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Pat's Bench- September 11, 2010

A glorious, warm sunny day for the 'opening' of Pat's Bench. About 30 friends gathered to remember Pat in the park that was so much a part of her life. Over the past nine months everyone seemed to have the same feeling that for many of us, something was unfinished. And, it became apparent that what was unfinished was how to create a space where we could connect with Pat. With a deep sense of joy, we all came together to honor Pat in Prospect Park.

With support from friends all over the country and even from Europe, we were able to adopt a bench with great views of the meadow and the ball fields where Matt and Judd played and hung out as kids. We are planting a kwantzen cherry tree for Pat which will be planted in early November right in back of the bench. As Ed said yesterday, there is no fabulous flowering tree anywhere in the bench area and the kwantzen cherry will be a show stopper.(I paraphrase Ed as you may have guessed.) And finally, we supported the planting of knockout rose bushes at Litchfield Villa in the new South garden.

What a great tribute to Pat.

Inaugurating Pat's Bench in Prospect Park Sept.11, 2010

Poem for Pat

Reflections on Reality
By Karen Blair

On the screen I see your face,
we’re here in time but not in space
we’re meeting in another space
and when we meet inside that place
that’s neither here nor really there
how can I tell you that I cared?

Happy Birthday Pat !! ---- Joe Bailey and Gail Frank 3/6/2010

As Time Goes By

You’ve probably never heard of a place called, Carriacou. It’s one of the Grenadines, a chain of tiny islands in the southern Carribean that run from St. Vincent all the way down to Grenada. The nearest big city is Caracas, Venezuela, 500 miles by sea to the west.

Although the weather, the water, and the beaches are more or less the same throughout the Carribean, it divides itself almost evenly into North and South. The difference is the people who go there.

The north/south dividing line of the Caribbean are the French islands of Guadeloupe, and Martinique. They form a kind of barrier. (Nothing keeps Americans away like the possibility of having to deal with the French.)

Up north, in the mega-resorts of the Bahamas and the American Virgins, Type A’s vacation in a blur of tennis games in the morning, golf games in the afternoon and craps games all night in the casinos. In between, they text their brokers and change clothes six times a day.

Down in the south, the atmosphere and the people are completely different. The islands are smaller than their northern counterparts. Many don’t have enough water to support big hotels and condominiums. Most vacationers travel by sail boat. That, alone, changes the tenor of the place. It’s hard to be a dynamo when you’re cruising the Carribean at a leisurely eight miles per hour. The atmosphere can only be described as laid back languid. (Carriacou once had a revolution and nobody knew about it until it was over.)

The local West Indians are basically small town people with solid small town values. They think all white people are crazy, sent here by God for their amusement. And, based on the white people they’ve seen, it’s hard to argue with them.

Firstly, you’ve got your adventurous types, rugged individualists who are single-handedly sailing around the world on a 35 foot yacht. In the West Indies, a yacht is any privately owned boat. I’ve seen trans Atlantic "yachts" as small as 19 feet. Yachting down here is cut-offs and t-shirts, not blazers and cocktail dresses.

Then you have the crazy central Europeans who answered an ad in a magazine for plans to build a concrete sail boat. (No kidding!) They build them in the back yard, shove them into a canal or river and head for the ocean, which most of them have never seen. They sail down the European and African coasts to the Canaries, where the Atlantic is only 1500 miles wide, and head west. Those that make it turn up in the Grenadines.

The rest of the "yachty community" is made up of aging hippies, misfits, drop-outs, romantics, odd balls and smugglers of all kinds. In short, my kind of people.

My wife, Gail, and I discovered the southern Caribbean over a quarter century ago, when neither of us had grown up jobs, and instantly fell in love with it for all the above reasons. In the dead of the New York winter, We would hang out in the French islands for a couple of weeks. (My French is lousy, but I don’t give a damn. For some reason, the French don’t either.) Then, we’d hook up with out dear friends Pat and Ed.

The four of us would charter the Shazam for a week. The Shazam was a 50 foot ketch skippered by our old buddy, Dave Robinson who now owns a bar on the Mediterranean island of Minorca. We’d head south past the islands of St. Lucia and St. Vincent to the Grenadines.

We would spend the sun washed days lounging in the Shazam’s cockpit. Dave had introduced us to Jimmy Buffet, then the troubadour of the Carribean yachty community. I’d love to get you on a slow boat to China . . . Heinekens in hand, we’d sail from one little tropic island to the next, laughing and kibbutzing in the warm Carribean sun. After three or four beers, Pat and I would chant our own private sailing mantra: Deeper and deeper into the Caribbean!!!

Now, Gail and I were aboard an 80 foot ketch called the Shaitan of Tortola. It had been over 20 years since we had been in these waters. A lot had changed since the four of us partied there.

The island of Bequia, which used to be accessible only by private boat or the ancient schooner, Friendship Rose, now boasted an airport as well as a gas station and a hospital. Enormous car ferries run back and forth to St. Vincent all day long.

Union Island now also had a proper airport. In the old days, the main street in town did double duty as the island’s only runway. It made for some interesting shopping.

Now it was March 6, Pat’s birthday. We always celebrated Pat’s birthday when we were here in these islands: Watching the sun set, barbequing on the stern with tropical cocktails, or picnicking on a beach.

However, today was different. Today, we were here to scatter some of Pat’s ashes in this part of the world she loved so well.

Pat successfully fought cancer for ten years. She said she wanted to see her sons grow up. And she did. Pat was so heroic about it, we lost all fear of it. It was like, "Pat has cancer and she likes her coffee luke warm." But the cancer finally caught up with her. We held her funeral on her birthday last year.

But it was impossible to think of Pat in these islands and be maudlin. I half expected to see Pat, clad in the white cotton pajamas she wore against the sun, her red hair peeking out from under her Paddington Bear sun hat, scampering out of the gangway. She had loved and laughed in these islands so much, and now she would be a part of them forever. That just seemed so right.

Pat and Ed had always planned on taking their sons, Matt and Judd, sailing the islands with us some day. But we never got the chance. So on this trip, in memory of Pat, along with Ed was their son, Judd, Ed’s sister, Anne, and her son, S.J.

Across the channel from Carriacou is a little split of land called Sandy Island. It’s about a city block long and maybe 75 feet wide. Nobody lives on Sandy Island. It’s where the people of Carriacou go to escape the stress and strain of living on Carriacou. We had once picnicked there for Pat’s birthday.

All Sandy Island has to offer is a sugar sand beach and a stand of palm trees. Hurricane Ivan had taken down most of the palm trees. But they were coming back. Everything grows back in the Caribbean.

So here we were on the Shaitan, anchored off the beach of Sandy Island where we had celebrated Pat’s birthday so many years ago. It was a perfect late winter Caribbean day. The sky was azure blue. The sun was warm. The water was turquoise. You couldn’t help but smile. Gail and I were standing on the deck of the Shaitan waiting for the rest of the gang to form up and go ashore.

A slick reggae number was playing on the Shaitan’s stereo. Impulsively, I grabbed Gail and started to dance on the deck. After a few moments, we heard a trumpet somewhere playing Lullaby of Birdland.

Someone on one of the other boats anchored near us had seen us dancing and decided to join the fun. But the other boats off the beach were too far away to distinguish who might be playing a trumpet.

We shut off the stereo and danced to the trumpet. It was one of those southern Caribbean moments. Where else would you find some nut on a sail boat playing Lullaby of Birdland on a trumpet? Pat would have loved it. Then, the unseen musician segued into Besso Me Mucho. We continued to dance. Finally, he segued into As Time Goes By. When he finished, he got a standing ovation from all the boats anchored off the beach.

Then Gail reminded me that at Pat’s memorial service, the video presentation ended with Pat singing an arpeggio rendition of As Time Goes By. And so, we knew the spirit of Pat was with us. And I wish my best to that unseen trumpeter, whoever and wherever he is.

Then it was time to go ashore. It’s a unique experience, deciding where to bury a friend’s ashes. I’ve only done it a couple of times before and I certainly don’t want to get good at it. Ed and Judd picked their place. Ann and S.J. decided on their location.

Gail and I found a spot between two sapling palm trees. I love palm trees and I commanded the two if them to grow tall and strong to shade Pat.

Gail and I will always love that part of the Caribbean. But now, when I think of the very special little part of the world, I’ll know that my dear, dear friend Pat will always be a part of it.

I love this picture, it's one of my favorites of me
and my mom. From a magical weekend in and around the healing
waters surrounding Fox Island in Chesapeake Bay.
It's amazing how a picture can bring you right back, still feel your love mom

Love Forever
Matt

and really miss you too

Poem for Pat by Karen Blair

STANDING IN THE RIVER

Yes, yes,
Talk about saving the environment
With every breath,
But as you stand shoulder-to-shoulder
In the river,
Talk about breasts.

Yes, yes,
Make the world a better place,
Mingle and laugh,
But as you stand shoulder-to-shoulder
At the buffet,
Talk about the Pap.

Yes, yes,
Depart from the topic and the cause
For which you came,
For even if you save Mother Earth,
The earth without someone’s mother
Will never be the same.

New Years Eve in Prospect Park.

Pat and her Mom- by Karen Blair

“It Takes a Mother:” Nature, Nurture and Life’s Surprising Gifts

By Karen Blair

My name is Karen Blair and I, too, was “adopted” by Dorothy Herold. Not in the same way as Patty and Tony (I was 20 years old, was Betsy’s roommate at college and Dorothy stepped in when she learned I had lost my mother to lupus when I was 14), but thanks to the same generosity of heart and spirit of Dorothy, I believe I experienced what Patty did in her formative years. So I would like to contribute my “take” on the foundation, the roots, if you will, of the life Patty lived amongst us, because so much of what has been said about Patty reminded me of Dorothy.

Dorothy must have planted amazing seeds in Patty’s fertile spirit, based on the recent writings and conversations about Patty’s later years; these seeds blossomed into memorable beauty in the lives of everyone who knew Patty. (I am not disregarding Anthony’s prodigious influence on Patty, who adored him; in this blog, I am applauding her brave mother who, having lost her mobility, then lost her husband, she tragically has now had to bury her eldest child.)

Patty’s love of gardening was something she shared with her mom. Dorothy, as many of you know, is a Master Gardener. Dorothy was featured on a video on how to repot a plant, combining gardening smarts with the quick wit that all loved in Patty. Dorothy could make anything grow. Often she stole precious moments from making dinner to run out to spend time in her many gardens (flower and vegetable) in Westfield. She loved Patty’s gardens in Corsica and was often called in to consult. The first book Dorothy gave me was “The Secret Life of Plants.”

Speaking of dinner, Dorothy was an amazing cook. We speak of “nature versus nurture” and I am not sure if Dorothy’s spirit influenced Patty as much as I think it must have – or did Fate send Dorothy this adopted daughter who was so much like her? Betsy is also an amazing gardener, chef, interior decorator, life coach, etc. etc. so in the Herold family, I pondered this fascinating “nature-nurture” conundrum during the decades I have been privileged to know this talented family.

Both Dorothy and Anthony loved the Arts. On my first visit to their house in Westfield, I was encouraged to admire the huge, top-of-the-line audio speakers which allowed the magnificent strains of Madame Butterfly to pierce the peace of the entire county. Despite the experience, I did fall in love with opera – specifically, La Boheme. For the Herolds, trips to museums, exhibitions, Mansions in May, and Broadway shows were always on the schedule. And they had fun-fun-fun! Dorothy loved to read all genres of literature and still does; she reads at least 3 books a month (large-print now). Reading, music, sculpture, ceramics, watercolor painting….so much a part of Patty’s life. Dorothy’s, too.

Dorothy was a lifelong writer. Having grown up in the era in which many women’s career longings were subordinated to be a stay-at-home wife and mother, Dorothy found ways to express her many talents, whether in writing, gardening, cooking, entertaining, travel and raising amazing kids, and, knowing what it was like not to have the opportunities Patty had for a career, she was Patty’s greatest and most enthusiastic fan. The first memories I have of the Herold family is sitting in their living room, watching a show Patty produced, and having everyone erupt into applause when her name appeared in the credits.

Dorothy still believes that an “old-fashioned” card or letter is the greatest joy in life, especially now that she resides in a nursing home. For years, Dorothy faithfully wrote the “family newsletter” which she included in Christmas cards to friends and family. The newsletter focused on the good that happened in the year, prompting one friend to ask if anything bad ever happened in her family. Dorothy, like Patty, made the most of life, and thought the bad should be minimized in favor of enjoying what was good. Those of you who knew Dorothy in younger years, a bundle of energy (like Pat!), and who visit or call her today, know that despite a spinal cord injury that has tragically made this active woman immobile and dependent upon others for nearly everything, Dorothy is still a positive, comforting woman full of wisdom and with a great sense of humor about “senior moments.” She is a model of courage for all of us. I don’t know how she does it.

But I have always thought that about Dorothy. She nurtured her children and gave them wings, knowing they would fly off into the world and leave. (How do mothers find the strength to DO that?) She was rarely demanding of Patty’s time because she was thrilled by Patty’s career success and her efforts to preserve the environment, but in the past ten years, she would regularly ask Tony, Betsy or me when Patty would next call or visit her, not because she missed being with Patty (even though she did), but because she knew with a mother’s intuition, that Patty’s time on this earth was going to be short and the end could come for her at any time. Despite the tragic injury that befell Dorothy in 2002, with months of surgeries, painful rehab, and the erosion of hope that she would walk again, the only time Dorothy was afraid was in thinking about Patty’s health battle. If she didn’t hear from Patty daily, she was afraid to pick up the phone and call her, because she thought Patty had already died and no one wanted to tell her the sad news. She believed that if Patty were still able to call or visit her, it would mean she were winning her battle against cancer. But, finally, the sad news came.

And now Dorothy goes on without her eldest daughter. I know she would rather have died herself so Patty could have lived. I am still awed by this woman, and grateful that her efforts to bring Patty into our lives has blossomed into a garden of adoration, a feast of love, and essays of remembrance.

Converational tidbit-sent by Mimi D'Aponte

----- Original Message -----

From: Patherold@aol.com

To: mdaponte@rcn.com

Sent: Tuesday, February 19, 2008 1:07 PM

Subject: Re: party plus

Hi there...

I'm delighted you had fun. So did we!!! Nello looked like a 1960's Italian movie star as usual.....and your pretty shining face is always wonderful to see.

I'm happy to report that the icing can be had anytime in Red Hook at a dessert cafe at 359 Van Brunt Street down from Fairway called Baked. One was chocolate, and one was a kind of frothy vanilla with cinnamon. www.bakednyc.com

I learned about Baked, considered one of the best in Brooklyn, from Allen at Blue Apron. My friend Kate introduced me to him. That's the specialty place on Union just up from Seventh...delish prepared foods, cheeses, and cupcakes from Baked too! Kate writes: TheCityCook.....her website, which is awesome, and which you would enjoy. She's been my pal for almost 40 years.

Let's take a walk soon. I have to start a new chemo, but I'm thinking positive as usual and spring is coming!!! See you March 16!!! Day before St. Paddy's!

Love, Pat

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Dear pat,

What a lovely party - Ed seemed delighted, and Judd is going places with his music. And it was good tocatch up with the Margons, and eat some delicious seafare from New Orleans!

Then Judd rang the bell Sunday evening, exactly at the moment I was wishing for a bit of dessert, and brought us the best cupcakes I've ever tasted (is there a receipe for the frosting?).

Congratulations on great entertaining.

Love, Mimi

Thoughts of Pat, by Katherine Ryden

MY FRIEND PAT ……………..BY KATHERINE RYDEN 3/08

PAUL AND I MET PAT AND ED IN THE MID 1970’S. OUR CLOSE FRIENDS, JOE BAILEY AND GAIL FRANK , INVITED US TO JOIN THEM AT A JAZZ CLUB TO HEAR A FRIEND SING.

I LIKED PAT AT FIRST SIGHT….HER CHESTNUT CURLS, INFECTIOUS GIGGLE, AND LASER WIT. WE TALKED ABOUT A MOVIE CALLED RANDOM HARVEST, (WHY I AM NOT. SURE ) STARRING RONALD COLMAN. IT WAS ABOUT A WW I VET WITH AMNESIA WHO MEETS A MUSIC HALL STAR . PAT SNOOKERED ME INTO WATCHING IT WITH MY FAMILY ONE CHRISTMAS. IT WAS DREADFUL ! SHE THOUGHT IT WAS HILARIOUS THAT WE HAD ALL WATCHED IT.

PAT AND ED AND PAUL AND I MOSTLY SAW EACH OTHER AT PARTIES. WE GATHERED MANY NEW YEAR’S EVES AT OUR HOUSE. PAT LOVED TO SING AROUND THE PIANO WITH MY BROTHER BILL AT THE KEYBOARD. SHE KNEW ALL THE LYRICS OF THE GREAT TUNES OF GERSHWIN, COLE PORTER, AND RICHARD ROGERS.

WE ALWAYS ENJOYED PAT AND ED’S COMPANY BUT NEVER SAW ENOUGH OF THEM WITH OUR BUSY LIVES. WE WERE COMMUTING TO THE EAST END OF LONG ISLAND & THEY WERE BETWEEN BROOKLYN AND MARYLAND. BUT WE NEVER LOST TOUCH.

MOSTLY, I LOVED HOW PAT JUST LAPPED LIFE UP.

AFTER SHE BECAME ILL, WE REALLY BECAME CLOSE GIRL FRIENDS. I HAD LEFT MY JOB AT SCHOLASTIC AND WAS ABLE TO VISIT HER DURING HER CHEMO SESSIONS. ALL THE NURSES LOVED HER . WE HAD THE BEST TALKS.. I TOLD HER ABOUT MY TRAVELS TO ITALY, BROUGHT HER PICTURES OF OUR TRIPS. WE DISCOVERED HOW MUCH WE HAD IN COMMON. THE EXACT SAME AGE, WE TALKED ABOUT OUR MOTHERS AND FATHERS. WE BOTH LOVED TO COOK & HAVE PARTIES FILLING OUR HOUSES EVERY SUMMER WITH FAMILY AND FRIENDS. WE WERE PASSIONATE GARDENERS AND SHARED A LOVE FOR ART , MUSIC, AND GOOD BOOKS.

ONE DAY, SITTING ON THE BEACH IN EAST HAMPTON, SHE TOLD ME ABOUT FALLING IN LOVE WITH ED. SHE CALLED HIM “ EASY ED, HER HERO,”. AND, SHE ALWAYS TALKED ABOUT HER BOYS. SHE GLOWED IN THE DARK WHEN SHE SPOKE OF MATT AND JUDD,

I WAS ALWAYS AMAZED BY PAT’S KNOWLEDGE. SHE KNEW A LOT ABOUT A LOT. HER INTERESTS WERE WIDE AND ECLECTIC. SHE WAS SORT OF A RENAISSANCE GAL, BUT WITHOUT THE ATTITUDE.

SHE ADORED MUSIC…… SYMPHONY, OPERA, MUSICAL COMEDY, AND OF COURSE HER BELOVED JAZZ . HER EYE FOR FINE ART WAS SHARP, AND HER OBSERVATIONS SPOT ON.

SHE LOVED SAILING AND BEING ON THE WATER….THE JERSEY SHORE, THE EAST END OF LONG ISLAND, SWIMMING IN THE OCEAN & WALKING ON THE BEACH. MOST OF ALL, SHE LOVED HER BELOVED CHESAPEAKE,

SHE KNEW ABOUT MOVIES, OLD AND NEW, LOVED THE THEATRE, ANTIQUES, POETRY, OLD TREES.

SHE LOVED PLACES…….. MANHATTAN, BROOKLYN NEIGHBORHOODS, ENGLAND, IRELAND, NEW ORLEANS. AND ARCHITECTURE,

(SHE TOOK ME TO ANNAPOLIS FOR A TOUR OF OLD HOUSES.) SHE UNDERSTOOD FARMING AND ECOLOGY AND SHE REVERED GRAND OLD TREES. SHE TAUGHT ME ABOUT OLD ROSES. WE PORED OVER BOOKS TOGETHER DECIDING WHICH ONE WAS RIGHT FOR MY ARBOR.

OVER THE LAST TEN YEARS, WE SAW MORE OF PAT AND ED. MUSEUM VISITS, WONDERFUL DINNERS OUT, TRIPS TO THE FARM AND TO OUR HOUSE NEAR THE BEACH. OUR LAST DINNER TOGETHER WAS JUST BEFORE CHRISTMAS AT MOMA( PAT’S IDEA ). IT WAS A SPECIAL EVENING. SHE WAS ENERGETIC AND RADIANT.

PAT WAS THE TRUTH FAIRY. SHE FACED HER ILLNESS HEAD ON & TALKED OPENLY ABOUT IT. SHE WAS PEOPLE WISE AND TAUGHT HER FRIENDS HOW TO HELP AND SUPPORT HER. AND SHE HAD MORE FRIENDS THAN ANYONE I KNOW. SHE MADE EACH ONE OF US FEEL SPECIAL. SHE WAS ALSO SAVVY AND KNEW HOW TO GET THINGS DONE THROUGH OTHERS. SHE GAVE GOOD COUNSEL… ALWAYS STRAIGHT TALK FILLED WITH PEPPERY INSIGHT

PAT, I KEEP SEEING YOU. I LOOK AT KALI, MY BELOVEDNGLISH COCKER. PAT KNEW THAT I WANTED A DOG AND CONVINCED ME THAT SPANIELS WERE THE SWEETEST AND THE BEST. ONCE AGAIN, SHE WAS RIGHT.

PAT INTRODUCED ME TO THE POETRY OF MARY OLIVER. HERE IS AN EXCERPT THAT REMINDS ME SO MUCH OF HER.

EXCERPT

WHEN DEATH COMES BY MARY OLIVER

WHEN DEATH COMES

LIKE AN ICEBERG BETWEEN THE SHOULD BLADES

I WANT TO STEP THROUGH THE DOOR FULL OF CURIOSITY; WONDERING;’

WHAT ITS GOING TO BE LIKE, THAT COTTAGE OF DARKNESS?

AND THEREFORE I LOOK UPON EVERYTHING

AS A BROTHERHOOD AND A SISTERHOOD,

AND I LOOK UPON TIME AS NO MORE THAN AN IDEA, AND I CONSIDER ETERNITY AS ANOTHER POSSIBILITY.

AND I THINK OF EACH LIFE AS A FLOWER AS COMMON AS A FIELD DAISY AND AS SINGULAR,

AND EACH NAME A COMFORTABLE MUSIC IN THE MOUTH,

TENDING, AS ALL MUSIC DOES, TOWARD SILENCE,

AND EACH BODY A LION OF COURAGE AND SOMETHING

PRECIOUS TO THE EARTH.

WHEN IT’S OVER, I WANT TO SAY: ALL MY LIFE

I WAS A BRIDE MARRIED TO AMAZEMENT.

I WAS THE BRIDEGROOM, TAKING THE WORLD INTO MY ARMS.

WHEN IT’S OVER, I DON’T WANT TO WONDER

IF I HAVE MADE OF MY LIFE SOMETHING PARTICULAR, AND REAL.

I DON’T WANT TO FIND MYSELF SIGHING AND FRIGHTENED, OR FULL OF ARGUMENT,

I DON’T WANT TO END UP SIMPLY HAVING VISITED THIS WORLD.

The pure joy of Pat-from Gail and Joe

Gail, Ed, & Susan

Pat singing/ Judd playing at Sarah's wedding June 2004.