Mae Charlotta Florence

Mae was preceded in death by her sister, Lois Johnson. She is survived by her husband of 58 years, Gerald, and her daughter, Amy Florence, and granddaughter, Rachel Auestad.

Mae attended Monmouth College in Monmouth, IL as a music major and was an accomplished pianist. She was also past Honor Queen for Job's Daughters and a member of Eastern Star. She had a passion for the arts and music, and was a supporter of animal and wildlife advocacy groups.

Mae took great pride in her Scottish heritage with ties to the Gordon clan and McGhie sept.

A celebration of her life will be held at Bellevue First Congregational Church, NE 8th Street and 108th Avenue NE, Bellevue at 2:00 PM on Saturday, June 20, 2009.

In lieu of flowers, donations in Mae's name may be made to The Humane Society for Tacoma & Pierce County (2608 Center Street, Tacoma, WA 98409), Village Theatre (303 Front St N, Issaquah, WA 98027) or The Nature Conservancy in Washington (1917 1st Avenue, Seattle, WA 98101).

Arrangements by Sunset Hills Funeral Home, Bellevue, WA, 425-746-1400.

Not Always a Homemaker

Most people look back on my mom and recall her being a homemaker, wife, and mother. That was true when she moved to Bellevue with my dad back in 1957. Not many people know that while my dad was going through boot camp for the Marine Corps at Camp Pendleton that my mom lived in a little apartment in what was then a modest part of Beverly Hills. She worked for a local brokerage firm and followed the tickertape and the symbols and watched the ebb and flow of the stock market.

When my parents moved back to Chicago so my dad could attend Northwestern University, my mom worked in the public relations department for Zenith radio. Part of her job included general administrative tasks, but also perusing the papers for articles related to Zenith, its competitors, and other related news stories. She would clip the articles along with the date and source of information.

Long after my parents moved to Bellevue, my mom continued to follow the stock market and what the national and global markets were doing. She also continued to read the newspaper, the whole newspaper minus perhaps a portion of the classified ads section, clipping out articles of interest. There are files filled with newspaper clippings that would put the local historical archives to shame.

I know I would not have wanted to compete for a job against her. She was intelligent, knowledgeable about current events, could recall past information as though it took place just yesterday, and ran a calendar that could outperform most software programs.

The Piano

It sits in the western part of the living room in all its majesty: a 1938 Baldwin grand piano with original ivory and ebony keys. My dad had extra bracing built under the floor where the piano sits to accommodate the weight. The piano has always been the focal point of the living room and for years, I would hear my mother practice Chopin preludes and other classical pieces. This was the piano of her childhood and it was her pride and joy. She made certain it was tuned regularly and dusting it was akin to dusting a cherished antique being mindful of the various hammers, strings, and especially, of those keys. The piano bench was filled with her favorite music books and was the perfect height to accommodate her petite frame.

Despite my mom’s attempts to teach me how to play, I never did catch on and instead pursued ballet. I do not have too many memories of those early piano lessons, but I do recall when her mentor would come to town for performances in Seattle that he would come to visit my mom. I was always thrilled, because when he came to visit, he brought along his seeing-eye dog, Lee, a very loving golden retriever. Never mind that my mom was jamming with jazz great George Shearing on the piano. I was just happy to hang out with Lee.

Eventually, when the arthritis took hold, the playing became less frequent and soon the piano was silent. It was kept tuned and dusted, but no more music came from it. Although my daughter could play, she avoided the temptation as it almost seemed more of a cruel reminder that my mom could no longer play.

The music is still on the piano and stowed in the bench. I may just have to learn how to play the piano at some point – after I learn how to read music.

Themed Birthday Parties

Long before Chucky Cheese and pottery painting parties, my mother was arranging theme-oriented birthday parties. Mind you, our family was of modest means, but somehow my mom managed to pull off some of the most creative birthday parties complete with themed party favors she put together herself.

One birthday party I remember was based on the story of the tortoise and the hare. The games all related somehow to the story and mom cut, glued, and hand-stitched tortoise-shaped beanbags for my friends to take home with them after the party. The cake was a rainbow layer cake – a different fruit flavor filling between each layer – and had a tortoise and hare neatly designed in colored frosting on the top. She always ordered the cakes through Arthur’s Bakery and Florence, the cake decorator, always managed to follow a design my mom brought in from a napkin or invitation.

My beanbag tortoise has a pink shell and a yellow belly with light green legs and head with dark green eyes. It sits my dresser drawer with other keepsakes from my childhood. After all these years, it has yet to fade and it has not lost any of its beans.

Always Driving to a Ballet Class

Someone once told me that all the trips I making to see that my daughter got to oboe classes and symphony rehearsals was payback for all of the driving my mom did for me over the years when I was dancing. Starting when I was four, my mom used to make the drive between Bellevue and into Seattle to see that I got to ballet classes at the Cornish School.

At first, the trips were weekly. Eventually, as I got more involved with ballet, my mom was making the trip three or four times a week and on Saturdays as well. The real challenge on Saturdays would be during football season and dealing with the traffic going to Husky Stadium. Even with classes lasting an hour and half, it meant mom would have to hang out. She could not manage the three flights of stairs up to where the ballet studios were located so she would sit in the lobby and either read or knit.

Time passed and I moved onto Pacific Northwest Ballet and could easily take two buses to get to the Wallingford location. I got my driver’s license and could get myself to events either by bus or by car. Mom found she no longer had to make those long trips to Seattle.

Only years later would I really appreciate the sacrifice she made with all that driving.

Raining Cat and Dogs

When mom worked for Zenith, she and my dad ended up the proud owners of their first dachshund, Liebchen. That was the beginning of their love of dachshunds and at one point my parents were even taking their one dachshund, Victor, to dog shows.

The dog shows were part of an agreement they had with a breeder who sold them Victor. They made the trips, did what needed to be done, and eventually Victor had a Champion rating. But all of their dachshunds were part of the family. Even when I talked mom – and dad – into a kitten named Mary Ellen, the pets were people, too. You could always count on cards from the animals for special occasions and holidays. Mom always made sure that we observed the pets’ birthdays including non-chocolate cupcakes with a candle and the singing of “Happy Birthday.”

Although my parents were dog people first, when I was 10 years old I managed to talk my mom into just “looking” at a kitten. We looked at Mary Ellen at their home for nearly 16 years and I looked Mary Ellen for another four years after that. Mary Ellen was quite the challenge for my mom, particularly with the piano. The cat was notorious for walking across the keys in the early hours of the morning. Mary Ellen would also scramble to the top of the lid when it was open and then slide down the lid like it was a giant kitty playground. Sometimes, my mom would find her asleep on the felt inside the piano atop the strings.

When their last dachshund died, both my mom and dad realized that taking on raising a puppy was probably not a good plan for them. However, they remained active members of the local and national dachshund organizations and were contributors to the Tacoma-Pierce County Humane Society in their efforts involving dachshund rescues.

Early in 2009, I brought over my current cat, Cheng, to visit my mom and dad. Cheng – a rather affectionate and large Maine Coon – enjoyed visiting with my mom as she lay in bed and exploring. My mom was delighted to see him and to have him around even if he was more interested in checking everything out rather than just sitting on the bed. Although my mom never got the chance to visit Cheng and me in my new apartment, she did at least get a chance to have both of us visit her.

Seeing the World through the Performing Arts

Some people like to travel when they retire. My parents, especially my mom, enjoyed the performing arts and so my parents spent their retirement exploring the world through various events. Sometimes they would go to a Northwest Chamber Orchestra concert. Other times it might be a performance at Village Theatre. There were trips to hear the Keith Highlanders or attend the Scottish Highland Games.

Of course, mom and dad went to their fair share of ballet recitals and performances. When I was young, Mom always fussed over my costumes being kept clean and that my hair and makeup were done correctly. She made sure I got to the local dance shop to have new tights and clean ballet slippers and pointe shoes. Eventually, as I slowly cut back on performing, they found themselves attending various recitals for Rachel from her early drama days with Village Theatre’s Kidstage productions to her involvement in Village Theatre’s pit orchestra. There were also a lot of other performances and recitals in between.

Over the last few years, mom’s health made it more difficult for her to get to performances. She couldn’t manage the long drives to some of the venues or even physically accessing the venue. When I started dancing again and took up singing, mom was not able to make it to those recitals, but she loved to hear about them.

Four days after mom passed away, I sang at a fundraiser for the music school where I study voice. I sang “Rose’s Turn” from “Gypsy” and part of my costume was a lovely clutch purse that was my mom’s. She had given it to me some years ago to use for special occasions. That night, as I strode onstage reciting Rose’s soliloquy, I carefully placed the clutch atop the piano. For the audience, the clutch may have appeared only to be a prop, but for me it was a reminder that mom was there hearing me sing and watching me dance.

Memorial Speech for Mae Florence

My grandmother was a wonderful woman. Even until the very end, she was a fighter. A musician herself, she was very supportive of my music career, and was always excited to hear me play. The thing that I remember best about her was how she loved to tell the story of how she and my grandfather met, and how he climbed over church pews in Chicago to sit with her. Another thing she used to do, which would make me smile, was always make sure that my grandfather was always keeping up on whatever chores he had for the day. She was a lovely woman, and a wonderful grandmother. I will miss her, and I already do. In the famous words of Sarah McLachlan, “You’re in the arms of the angel. Fly away from here. From this dark, cold hotel room, and the endlessness that you fear. You were born from the wreckage of your silent reverie. You’re in the arms of the angel. May you find some comfort here.” I had some trouble trying to write this, and so, since this is so short, I have decided to include a poem from one of her favorite poets, Robert Burns. The poem is titled “My Love’s Like A Red, Red Rose” and I would like to dedicate it to my grandfather, and his unwavering love for my grandmother.

Oh, my love’s like a red, red rose

That’s newly sprung in June.

Oh, my love’s like a melody,

That’s sweetly played in tune.

As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,

So deep in love am I.

And I will love thee still, my dear,

Till all the seas gang dry.

Till all the seas gang dry, my dear,

And the rocks melt with the sun.

And I will love thee still, my dear,

While the sands of life shall run.

And fare thee well, my only love,

And fare thee well awhile.

And I will come again, my love,

Though it were ten thousand miles.

I am going home with You,

to Your home.

I am going home with You

to Your home of mercy.

I am going home with You

to the fount of all blessing.

***

WALKING WITH GRIEF

Do not hurry

as you walk with grief;

it does not help the journey.

Walk slowly,

pausing often;

do not hurry

as you walk with grief.

Be not disturbed

by memories that come unbidden.

Swiftly forgive;

and let Christ speak for you

unspoken words.

Unfinished conversation

will be recovered in Him.

Be not disturbed.

Be gentle with the one

who walks with grief.

If it is you,

be gentle with yourself.

Swiftly forgive;

walk slowly,

pausing often.

Take time, be gentle

as you walk with grief.

***

May the road rise to meet you;

may the wind be always at your back.

May the sun shine warm upon your face

and the rain fall softly on your fields.

Until we meet again

may god hold you

in the hollow of His hand.

***