On women.

There have been some things mulling around in my brain for a while now, and I figured it was time to get them down in writing.

Part One.

When I embarked on law school, I thought a lot about my great-grandmother. She is an inspiration to me; she faced incredibly difficult times in her life, but always remained a warm, loving, generous and happy person. I always think of her when I get down on myself, or angry, or disappointed with people. I think, what would Cha-Cha do? (I gave her this nickname as a toddler, because she used to dance with me and say "cha-cha-cha.") She inspires me to be a kind person, no matter what comes my way. (Not that I always succeed, of course.)


Rosalie at 16, circa 1914.

Rosalie spent the first 8 years of her life in Nova Scotia, before being sent to live with her aunt in a town near Boston. The aunt promised to educate my great-grandmother, but instead turned her into essentially a house servant.

As soon as she could (and possibly not too long after the picture above was taken), Rosalie married my great-grandfather and they moved to Los Angeles in the early 1920s. In the late 20s, or perhaps during the depression, they moved to Ventura (my hometown). I'm not sure on the timeline, though.

My great-grandfather turned out to be a drunk, but he could hold at least hold a job. During the depression they lived on the outskirts of Ventura, near the oil fields (for you VTAers, this is off the avenue near the end of the avenue. If you go there now the housing is essentially shanties (sp?)). Things turned a corner financially in the early 40s, when they bought a house in downtown Ventura (which is still owned by my grandmother).

My great-grandparents had four children: Robert, Margaret, Jeremiah, and Catherine (my grandma).

Bob and Jerry each volunteered for the army during WWII. Bob went first and was sent to recently-liberated France. There are letters that he sent home detailing his days of boredom, which he spent drinking and gambling with soldiers and French locals. I'll be reproducing those on this blog at some point.

Jerry was sent to Asia, and was captured in the Phillipines by the Japanese. He was a prisoner of war for three years and just missed the Bataan death march. He was allowed to send some correspondence back home, but it was clearly censored (I'll blog about that too, at a later point). He was liberated once Japan surrendered.

Margaret got married when Bob was in Europe and Jerry was missing in action. She became pregnant, but during childbirth she and her baby girl died. It's really heartbreaking I could never have met her. She seemed fun, beautiful, and radiant.

My great-grandmother survived all of this tragedy, and still somehow remained a loving, warm, kind person throughout her life. She was my best friend when I was little. She was the cutest little thing.


Cha-Cha and me, late 1970s.


Cha-Cha, 1980s.


Part Two.

Last week, a woman I worked with at Peachpit passed away. She had been diagnosed with brain cancer the year prior. It was aggressive and it acted fast. She was about 50 when she passed away; much too young to lose one's life.

There have been some lovely sentiments expressed here and here, and I encourage you to read about Marjorie.

One thing Marjorie loved were well-written obituaries. When I still worked at Peachpit, I remember she cut out some of the obits she found (often in the NY Times) and tacked them up on the outside of her cubicle. She loved to read them. So in her honor, here's my stab at an obituary that I hope, if she were to come across it in the paper, she would cut out and put up in her cubicle.

Marjorie Baer, "the editor's editor" to colleagues, passes too soon.

Marjorie Baer was the editorial ambassador to Peachpit's author community. She relished in those early stages of the book process - learning something new from a passionate expert; putting a sparkle in their eye by asking them to write a book about it; and understanding how to turn that great idea into a fabulous book.

It was not only her ability, but her style: Marjorie instilled confidence in her authors and colleagues not through direct statements, but by gently intimating and demonstrating the way to success. She cared deeply that those around her were successful in their endeavors.

Marjorie epitomized Berkeley elegance. Always graceful but never stuffy. She took time to brew loose tea in a lovely ceramic teapot - I envied that lavendar teapot. She was forever peeling the fresh fruit she bought from Monterey Market or Berkeley Bowl in meetings. Sensing you needed a little afternoon pick-me-up, she would casually pass you a few wedges of grapefruit or tangerine across the conference table. I can still remember how good those citrus fruits would smell after she peeled them.

Marjorie loved movies, watercolor, photography, and fall leaves. The next time you notice the leaves have changed color and are gracefully falling to the ground, think of Marjorie. She would have wanted to share that beauty with you, too.