells ringing. Mon dieu! she says to her secret self. Romance in the afterlife, and so soon?
“But of course,” she says to the stranger, her words so delicately softened by the butter and baguette.
Then here you are, Erica, and as of right now I have no flight of fancy for you. But perhaps the robins will wing in with one. Please, if I can do anything else for you, tell me.
much Love
Wily (Rob Howard)
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