Reflections - Mary Ann

Mary Ann Mahoney

Mary Ann Mahoney

March 4, 1933 - July 19, 2024

After Mary Ann retired from teaching in Shaker Heights, she helped Bette and me with children needing reading support at Ruffing. Mary Ann would arrive for her afternoon schedule, plop into the chair that I’d covered to resemble the School Bus chair in the Magic School Bus books, and chat while Bette and I finished lunch. Mary Ann said the routine gave structure to her week. 

She had a full life with her second husband Steve, a house in Maine, an apartment in Shaker Heights, sailing, harpsichord playing, their corgi, concerts, and fine dining. Her lips smacked describing the delicious lobster dripped in butter she ate in Maine. She’d been so enthusiastic that when Spence and I went to the Olde Dublin Pub in Charlottetown on Prince Edward Island, I ordered lobster to see what I’d missed. I wrote her a postcard all about my experience.

. . .

I stared at the lobster. Its beady eyes stared back. I turned the plate so the eyes stared at Spence and picked up the cracker. It slid off the shell five times before I heard a crunch. I inserted the scissors in the crack and cut the shell. The white meat inside tasted like intensified crab. Squeezing lemon juice, I ate to the end of the abdomen and cut open the thorax. Total green goo.

 

Spence lifted a bite of chicken quesadilla. “Don’t eat the green stuff.”

. . .

 

I filled the bowl our waitress had given me with shells, dipped my lobster-sticky fingers into my water glass, and came to a conclusion. “I’m glad I tried the lobster,” I told Spence, “but, if I’m ever tempted to order it again, remind me I said once was enough.”

When I returned to Ruffing, Mary Ann sat in the School Bus chair and laughed about the postcard so heartily that I expected she’d split open like a lobster—without need of the cracker or scissors.

We are planting a northern blue flag iris by the catchment basin ponds in memory of Mary Ann.

 

Cool as a Moose Gift Shop Postcard

 Reflections - 56th Anniversary with Norma and Bob

Tropical Pitcher Plant

Dear Addy,

I thought of you when Spence and I visited the Buffalo Botanical Gardens. Lots of folks took pictures. Only I wrote flower names in a notebook like you and I did on our flower walk in May.

Spence and I dressed in long sleeve layers because the temperature was a chilly 41° F when we left home. We met my cousins Bob and Norma, who wore short sleeves. I found out why.

In the dry, hot dessert room, I wrote Bear Grass, Prickly Pear, Barrel Cactus, Foxtail Agave, Butterfly Agave, Crown of Thorns, and Ponytail Palm. I gawked at shapes—fans, barrels, snakes, fingers, and puffs. Sharp spines convinced me not to touch.

In the steamy hot rainforest room, foot-long koi swished in a shallow pool at the bottom of a tall waterfall. Besides being fun to watch, the fish were part of a natural cycle. They ate plants growing beside their pond, and their poop fertilized the plants.

In the hot carnivorous plant room, pitcher plants were cool. The pitchers, which are leaves, hung from vines. Their lids emitted nectar to attract insects. The insides of the pitchers had hairs pointing down to make the walls slippery so the bugs couldn’t get out. Liquid in the bottom digested the bugs. No bugs flew in while we watched.

By then we were hot, HOT, HOT. We came across a fountain of a barefoot girl standing in a pool of water. “That looks like something Addy would do,” I said and took a picture of the fountain for you.

Love,

Aunt Janet

Fountain

Caladium

Dear Marlee,

I hope the weather and your health are letting you get into your garden.

Do you remember Mrs. Henderson, our biology teacher from Jefferson Junior High? Norma’s my dad’s cousin. She and her husband Bob treated Spence and me to a tour of the Buffalo Botanical Garden on our anniversary. The palm trees soaring to the towering glass dome enchanted me, but I focused my phone camera lens on the swirly greens and pinks of the wide leaf plant under them. The sign in its pot read, Betel Nut Palm—a clue I’d have a problem later.

In a room labeled “Beautiful Colors,” two bonsai were among the greens. The one labeled “Tropical” appeared to be a citrus tree. No tiny fruits let me decide whether lemon or lime. The other tree was a majestic conifer. Spence and I guessed fir. I asked three workers near the room. Each said, “I’m not a horticulturist. Check with the people in the bonsai exhibit. They’ll know.”

We tramped to the next building over and viewed the Bonsai Show hosted by the Buffalo Bonsai Society. Delightful Junipers, White Pines, and Japanese Maples didn’t distract me from my mission. I showed one after another bonsai expert the photo of the majestic conifer. They suggested spruce. Maybe fir. Maybe larch. They couldn’t tell from the picture.

If we were still in junior high, you could guard the door while I crawled up and felt a needle to see if it rolled like a spruce. Now I’ll let the noble tree stand in peace. The needle looked flat without a point—most likely a fir. One of the non-horticulturists made a note to put a label on the tree. I’m satisfied with that.

Love,

Janet

Bonsai - Old Fir or Spruce

 
 If you want to see all sixteen postcards in the 56th Anniversary with Norma and Bob - Buffalo, Erie County, and Niagara Falls Postcard Journal, use this link:  https://sites.google.com/site/wellswoodpa/vacations/56th-anniversary-with-norma-and-bob