what is remembered
Meriel had hoped that wouldnât happen. The book is a ⦠Aunt Muriel belonged to Merielâs grandmotherâs generation, rather than her motherâs. Is one remembered for what one does for others not for what one does for self? Nothing actually dirty or disreputable, just an atmosphere of long accommodation of private woes and sins. Click on this photo to see the banner and also our Order of the Pentacle member holding the pentacles. âRemember the doctor at Jonasâs funeral?â she had written above the small headline. And she made things worse by adding, âItâs such a gorgeous day.â. âI was planning to park,â he said, turning in anyway âI wasnât going to leave you stranded.â, She said, âI might be quite a while.â, âThatâs all right. âYouâd miss the ferry.â She reminded him of their arrangement with the sitter. And she had to go to the bathroom. She believed that Anna would not react in that way. To revisit this article, visit My Profile, then View saved stories. To have taken into account. There will always be loss. Just as God remembered, we are to remember, too, and honor our Lord. She said, âIâm sorry, itâs rude of me, I have to tell youâI get tired.â No hint in her manner now of the person who had launched the first part of the conversation. A look that was in its way quite cold, yet deeply respectful and more intimate than any look that would pass between married people, or people who owed each other anything. Your email address will not be published. What do you want to be remembered for? What is remembered? So was Pierre, though he did not like to say so. A lightening of spirits when the husbands departed. And so are we, most of the time, but we should not be, for we have been given assurance. She had painted large abstract pictures, one of whichâa present to Merielâs motherâhad hung in the back hall of the house where Meriel grew up and been moved to the dining room whenever the artist came to visit. She would have preferred another scene, and that was the one she substituted, in her memory. All that she would remember about it would be the glass bricks around the front entrance and the elaborate, heavy hi-fi equipment of that time, which seemed to be the only furniture in the living room. Distracted, playacting, and with a vague feeling of shame, Meriel said goodbye. In circle, let's honour and venerate those who are coming after us. Pierre heaped everything onto his small china plate and Meriel heard his mother say to him, âYou know, you could always come back for a second helping.â. She said, âDid you ever figure out why he came to the funeral?â, âThey might have been buddies of a sort. Last year, a teacher at Pierreâs school died suddenly, and there was a fine service, with the schoolboy choir and the sixteenth-century words for the Burial of the Dead. âThatâs the trouble,â Pierreâs mother said. âWhatâs the trouble?â said Jonasâs mother brightly, sliding some tarts onto the warming dish. Employment terminated by mutual consent, he wrote to Pierre, adding that he was living at the hotel, where all the high-class people lived, and might get a job on a logging crew. Salacious fantasyâthat was what Meriel now decided it had beenâslid without the smallest difficulty into a medical chat, agreeably pessimistic on Aunt Murielâs side and carefully reassuring on the doctorâs. He said, âYes,â and briskly headed for the menâs room, and the delicacy of the moment was lost. She realized that he was picking at the cloth of her dress, which had stuck to her damp skin when she sat pressed against the chair back. One time, they had a blindfold on me. He recalled with a gruff pedantry the details of incidents that Meriel did not think so remarkable or funny (the bag of dog shit set on fire on the teacherâs front steps, the badgering of the old man who offered boys a nickel to pull down their pants) and grew irritated if the conversation turned to the present. As the weather has turned cold and grey and wet, I've been cuddling up in sweaters and listening to a lot of the Sickboy podcast. That might have been his tone in the drugstore a few blocks away from the apartment, after he had parked the car and said, âJust a moment in here.â The practical arrangements, which seemed heavyhearted and discouraging in married life, could in these different circumstances provoke a subtle heat in her, a novel lethargy and submissive anticipation. She had been friends with artists whose names were now in the papers. And she wasnât quite confident about a direct reprimand, now that Pierre was a teacher and a married man. Theyâd do it.â, âThatâs romantic. My cataracts have got quite vicious. She smelled of hospital powder and the licorice drops she sucked all day between the rationed cigarettes. Weâve been looking at John Kennedyâs presidential legacy as part of our special VOA Report, âJohn F. Kennedy, A Legacy Remembered.â I think one of the keys to the enduring fascination with Kennedy is the fact he was cut She could not put up with this any longer. Looking across the room, she said, âThatâs the doctor who looked after him. The street was busy, and there were no grounds to speak of, no hedges or fences to shut out noise or protect the scraps of lawn. Meriel.â. He looked her in the face. He had got out of the car and come around to her side. But, in the years since then, the friendship had to some extent been revived. My-love-my-love, she would mutter in a harsh, mechanical way, the words a secret poultice.