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Friday, June 1, 2018
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Susan Mangan Hennenfent (sh827@sbcglobal.net) posted a condolence
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
I am the niece of your father - my Uncle Buddy. I started putting together a family tree today - and found your mother's obituary. I'm so sorry for you all. It's been about 40 years since I saw her - but she was so great and so warm.
You may remember my sister, Ginny, and I visiting you in Anaheim. It was the first time I ever had a taco. And your Mom made chili-cheese squares. I still make her recipe!
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Erin Adams posted a condolence
Sunday, October 4, 2009
Susie, my mom, is a cache of stories about grandma. But it's one thing to hear about how many people she influenced and how many adventurous things she did, and quite another to see them through the eyes of those that were there.
What I remember best are things in the half light of twilight and dawn. Once or twice Susie and Mike were out late, and I was scared. On those nights grandma would come in and lie next to me in bed, comforting me that I would never be alone from family. Far more common, however, were memories of mornings. I would wake up first in the family, when the house was cold and the light dim. I snuck into the family room, where the extra bed was out and grandma was on it, and peeked in. She was invariably awake with a crossword or a magazine, and despite my expert espionage skills she could tell I was there. She knew all the best card games. I never understood poker, but I miss crazy eights. I miss so many things, but there is so much more to her that I never got to know.
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Walt Wheeler posted a condolence
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
My memory of Granny is playing cards with her. I played poker, blackjack, crazy eights, war, goldfish, old maid and a casino game. I don’t know why, but I would always win every single game of war with her.
She had so many things she would call me, like “warthog”, but it was all in fun.
We would go on walks to 7-Eleven and the bakery. I liked getting cupcake, donut, cookies and Slurpees.
We all love Virginia L. Taggart.
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Linda Seymour posted a condolence
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
There's not just one special moment that I remember about Auntie Virgie, but the many special times that I recall sharing with her. The fun we all had at the beach house, another house with the big front porch and, of course, the house in Anaheim. Mostly, I remember being in the kitchens, drooling at the kitchen table filled with all the wonderful food that she made for us to enjoy. Auntie Virgie poured all of her love into her food and making us happy. I remember her laugh and how it warmed my heart.
We always got together for holidays and then there were the let's get together "just because" days, too. There was this one park near her house in Anaheim that seemed magical to us kids, with so much to do, we must've ran her ragged. She also took us to the community pool on hot summer days. And there were the hang around the house days, too, where our fathers played a mean game of horeshoes in the backyard, and ping pong in their gargage. Days that were filled with fun, food and laughter, all special to my heart.
At Christmas time, we would all go to Auntie Mary Lee's house with everyone bringing more great food than we could eat and a Pinata filled to the brim with candy. To honor our Aunties and Uncles, us kids would put together a play for them to watch. We would work on it all day long. No matter how awful or silly the plays were, they always made us feel like we had put together a true Broadway Production.
Most of all I remember how much she loved all of her children, grandchildren and extended family. She truely devoted her life to all of you with more love than anyone could hold in their heart. She had a rich life filled with happiness and love from everyone. Auntie Virgie will be greatly missed by all of us.
With all of my Love to all of you,
Linda Seymour
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Heather Law Davis posted a condolence
Sunday, September 20, 2009
My earliest memories of Grandma are of hearing her tell me, my siblings and Jamie not to “quarrel” or be “cross” or “saucy.” She was the only person I knew who used these fascinating words. I especially liked “quarrel.” I also remember her singing “Three Little Fishes,” which started…
Down in the meadow in a little bitty pool
Were three little fishes and their mama fishy too.
“Swim!” said the mama fishy, “Swim if you can!”
And they swam and they swam right over the dam.
…and chanting “Ten Little Monkeys Jumping on the Bed”:
Ten little monkeys jumping on the bed,
One fell off and broke his head.
Mama called the doctor, and the doctor said,
“No more monkeys jumping on the bed!”
One day she had a tea party for all the little girls in the family at her house. This was so thoughtful and sweet, although I remember feeling kind of ashamed that I didn’t like tea. I also remember her colorful braided rugs in the kitchen and her amazing pancakes that were perfectly crisp on the outside.
While I was growing up, I was both impressed and intimidated by her incisive wit. I really wanted her to approve of me because I knew a compliment from her was sincere. She was beautiful, but beyond that she was so clever and had such a classy, distinctive sense of style. She always wore lipstick and always would greet you with a kiss that left a mark on your cheek. I remember talking to her one day about how we both didn’t like to wear jewelry much and avoided clothes with high necklines or long sleeves because it was annoying to feel something on your neck or wrists. I liked that we had this funny trait in common.
The last couple of times I saw Grandma, she was smiling and personable and seemed to be enjoying everyone’s company. I admired her so much for that because I doubt that I’d still have it so together if I were going through what she did.
D
Dianne Moon posted a condolence
Sunday, September 20, 2009
here are some memories: i remember my daughter aptly naming her "sweetie" at age three......i remember the most delicious cinnamon rolls ever......i remember feeling so thankful and lucky to be included as one of her own when i lost my own mom......i remember crying when she moved to washington, i don't know why......i remember how damn smart she was,how sophisticated and i envied her cracking quick wit. a sort of noel coward / katherine hepburn hybrid......i remember how i couldn't stop crying when walt was born, i didn't know why. she did and told me so later in private.......i remember long conversations around countless tables with the laughter and insights she generously shared..all her great stories made me wish i had known her much earlier in her life. what fun we could have had together.........i remember that skeptical and protective furrowed brow as i excitedly described yet another unworthy choice of a potential partner.this was usually accompanied by a motherly roll of the eyes or merely a wink and the reminder that "love is not everything dear". again i didn't know why but she did......i remember the gracious hostess who would always make you feel welcome....i remember that she always remembered birthday cards,graduations. and always with such class when she undoubtedly.had other things and people to care for.....i remember she was the best i'd ever seen at grabbing the check, no matter what.,even when she had less money than anyone at the table....i remember she shamed me into becoming a fabulous tipper.....i remember her deep pride in all of her grandchildren. no grandmotherly gushing here. they were all creative and bright beyond words (as i'm sure you all know) . it was simple. they were fabulous and she was extremly proud. and definitely not at all surprised !!.....i remember a voracious reader, impressively well informed and armed with a dead on.,dead pan delivery of her many opinions on any subject you wanted to discuss and some you didn't. so honest and fearless. (again my envy is showing) .......i remember learning from her the correct pronunciation of brioche. and the correct lyrics to stormy weather,and of course a subscription to the new yorker is priceless......i remember a long ago new years eve ( 2001 i believe ) around yet another dining table, i received from her a gift of two black-eyed peas in plastic wrap that was stuffed into my wallet to ensure abundance and financial prosperity in the coming new year. amazingly i still have them. not that i've lost faith virginia, but maybe you should have given me three or four.......i remember crying when she left for washington this last summer. this time i knew why....i don't remember when she went from being the mother of my best friend to a cherished friend of mine. judy,barbie,kathy,janice,soozie, and eric thanks for sharing !! please know that i will always miss her and treasure these and other memories of sweetie and therefore always be connected to all of you through her, dianne moon
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Kelly Ireland Leslie posted a condolence
Friday, September 18, 2009
I was saddened hear about your dear Mother Virgie. Eventhough it has been many years since Virgie moved away we would get updates on the family whenever she would talk to my Mom. It is strange to think that it has been over 43 years since I started school with Kathy, Cheryl, Rennie and Curtis. Looking back most families in the neighborhood had more then 2 kids like ours, but the Taggart's had lots of big sisters, yes I was a bit jealous. I will always be greatful for all times I went over to play because your Mother had a contagious joy for life that she instilled in her childern, just thinking about it brings a smile to my face. I still remember going to see my first play, Eric was in "Your a Good Man Charlie Brown", because of your Mother we still love seeing plays. To all in the family continue to carry on her joy for life. Love Kelly Ireland
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Trevor posted a condolence
Thursday, September 17, 2009
My grandma had the rare quality of being willing to say whatever she thought and hear what anyone else did. Sometimes this made others (including myself) uncomfortable, but I always appreciated her down-to-earth honesty as sincere compassion.
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Robin Cruz posted a condolence
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Judy, Don and Walt,
I really thought Virginia was from New York. She had such elegance and class and exemplified what I believe a New York celebrity to be! Virginia bestowed friendship on me the first time I met her at your apartment in Corona Del Mar. That was before Walt arrived. I loved to hear her talk about anything from current issues to neighborhood gossip--she spoke with such wisdom and wit--it was impossible for her to be insincere. Wishing you all the blessing of frequent and happy memories. Love, Robin
"Unable are the loved to die. For love is immortality." -Emily Dickinson
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Barbara posted a condolence
Sunday, September 13, 2009
My earliest memories of Mom are from when we lived in the house on Kelton Ave. I remember walking with my mother as she pushed one of the babies in the stroller, and every now and then Mom would give me a few Sugar Babies to encourage me along. I remember the time she was cooking Thanksgiving dinner in the kitchen and she asked me if I wanted some candied yams—I thought she was offering me “candied BM’s “ with that sweet smile. Mom used to sing “My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean”, “Johnny So Long at the Fair”, “Scarlet Ribbons” and so many others. Her songs comforted me when she nursed me through chicken pox and the mumps, and when I fell asleep to the sound of her singing in the kitchen.
The summer before I started first grade, we moved to Anaheim…many more memories there. One of my favorites is of waking to the sound and smell of the potatoes frying when Mom made breakfast. Another favorite is of all those Saturday mornings when “the girls” would gather with Mom in her bedroom to talk. We teased her as much as we did each other, and she took it pretty well—except when we joked about putting her in a nursing home some day, where the nurse would chide, “Now, Virginia…” Although I could be pretty bratty at times, I also remember how much I wanted to earn her praise. Mom was my hero on many occasions, like the time a little boy in our neighborhood was hit by a motorcycle and injured—nobody there seemed to know what to do but Mom, and she comforted him in Spanish while awaiting the ambulance. I loved to see Mom dressed elegantly in black, and the smell of her Chanel No. 5. My friends always loved Mom, in part, because she was such…a mom. They were drawn to her generosity and warmth, to her “honey” and “dear”, as much as they were to her sharp wit and good cooking. I remember Eric saying once that he never knew we were poor when we were growing up because of our mother, and that is so true.
I always wanted to find the perfect gift for Mom on birthdays and Mother’s Days, but I knew I couldn’t miss when I proudly presented each of my children to her. I’m grateful for her qualities that live on in them, and for the parts of her that I bring to my parenting and to my work. It still has not completely registered that Mom isn’t a phone call or visit away, but I know she is still and will always be with us.
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Judy Taggart posted a condolence
Friday, September 11, 2009
Thank you to everyone who has posted memories. I am enjoying them so much and it really helps. I was delighted to see the messages from some of our childhood friends from the old neighborhood. I hope those of you who can, will join us for a memorial gathering for my Mom on Oct 3rd at 1:00 pm at 17502 Via Lindo, Tustin, Ca 92780. It is at the clubhouse for my aunt's townhome community. If you have questions or need more details please contact me at judytaggart@ganahl.com
thank you again,
Judy
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Janice Lyons posted a condolence
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Growing up I frequently heard from my friends how lucky I was to have such a wonderful mother. Although I never argued with them, it always made me wonder what made my Mom so special compared to their moms. Afterall, they seemed to get more of everything, including lots of cookies and toys. As I got older I started paying more attention to all the sweet and caring things Mom did for us and our neighbors. She was always there to help someone in need and eventually I came to believe she was a saint. In spite of all the constant work she had to do to take care of all of us and Dad, she still made sure we had memorable holidays and always, always, an Easter basket...well into our 20's as a matter of fact. She was the most generous person I have ever known and her household was full of humor, delicious food, friends, security and warmth....lots of warmth that she created around her in any environment she inhabited. I always felt completely safe in her presence -- which is the most important gift a mother can give to her child in a world that often seems completely insane. I will miss her greatly and love her dearly for the rest of my life.
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Hillary Law posted a condolence
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Over the last few years, as I began to know my Grandma as an adult, I was able to more accurately describe her to friends. These descriptions almost without fail contained some form of the phrase "bad ass". The words smart and sassy usually soon followed.
My Grandma was so unbelievably beautiful. More than just her shiny jet black hair, deep brown eyes, and charming lines around her mouth from years of laughter- she had a confident presence that was to be admired. She could easily cut you down to size with her sharp wit but that made it all the more special when she bestowed a compliment. You knew that she meant what she said.
When I was little I would smell my Mom's bottle of Chanel No. 5 and could instantly be brought back to Grandma's place in Washington with the tree swing made out of thick rope. The grandkids would play in the sun all day and take turns jumping in the freezing cold wading pool. At night we would come in and listen to the comforting sound of the adults laughing and telling stories. My Grandma always had the best laughter. She never held it back. It was a trait I most definitely inherited from her and cherish dearly.
Within the first few minutes of any play I was in I would know exactly where my Grandma was sitting after the first punch line was delivered. She always loved the musicals and plays we participated in and nothing could make you feel like you did a better job in them than hearing her booming laughter or seeing her wipe away tears with a bunched up tissue.
The Thanksgiving before my Grandma passed I remember sitting around the table at my Aunt Judy's house. Here with her, were a large number of people that would not have even existed if it wasn't for her. I tried to comment on this with as much tact as possible as to not sound creepy. When she heard this she smiled. I know at that moment she was proud of her family, just as we will always be so very proud of her.
I love my Grandma so very much. There is such a long list of things I will miss about her that it would take quite a long while to compile them all. Suffice it to say- her wit, her charm, and her laughter are so beautifully etched in my mind and that the warm memories I have of her I will cherish forever.
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Tom Law posted a condolence
Monday, September 7, 2009
Although Virginia never actually lived with us during the early years of our marriage and the birth of our 4 children, she was always there as a consultant. When something new or unusual would come up regarding a situation with our infants I would often, as the oldest of eight children in my family, offer my opinion based on my observations as to what we might do or what was normal. Barbara had her own base of experiences and ideas and, on those occasions where we might approach things from a different direction, she would always call mom for her advice in order to settle the matter. Virginia's opinions and experience on any matter were always valued by the both of us.
Over the years Virginia and I had many fun times together involving not only Barbara and our children but also with the extended family of brother & sister-in-laws I grew to love. I especially enjoyed the way she could laugh at life's surprises as well as the little quirks each of us manifest throughout our days. She would often share what stories she found to be interesting or funny in the lives of her children, her grandchildren or her son-in-laws. And she would mention the oddities she found with me in such a way that we both found the humor in them while still reminding me that she was pointing out something I really should think about.
A few years ago, after I started working in Fullerton and she had moved back to California to help take care of Walt, I had the opportunity for over a years to come over to the house every Wednesday during my lunch break. I always looked forward to those visits, the wit and wisdoms shared as well as the gentle jousting over politics, religion & daily events. It was always so much fun.
Throughout our relationship I always sensed the great pride she had in her son and daughters. She occasionally related to me some of the difficult times and missed opportunities she felt she had as a child initiated by the loss of her mother at such a young age and the role she played relative to her father and 4 sisters. But, to her great credit, despite the early struggles she had, Virginia made a wonderful success of her life through her wit and determination as manifested by the wonderful family she raised and the love and caring with which she touched so many more lives outside her immediate family. I will miss her dearly.
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Susie posted a condolence
Sunday, September 6, 2009
I love all of your letters. Mom was indeed a darling person. I won't ever forget a minute of being with her, instead it's all imprinted on my personality and so she will never be gone to me. She told me on a few occasions that when she was a little girl she had wanted to be a doctor, and if she'd had the opportunity I'm certain she would have been far and away better than the ones who treated her. Enough of that though.
She never gave me the impression that being a mother was anything less than what she wanted. Her parenting style, at least to me, was one of benign neglect, which was perfect because I had the freedom to make my own mistakes but I never had a moment's doubt that I was unconditionally loved. Every time I called her on the phone she would say "Is this my Susie?"
I will always be grateful for all the gifts she gave me, including but not limited to: a happy childhood, a love for children and cats and the occasional very special dog, reading, The New Yorker, the NY Times Crossword Puzzle, Scrabble, family get togethers and a great pot of beans.
Thanks to all of you for sharing your memories and thanks to Mom.
S
Shelly Ireland Menzies posted a condolence
Sunday, September 6, 2009
My mom, Alicia Ireland, called me Saturday afternoon in tears after reading the obituary in the LA times. We read together the messages family and friends sent on this site and both cried. Virgie was a long time neighbor and a true friend to our family.
My fondest memories were going over to play with my favorite friend Susie and Virgie would always have cookies and milk. I remember peanutbutter being my favorite of hers. This was quite a treat since my mom was always on Weight Watchers and our big treat at home was a plain graham cracker and a glass of blue milk (non-fat). Sometimes I would walk to the store across the street with Susie to get something for dinner for her mom and she would give us amoney so we could get an ice cream at Thriftys. What a treat!
I remember when I was in kindergarten I was so afraid my mom was going to forget to pick me up. My mom would always assure me that if she couldn't pick me up Virgie would be there for me. And a few times she was with a big smile and open arms.
As a young girl my memories of Virgie was a kind, lovable,fun lady that always laughed. I remember one time seeing her dressed up in a suitand hat and thought how striking beautiful she was and that she looked like a movie star. She was always kind to my sister and I when we would come over to play and would always make us laugh. In fact her entire family was always laughing and having fun. When Moms happy the whole family is happy.
Years after she moved I appreciated that she still kept in contact with my mom and would even get her circus tickets when Eric was in town. Those were fun times. Mom and Dad still live in the same house and still call the house on Regal, Virgie's house. When new people move in "Did you see who moved in Virgie's house?" " Hey, they painted Virgie's house." or mom says, I'm going to go for a walk, just up to Virgie's house."
We appreciate that your dear mom was part of our lives and still is in memories that will last forever. We love her and will miss her dearly. Love, Shelly
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Maureen O'Brien posted a condolence
Sunday, September 6, 2009
My memories of Mom.......
An hour after I met Dad, he and I walked into the beach house in Venice and there was Mom in the kitchen. Now isn't that a surprise? I soon found out that she was always in the kitchen. Dad introduced her as "my wife .Virgie and that is what I called her for many years. My very first thought was "Wow, my dad is so handsome and he sure did marry a beautiful woman". Here I was at age seventeen, meeting my dad and his wife for the first time and immediately feeling that I belonged. It was so comforting and it was Mom who made me feel this way. She was not only beautiful; she was the most caring, nurturing woman I had ever met. This was a dream come true for me.
Two years prior to this huge event in my life and I do mean huge, I learned that Patrick O'Brien was not my real dad. My real dad lived in California and my real last name was actually Taggart and not O'Brien. My stepfather, P. J. O'Brien was a violent alcoholic who used his fists to deliver discipline and my mom didn't like me all that much and by the way, the feelings were quite mutual. For two years, I was consumed with planning a strategy for getting to California. It all fell into place, when a neighbor took me to see the Harlem Globetrotters play in White Plains, New York. Abe Saperstein,, the owner of the Trotters also owned a women's team called "The Texas Cowgirls" who played all the preliminary games against men. Here was my ticket to California. I introduced myself to Mr. Saperstein and asked if he needed more players for the Cowgirls team and his immediate response was "no, not really". With all the courage I could muster, I told him that I was better than anyone he had out there. One month later, after a five game tryout in Atlantic City, I was on tour and on my way to California.
By the end of my first week in Venice , I learned a very important lesson. I was loveable. Virgie and Dad both made me feel that way but it was Mom who made me believe it. And then to top it off, I had this cute little brother Eric, two adorable baby sisters, Janice and Barbie and a dear, sweet cousin, Steven. I was home and feeling secure and safe and loved for the first time in my life. I stayed about nine months with my new found family and it has made all the difference in my life. As I write all this, I find it so very difficult. On the one hand as I relive the memories, I feel so joyful and grateful and on the other hand I am so very sad that I can't call Mom right now and say "I love you so much and thank you for everything". I know Mom heard me say that many times but I just want to tell her again. I guess I just did.
Included in my fond memories are trips to TiaJuana where I was the designated bargainer, Las Vegas (oh how Mom loved that town) and I did too because she laughed so much when we were there, Marie Callenders for breakfast, Dad coming home at two in the morning after a big win at the races, announcing that we were all invited to come out for breakfast and Mom waking up every sleeping soul to go to the "Golden Nugget". Mom was such a good sport and so full of life. She laughed easily and her smile was a term of endearment. As I described her so often to my friends, she was "Mother Earth". How I wish I could be there with all who gather to celebrate her life. She will be forever in my heart and may all of our memories serve as a bond to keep us close.
E
Eric Gillett posted a condolence
Sunday, September 6, 2009
She always hated it when I told sentimental stories about her in my shows. She'd listen to them and then smack me on the hand and say, "That's a lie! That never happened." Except they mostly did. If I romanticized them occasionally, it was mostly to make me look brighter and wittier, not her.
I remember some things so distinctly but others are blurred by the kind of monochromatic haze that seems to hit whenever I try to access the memory. I remember that she made the best pecan pie and cinnamon rolls I had, or ever have, eaten. I remember that she sang to me when she rocked me to sleep at night, long before the years with Tag and before all the girls came along and I remember it was a warm voice, filled with tenderness.
I don't remember her ever hitting me, though I think there was always the implied threat. Did you know that a Zorri smacked against your hand makes a very loud and satisfying slap? You couldn't hurt a fly with one (okay, maybe a fly), but that sound sure kept me in line.
I don't remember ever seeing her cry. Isn't that funny, since I cry all the time, especially these days.
I remember her cooking and, to this day, her casserole dishes are the only comfort food that work for me when I'm in need of what I used to call the MomKat touch. I still make her macaroni and cheese but, the truth is, I've altered it over the years to reflect my own tastes. But I've never touched her recipe for tomatoes and mac, nor have I ever come close to her roasts, though I try.
I remember taking her to New York for the very first time. I used to say it was "kind of like the city mouse taking the country mouse to town" except she turned out to be far more city mouse than I was. She fit in New York in a way you would never imagine if you never saw her here. She brightened and filled out and drank in the entire experience like a flower that had been waiting in the desert for water for far too many years. On the first trip here, she managed to make a chum out of Liv Ullman's mother while waiting for me to join her at the Lyceum for Michael Feinstein's concert. After the show, I asked her what she thought of the show and she replied, as only she could, "Well, he's a little Peter Pan for my taste, dear." And on the way to the airport for the return trip, after seeing LES MIZ, ANYTHING GOES, ME AND MY GIRL, and David Mamet's SPEED-THE-PLOW, a play filled with foul language and brilliant acting from both of the male leads but a far lesser performance from Madonna, I asked her which she had enjoyed the most, expecting it to be Patti Lupone and ANYTHING GOES. Her reply shouldn't have surprised me, but it did and I laughed out loud. "I think I liked the Mamet, dear, except for that poor unfortunate blond actress."
She took me to the theater when I was too young to know what it was. Mary Martin in PETER PAN. The cheap seats at the old Philharmonic, where the rake of the seats in the balcony made you feel like you were looking straight down. I was terrified of the seats but enthralled by the play and she held my hand through the whole thing. At least, that's how I remember it.
She taught me to love reading. By the time I was 13, I had already read almost all of Edna Ferber's books. I became, by default, a reader of her favorite magazine, The New Yorker.
At an age when most women are settled into lovely grandmotherly pursuits, she ran away with me and joined the circus for a year. I will never forget that year with her, the best we ever spent. Steaks and martinis every Sunday night, train rides to new cities every week, and we spent more time in her double-stateroom, which adjoined my portion of the railroad car, than we ever did in mine. She took that space and made it feel like home. We finally had time enough at last to talk about whatever came to mind and we did. The coffee klatsches in that room were a daily routine and, in a blinding flash of revelation, I realized that my mother had always been my soul mate and my best friend. Not in that sick way some people have of staying bound to their parents but in a healthy shared sense of humor and interests. She challenged me and called me on my failings without ever making me feel judged or somehow incomplete or inadequate.
It took her many years to find herself and, in so many ways, I feel she was unfulfilled. Her children were her life, for better or for worse. When she was pregnant with Susie, she used to walk that incredibly long walk to Palm Harbor hospital with me working like a sheep dog to herd the rest of the brood behind her. She raised me alone, albeit with Auntie Dickie and Steve, until she married Tag and, while he was never a father to me, the two of them did produce my five sisters and, around the six youngsters she was raising, her universe was centered. She tried to learn from her mistakes and teach each succeeding child a little better than the one before. She instilled in me the ability to put one foot down and then the other and to give myself fully to whatever I was doing. For better or for worse, I'm what she made me and, if I fear at times I've failed her, I take consolation in the fact that she never made me feel that I did.
Our last road trip together was on my birthday last year. We stayed at the hotel that had become her favorite, the Venetian. She was in a wheelchair and we both knew this was going to be the last real road trip, because her health had made these adventures too taxing and she really couldn't get around to enjoy the experience as she always had. As we walked through the shops, she spied the spa robe I had been coveting and, in a trice, she had purchased it. That robe has traveled with me everywhere since then. It's very distinctive, cream-colored with a lovely lush terry interior to soak up water when you come out of a shower. Last week, on the day mom was cremated, I opened for my debut engagement at Feinstein's at the Regency here in New York. It was a bittersweet triumph, because I knew I wouldn't be able to call mom after the show to tell her how it went, a habit that goes back more years than I care to count. After sound check, I went up to my room in the hotel where my bags had been taken while I was at rehearsal. I walked into the room and something felt right. I can't explain it exactly, just that it was a sense of belonging in the room. I opened my bag and went to the closet to hang up my suit for the night's performance and hanging there, all alone, was my spa robe. Except my robe was still in my suitcase. It hit me like a ton of bricks that this was a Loews' hotel, as is the Venetian. It felt as if that robe was hanging there waiting for me, as if a small voice was saying, "It's not a coincidence. I'm here with you."
I didn't tell a sentimental story about her that night. I dedicated the closing song to her. The lyric, I thought, was right for her under these circumstances:
Pull back the dark and dusty drape
Let in some light
Tell the bellboy to come and fetch my trunk
'Cause I'm leaving here tonight.
Well I've packed my bag and I've paid my bill
And I'm turning in my key
And if those sad souls down in the lobby ask for me,
Just tell them
"I'm checkin' out of this heartbreak hotel.
I ain't gonna live on lonely street no more.
No more.
I found a new love and new place to dwell
Where teardrops ain't soaking the floor.
So take down my suitcase and hand me my hat.
I'm goin' from sleazy to swell.
Give that desk clerk a dime and you can just tell him that I'm
Checkin' out of this heartbreak hotel.
On our last day together, she was pretty out of it. I sat with her for five or six hours, just holding her hand. Like Piglet and Pooh, I suspect I just wanted to be sure of her. Before I left, she had a moment of clarity and she looked me dead in the eye and said, "You take care of yourself." I kissed her and I told her not to be silly, that I'd be back soon. She smiled for a moment and then, as if to say 'you and I both know better', she whispered, "Nevertheless, you take care of yourself."
I'll try, Mom, I'll try.
Your son, Eric
K
Kathy Taggart posted a condolence
Saturday, September 5, 2009
I remember resting my head in Mom's lap during the long boring PTA
meetings at school -- I would lie there pulling up a piece of stocking
on her knee and snapping it back, over and over and over again. She
never asked me to stop.
I used to be the first one up in the morning -- probably the only bit
of time she had to herself all day -- she would get up from her coffee
and make me a cup with mostly milk and sugar. We would sit there
quietly drinking our coffee together.
Every night she would come in just before I fell asleep, kiss me, and
say "God bless you."
When I think of Mom, I remember feeling loved.
Shortly before she passed away, Mom asked me to wave out the window of
the hospital. Then she said, "It's strange... we say goodbye to the
trees and everything... but they won't be saying goodbye to us."
J
Jamie Serat posted a condolence
Saturday, September 5, 2009
I don't know where to begin so I'll start at the beginning. My Grandma was so incredibly special to me and so influencial in me becoming who I am today. My earliest childhood memories are of being at her house on Regal Avenue in Anahiem, CA. I remember her bathing me in her kitchen sink and singing to me when I was a baby. I loved her beautiful voice so much. I remember tripping and hurting myself on the table and her making me feel better by hitting the table and saying "Bad table! Bad, bad table!" - that always made me feel instantly better :) And when she use to tuck me in at night we had a little game we played; she would tell me "I love you like a ragman loves his rags!" and I would try soooo hard to think of two things that went together but my response was always "I love you like a cookie loves a cracker." Hey, they were both circles, right? She tried to explain it to me but I didn't get it, so she just chuckled and replied back "I love you like the train loves the tracks!"..and on and on we would go until I fell asleep. In the last birthday card I recieved from her (last year) she wrote "I love you like a cookie loves a cracker" at the bottom. I saved it and it makes my heart melt everytime I look at it. When Heather and I were the only two Grandchildren, she would walk us to Thriftys across the street to get ice cream cones or to the donut shop to get donuts. That use to be so fun for me...I remember her holding our hands super tight and running us across the street...Heather was always very concerned that we had to "jay walk" to get there and that it was illegal..I think she was like 4 at the time...lol. It was always so comforting sitting around that living room or on that patio at the Regal Avenue house listening to Grandpa telling jokes I never understood and hearing my mother and aunties laughter fill the room as well as my Grandma's big booming laugh that I will never ever forget. I miss it. After Grandpa died she followed my mom, Auntie Janice and Auntie Susie up here to Washington, and I went to live with her for a while (during the 5th, 6th and 7th grade) at her home on Lawrence Lake Road in Yelm, WA. I will never forget the memories we share from that time we had together and all the little things she did to keep me happy. She use to walk me to the bus stop every morning and wait with me...even when it was freezing cold...and I always had a perfectly packed little brown sack lunch in hand everyday. When I'd get home from school I'd run down the driveway and without fail, open the front door to be greeted by her smiling face, kisses and the smell of something delicious cooking for dinner. One of my favorite memories was her and I snuggling and watching our favorite shows on TV together at night before bed. She never failed to make me feel loved, even when I was a bratty nightmare child. Even after I didn't live with her anymore I still had many more years with her up here in Washington before she moved back to California. My mom and I use to visit her regularly during those years. I'm so blessed that I was able to be with her during her last days, and especially on her dying day. I held her hand tight that day and whispered in her ear how loved she was by all of us and how impactful she was to all of our lives. I shared a few special personal memories with her as well and when I told her "I love you like a cookie loves a cracker", the side of her mouth cracked a small smile so I know she heard me. When she passed, she was surrounded by love and I'm so comforted to have been there and to know that she was not alone. I am just so thankful and blessed to have had her as a Grandmother. She was the matriarch of this big beautiful family that I love so so much. My family is my everything, as was she and we're all like her in so many ways. She handed down her class, manners, wit, humor, compassion, strength, sassiness, and of course her unconditional love to all of us. I will never ever forget my Grandmother and am so thankful that I'm still able to close my eyes and see her beautiful smile and hear her laughing or her sweet giggle in my head whenever I want. Her memory will live on forever. I miss and love you Grandma.
J
Judy Taggart posted a condolence
Saturday, September 5, 2009
“Mom, Mother, MO-O-O-OMY!!” my sisters and I used to tease each other as we called upon Mom to referee yet another of our altercations. Our big brother, Eric, was already responsible beyond his years and quite civilized and entertaining. She must have wondered why she didn’t she stop with one. How did she do it, I wonder now?
In truth, I don’t think she quite knew how she did it. I know she told me once that she remembered thinking how nice it would be to be to check in to a hospital when we were small and rest for a few days. Later in life, she wisely amended that to how nice it would be to check into the Venetian. Much, much better. Eric would whisk her off now and again to live the dream, a far cry from the Vegas trips of our youths.
As children we often enjoyed incredible home baked treats she would make for us. I salivate at the memory of her cinnamon rolls. Did she notice that we would sneak in and steal from the cooling plate behind her back? I remember trudging home from school in the rain and feeling so cozy when greeted by my Mommy with a still warm baked treat and a mug of hot cocoa.
If Mom seemed at times unsentimental, it was because she could not afford sentiment after losing her dear mother at age 7 and for a while losing her beloved father to grief. “You are an orphan now,” her grandmother told her, “and as such you need to learn to take care of yourself.” When I commented on how harsh that sounded, she said that she was glad that her grandmother made her learn to be self-sufficient. I think her early memories of her mother sustained her and she endeavored to be the kind of mother she remembered. She succeeded.
Mother was so intelligent. I remember she once told me about one of the nuns teaching a lesson about the horrors of communism when she was probably in second grade or so. The sister commented that if they lived in a communist state, everyone would have to share everything. You would not be able to own anything. And my mother thoughtfully spoke up and asked, “Isn’t that what Jesus wanted us to do?”
Indeed Mother would share everything. She was a check grabber until she could no longer grab. She shared everything she had. She took care of everyone else before she took care of herself. This she did without complaining. I remember my ignorance as a girl when my mother asked me to get her a glass of ice water after cleaning and cooking for a houseful of company and finally sitting down after feeding everyone. I grumbled to myself that she was so lazy and why could she not get her own water. Ouch… that makes me cringe now. She was so generous and lovely that I think many of my friends had mother envy.
When I became pregnant at the ripe age of 41, mother promised she would come down and help me with my baby. Well, Walt was two weeks late and would not come until the day after his Granny arrived. Even in the womb, he was brilliant!
Mom came and she stayed with us for eight and a half years, through sickness and in health. I will eternally be grateful for what she did for us. We are all better people for her guidance and example. She sometimes would lose her patience and mutter under her breath, “Como chingas la paciencia?” I’m sure my Spanish is off and for all I know this could be cursing, but I mention it because Walt translated it into his own version, which was a vehement, “Virginia a la paciencia!” She taught him how to play cards and how to play Scrabble, while she endured other sillier board games. Walt commented just the other day that he always knew he could get Granny to play Scrabble when she did not feel like playing anything else. She blessed us with her great sense of humor and it is a pleasure to hear some of my mom’s wit coming out of this young boy. They walked together everyday until her arthritis finally made it too painful. People in our neighborhood that I didn’t even know would wave and say hello to Walt because they had met him with his Granny on their daily walks.
Mom and Walt’s walks sometimes took them to the local bakery for an iced sugar cookie and to the local 7-11 for Icees and lotto tickets. She just knew that she would win someday and sometimes did quite well with her scratch offs. But as far as winning the big one goes, I think we won that one for her. We won the Mother Lottery and those riches will stay with us forever.
In love,
Judy
L
Leah Cox posted a condolence
Saturday, September 5, 2009
I don't have many memories of Virginia, but I do know that she has a special spot in my heart forever. I had the privaledge to come down to california with Jamie this past end of May 2009. I finally, after over 10 years of knowing miss Jamie got to meet her extended family in california. It was so fun for me to see her reconnect with her cousins and aunties and of course her wonderful Grandomther Virginia. I had met Virginia years back at Thanksgiving, but didn't have much time with her so this trip down was special because I was able to spend time with her and help Jamie with bringing her here to Washington. For some reason Virginia took a liking to me...she was very kind, sweet, and thankful to me so she just nuzzled right into my heart. I won't ever forget that trip back home with jamie and virginia! having to push her in her wheelchair through the tiny airport while birds are flying in the doors dive bombing us and of course we have a 2 hour delay..like why wouldn't there be a delay when all we wanted to do was get her home safe and quick. The non-stop turbulance that jamie and I cannot stand, but I was able to tune out. I look over and see sweet grandma virginia holding jamies hand and letting jamie rest on her shoulder all the way to Washington even after she was tired and stuck in her chair for hours she still was so sweet and able to comfort her grandaughter. It was just so loving and sweet. I was able to visit a few times after we got her up here and it was always so nice to see her warm smile. It was so wonderful to finally bond with someone I knew had such a huge impact on one of my longtime best friends and made who her she is today. I cry writing this because I know all of you have lost the one who has made your family so strong and so close. Just remember that! Stay strong and close and love one another and always remember the one who led you down this path. Virginia will be missed by many but her memories will live forever. Love Leah
S
Sheri Neville posted a condolence
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Janice, Kathy, Susie, Eric, Judy. Barb—all of You. . .
Most likely you know that I loved your Mom very much and am thankful that much of what I loved in her is evidenced in all of you, her daughters, son and grandchildren. I so much cherished the unconditional love she gave those she cared about. . .the unwavering loyalty. . .the fact that she did not suffer fools. . .the way she appreciated beauty and excellence in art, in music, and in life. . .the way that her instantaneous protective instincts took over when hurtful words or circumstances threatened—even a little—her loved ones. . .her sense of humor and the nuances of irony which often surfaced. . .her intellect. . .her honest openness and lack of hesitation when it came to speaking her mind. . .at times, her feistiness. . .her acceptance of what could not be altered and the willingness to do battle, just in case. . .the constant encouragement she offered. . .the total immersion in family and things that concerned her family. . .the way she considered each child born an absolute “Gift,” while all of us knew that Virginia was the real gift.
How awesome it was to know her and be part of her life. . .even more awesome for you to have enjoyed her as your Mother and Grandmother (also as a sister, of course). What a magnificent blessing!!!
And, as mentioned previously, I am grateful for still being able to see ALL of Virginia’s wonderful qualities in each one of you. I am better for having known her and for knowing all of you. Thank you.
It is said, “The body has death, but not the Soul. . .the body sleeps, the Soul flies.” If that is, indeed, the case, Virginia is soaring freely through the universe right now. . .
L
Librado Romero posted a condolence
Saturday, September 5, 2009
A few fond memories:
She was witty, adorable...and she made great fudge. What more could a
baby brother ask. She was the fourth child of five girls,
arriving in Los Angeles fresh off the train from New Mexico and
she almost immediately became my surrogate mother when my mother
returned to work. I called her Gigi. I didn't know any of them by
their given names. To me they were Dickie, Gracie, Ma-lee, ( I
couldn't pronounce Mary Lee), Gigi and Logie. I was Lee-Lee-Boy.
Their boy toy.
Having visited the backwoods in the Land of Enchantment from
whence they came, I had imagined them arriving in LA a bit on the
scruffy side. Perhaps barefooted. But of course, that was not the
case. They were elegant young ladies, as Dickie was quick to
tell; They were smart and they loved to read. And they were
extremely well mannered, taught, no doubt, by their mother. They
dutifully passed on those manners to me. To this day I open doors for
ladies. "Let me get that, please, my sisters would be very upset if
I didn't". I still relinquish a seat on the bus and whenever
strolling down the Avenue with my love, I take the curb side in order
to block any mud splattered by a horse and carriage.
Now, I know that they were elegant because they would dress me in
Dickie's fancy dresses, her size being just right for a full length
gown on me. I posed, I'm sure, to their screaming delight, with one
hand on hip, the other behind a stylish hat with a face net covering
an impish four-year-old's grin. They also covered my skinny torso
with band-aids, head to foot, and posed me as an unlikely boxer with
my fists up, challenging any takers. But all along, it was Virginia
staying home from school to watch over me. Lola tells me that she
missed her graduation because of baby-sitting duties. In all the
pictures I have of her holding me as a baby, you can see that she was
pleased and proud, and that perhaps she was already preparing for her
own children to come, the proverbial twinkle in one's eye. I like to
brag that they turned out so well because she had practiced on me.
When we moved to Calexico, the most exciting times for me were
my sisters' visiting around Christmas time. They arrived in a
caravan from Los Angeles that involved the Taggarts, the Jimenez clan
and the Seymours. There was much talk about gas mileage and who
made it in less time. The kids would all empty out and head straight
for the bathroom. And each summer that I spent with them back in
their various apartments in and around Los Angeles was a return to
Eden. I remember the great smell of fresh bread from the Helms
factory and the free Mattell plastic model airplane parts discarded
by a tiny factory that was down the alley in Culver City where she
shared a bungalow with Dickie.
Among my fondest memories of Virginia was at our dad's funeral in
Santa Rosa in 1990. (We referred to him afterward as "Our Father,
Who Art in New Mexico"). After his burial ceremony we were all
lounging about the house with our favorite Uncle Lupe entertaining
all the ladies with bawdy songs and terrible jokes: He'd proudly say,
"Lee used to be the best singer in the family.....but not anymore".
Suddenly, a black town-car pulled up and out stepped a tall, dashing,
elderly man wearing a Stetson and very expensive cowboy boots. The
ladies recognized him and became very excited. He was a
retired U.S. Senator from New Mexico. My mother greeted him and
then he caught sight of Virginia and he approached her and they
joined hands, as if they were going to dance. And he said, looking
down at her, as he was very tall, "Parese a su mama." "You look
like your mother". Virginia gleamed. He added, again in Spanish,
"Lee stole her from me". And without missing a beat, Virginia
answered, "Do you mean I could have been a Senator's daughter?"
Oh, I forgot. She had great legs. When we were in Calexico we
received a newspaper clipping showing Virginia clad only in a
uniform jacket, posing as an usher for one of the fancier movie
houses. Ticket sales soared.
S
Steven Myers posted a condolence
Saturday, September 5, 2009
To my Taggart "brother" and "sisters":
When Hal passed away, I spoke at his funeral as I had at my mother's. At the time, your mom, in the spirit of comforting I think, said that when she passed she wanted me to write her a eulogy. I said I would. I'm not sure she was serious or that she'd have even remembered, but I do...and here it is.
Love
Steve
Auntie Virgie
Between the fourth and sixth grade, we lived with Auntie Virgie and Uncle Tag in Venice on the boardwalk at 2911 Ocean Front Walk. Mom worked nights and slept days so most of the time my duty adult was Virginia.
Initially, I thought she was really strict, but, in time, came to understand that she was just disciplined – something every child needs to be exposed to in their daily lives. Cousin Eric and I had daily chores that we were expected to perform. No lists mind you, just the knowledge of what you were supposed to do and, although she never yelled at or raised a hand to us, the subtle impression that you didn’t want to mess up and “get in trouble”.
Then there were the rules. For example, bed time for Janice and Barbie was 7pm. Eric had to peel off at 7:30. As the oldest, I was allowed to stay up until 8pm. I remember how great it felt to be the oldest. I always stayed up until 8pm, even though I frequently could barely keep my eyes open.
Life was good. The house itself was a magical magnet for friends and family – weekends were filled with visits from our other cousins who ran and swam and lounged with us on the beach. Our world was an ongoing flurry of things to look forward to, underpinned by predictable routines and Auntie’s ever present guidance.
And, of course, there was the food. My god the food! Auntie was a great cook. Meals were terrific. I always smile when I remember the story about Virginia making dinner for Eric one night before we moved to the beach. Hamburger steak with mashed potatoes and peas, I believe.
Eric, who I’d guess was four or five at the time, polished off the hamburger quickly and asked if there was any more. Virginia who, was preoccupied tending to Janice and preparing to make Tag’s meal when he arrived home, answered with her characteristic wit that there was three pounds of it in the refrigerator. Without missing a beat, Eric replied, “good, I’ll have it with Ketchup”.
Wow, the stories. I think that’s my favorite memory of all. Turns out, we’re a family of storytellers. Left to our own devises, we probably would never need a TV. Auntie and Mom would tell us stories incessantly. Stories about their childhood days in New Mexico were my favorite. I never got tired of hearing about those early days, which were imbued with their deep and abiding love and respect for our Grandpa Lee; who he was and what he stood for. Grandpa was a giant in my eyes, before I ever met him, because of those stories that connected us all with where we came from and who we were.
Sitting here now, writing this memory, I’m overwhelmed with a sense of sadness and loss for Virginia, a lifelong mentor and friend, who taught me so much. Still, in the midst of the sadness, I am so grateful for having her in my life. For all of the good times, the laughter, camaraderie and, at the end of the day, for the feeling of belonging that is rooted in those early days of my childhood, living on the boardwalk with Auntie, my other mom.
I can’t help thinking of a line from a treasured poem written by my youngest daughter, Laura. Paraphrased it goes…
”She kept us all together,
I wish it could have lasted forever”.
J
Judy Taggart posted a condolence
Saturday, September 5, 2009
A Memorial will be held on October 3rd in Santa Ana. I will post details at this site when they have been finalized.
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