I've had a couple of questions, so I thought I'd post about Barbara. She was quite remarkable.
What are the odds that, out of seven natural-born children in our family (there were two others), only one would earn a college degree? I suppose it was a hyper work ethic that dumped us all into the work force before we'd completed our education. But Barbara was always driven differently.
Ours was a very small neighborhood in Hampton, N.H., with lots of kids. I mostly remember Barbara outside until past dark every day, competing with the boys. She'd play shirts/skins sports until she was 10.
When our family moved to Washington in 1972, Barbara remained behind to complete the final two years of high school. Following that, she came home and attended Northern Virginia Community College to earn her Associates Degree.
She got her first full-time job at a local department store (which name escapes me), becoming department manager. She saved and bought a new car, and quickly moved out on her own.
She took a job with Ormond's, a local women's clothing outlet. She became store manager, district supervisor, and eventually regional Vice President. She married and bought a gorgeous home in New Hampshire. I cannot tell you how much I looked up to her.
When she and her husband parted, she moved back to Boston, bought a fire-red Porsche and enrolled in an MBA program at Simmons. We centered a family reunion around her graduation.
After graduating, she became a CFO-for-hire - a financial Top-Gun for small businesses. One of her clients was Heartwood, a retailer of handcrafted furniture with locations in Harvard Square, New Haven and Westport, Connecticut. Barbara became their full-time financial advisor, then became partner, then eventually sole owner.
It was at this point, in the Spring of 1990, that I moved to Boston and shared a house with her in a failed attempt to attain my MBA. I was only there a year before I returned to my job in Washington, but it was one of the favorite times of my life. We became quite close, and used to joke how marriage would be quite unnecessary if we could just keep our situation going. Each day I'd select a recipe from the Silver Palate cookbook, take the Porsche up to Wilson Farms and shop for fresh ingredients for that night's dinner. After a hard day, she'd come home to a great meal, and we'd sit on the back porch drinking tea and eating stale fig newtons (purposely stale, as we liked them). She'd often come home for lunch (P-T-H as we called it - Prime Tanning Hour) and we'd lay out in the sun in the back yard. Sometimes I'd help her out in the store, and we'd work until well after midnight arranging furniture. When we were too exhausted to move any more, we'd each select a favorite luxurious bed and sleep right there in the store.
More recently, she bought a run-down house in an up-and-coming Boston suburb. The entire family descended on it for two weeks in a group effort to gut it and rebuild it. God we had some laughs. I remember putting on reggae music, dancing and drumming along the walls with paint-stirring sticks. I remember mooning her from the attic, through a hole in the ceiling. We certainly are a strange clan. Every time I return to my native New England, my accent comes back automatically. Sometimes, I'll put it into hyperdrive just for laughs. And so it was on one particular trip to the Home Depot. Barbara and I went to the paint department to get some caulk. Not thinking about the effects of a New England accent on the item in question, I shouted to the guy behind the counter to inquire if he [ie: the store] had any [of the item in question]. I don't think I could adequately describe his reaction. Barb and I had to hold on to each other to keep from falling on the floor in laughter. She was never one to be embarrassed.
Barbara consolidated her operations by liquidating two of her stores to focus on the Cambridge location. She was also a certified fitness consultant, running aerobics, stretching, yoga and Tai Chi classes for local health clubs. She had her own stretching business, with many devoted clients. She would begin each day by driving her golden labrador retriever, Sophie, to Walden Pond for a swim across and back. She ran the Marine Corp Marathon a few years back. Its just the way she was - few could keep up with her.
And she never lost her sense of humor. It sounds strange, but after her diagnosis, when times would get difficult, I'd assume an alter identity and call her cell phone to leave a message. The caller was Doctor Patel, a politically incorrect figment of my imagination, born of an inexplicable talent with an Indian accent. Dr. Patel would call to administer a remote colonoscopy. I couldn't possibly go into the details, but it was quite funny the things he would find in there, including some of her regular doctors. For someone whose privacy was declared null-and-void the moment she was diagnosed, she seemed to appreciate the humor of it.
When we had a family reunion four months ago, Barbara was instrumental in arranging for an outlandish joke. They sent me on an errand, and when I returned, there was a sign in the front yard:
Dr. Patel's Rectal Clinic.
Poolside.
I made my way to the rear patio to find all my brothers and sisters in scrubs, surrounding a "patient" (my nephew-in-law) in stirrups. They were all awaiting Dr. Patel's expert instruction. God, we sure could have some laughs.
I've been to Boston twice since then. I never imagined for a second that as I kissed her goodbye on my last visit, it would be the last time I would see her. Barbara's enduring legacy is everywhere. It is on the face of Felix, a young kid in trouble whom she took under her wing and helped him grow into the great person he is today. It is in the minds of the many business associates and clients whose lives she touched - many of whom contact me daily to inquire after her. It is in the humor that lingers for all who knew her. And it is in the myriad accomplishments that inspire us all to achieve more. Though I often fall short, I can only smile in the knowledge that she'd think otherwise.
Barbara and Felix
Dr. Patel's Rectal Clinic. Poolside.
