My very dear friend Linda left us a short time ago. It was sudden, unexpected and tragic (if that implies unable to prepare yourself for the reality of it). She was a force. Intelligent, witty, and fierce in her desire to insist change with inspiration to push hard fast prejudice. She was a woman who was defined by the challenges she had to overcome. A fractious childhood, Jewish, passionate about her subjects of expertise and kindly generous with her love of people and the democracy she took pride in protecting.
I was asked to speak at her memorial service. Like most of my writings the easy topics are fluid. I wrote this while sitting with my 3 month old rescue kittens as they ran amok all over my spare bedroom. (another story for another blog).
I had just moved here, you know, just like Linda from the big city. I was an
emigrant from a city determined to find peace and belonging among the quiet. Joe
and I had bought an old magnificent stone farmhouse in delta pa. A place with
rich history and now a patina of being forgotten. The only grocery store, worth eating from was
in Shrewsbury., about 30 mins away, and on this particular day I was detoured
from charming (not at all crow flies sober straight line route) of 851 via
a side road. Now for those of you that know the line of the Mason-Dixon roadways
there are a lot of stop signs and a lot of 90 degree turns to get from there to
here. These detours on this particular day lead me off of my little not so well
traveled path and here is where I stumbled upon the Gatchelville store. This
white washed relic of the country store I had always dreamed of stepping into. Big
belabored oak trees shrouding this four story four square with its enormous
outstretched porch arms whispered her sleepy spellbinding “hello”. As I slowed
to drive by it I had to stop. I realized I didn’t know where I was, I also
realized this place was my DNAs Zanadu. Problem was I didn’t know my new land for
shit, and if I didn’t know where I came from I certainly didn’t know where I
was. This was the time before pocket computers, and even if we did have them
the Amish don’t invest in cell towers. I stopped, sat in the car and contemplated
the dilemma in front of me. How was I going to be able to drive away if I had
little to no Hope of getting back here?
Country life dilemma for city girls often revolves around deep thoughts of just how daringly obnoxious you're going to let your city-tude run free and fly? . So I did what any sane city girl would do and I pulled in. I parked my car in front of the store only a tiny bit afraid that I might be unwelcome and stepped onto the creaking old wooden porch. My heart started jumping for joy when I saw the original store windows, The old double glass doors and the origin everything this skin had covering her 100 plus year old bones. I seriously couldn’t control myself. I. Had to peak inside. Surely this couldn’t be real? Surely no one but me would let this old girl sit in suspended 1890!!
I have no idea how long I was mesmerized as a frozen peeping Tom, but as some
point a gentlemen came up from behind and very gently asked me if I needed
help? It was startling, I remember that much, but I also remember feeling
grateful they weren’t angry.
I’m sure I said something idiotic like “ are you open?”
Carol replied “no”. Which should have been obvious by the lack of lights and
open doors. (Which you damn well know I tried to open).
Then I begged pitifully as to when that might be?
He said let me get my wife. She’s right next door. We live there.
And so on that day in late summer 2005 I met Linda and Carol. They would admit
later that they only let me in because they were so certain I wasn’t going to
leave otherwise.
And so began our friendship.
A few days later I met Barbara Sarudy at the store. Within minutes I had invited her to our home and so began the magic of the best friends of my life.
I will always remember Linda as I know you all do. Always the most gracious
host, the purveyor of history and stories of how those goods lived their own
lives and how much they carry a treasure of a love story within them.
She was a keeper of times long gone, as much as a docent to the lives they lived on through her store and a friend with hot soup when you stumbled and needed a caretaker to carry you.
She was the voice of generosity and equality in the land of red. The one piece of real estate within an hours drive with a gay rainbow flag on her lawn. Unapologetic and vocal. A city girl with red lipstick, big jewelry and a fierce determination to try to make sense of the neighbors around her who she couldn’t negotiate reason into. She was so much like me it allowed me to not feel quite so alone in a place that I too called home. She was the example that permitted me a semblance of belonging.
I will miss her over accessorizing, her inability to edit (as the fashion police would critique), her red lipstick on her coffee mugs, or your cheek, and her weavings of words into poetic prose that captured as much as captivated.
For those of you who are here mourning I want to share my silver lining for her
life. She never chose to live a life of suffering. She always wanted to make
life better. Great food. Great friendships built on laughing, and beautiful
belongings to measure the time by. She would have chosen this. To live without
pain or disease or the endless questions that plague the dying. She wanted
to live until there wasn’t life and leave us all to share her stories and love
her without wishing she hadn’t struggled with a painful suffering.
There are pieces of her all around me. I’m so fortunate to be in such good company and so grateful for our friendship for all the many years we had.
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I will miss her treasures. Her love for Victorian ephemera, all things dog, pink, and our craft days. But most of all I miss the piece of me that belonged near her laughing.
P.S. I have multiple previous blog posts on Linda's store, The Gatchelville Store in Gatchelville/New Park Pa.
