“The crown of life is neither happiness nor annihilation; it is understanding.” ~ Winifred Holtby
This week I’m thinking about and missing New Jersey poet friend Gail Gerwin, who died of cancer on October 3, 2016.
Some of you may remember Gail as a former Poetry Potluck guest from 2012, when she shared a poem from her poetic memoir Sugar and Sand (Full Court Press, 2009), along with her mother Cele’s Stuffed Cabbage recipe.
I credit Gail with piquing my interest in Jewish culture and cuisine, and we used to joke about my wanting to find a nice Jewish grandmother to adopt me. Kind, generous, and very loving, Gail was devoted to her family and was especially proud of her grandchildren, whom she referred to as “my raison d’être.”
Gail’s death came as a complete shock to me. I learned about it on Facebook while casually scrolling through my newsfeed one day. I had no idea she had been battling cancer, and it was devastating to hear that she was gone. Not too long before that she had emailed a photo of her grandson’s bar mitzvah, so I assumed all was well.
It’s been especially poignant to reread Gail’s last poetry collection, Crowns (Kelsay Books/Aldrich Press 2015), which came out just about a year before she died. In many ways, it’s a love letter to her family, as it examines cherished relationships with loved ones near and far, past and present, with personal reflections about growing up in Paterson, New Jersey.
But it’s also a celebration of our common humanity. As she writes about her sweet sixteen dress, the heartache of losing a college boyfriend, shopping for school clothes with her mother, connecting with a cousin in Israel via Skype, the sadness of losing a beloved pet, or the “Resignation” one feels for unfulfilled dreams, her beautifully crafted narratives, laced with specific details that trigger our own memories, resonate with universal truths.
Today I’m sharing “The Tablecloth” because for me it is quintessential Gail. It reminds me of the interesting things she taught me about Passover, and I remember well her anticipation and excitement at having her family celebrate the holiday at her home.
I will always picture her smiling proudly at her beautifully set table, anxious to share all the homemade dishes she lovingly prepared for everyone. Besides stuffed cabbage, will there also be gefilte fish, matzoh ball soup, brisket, spinach gnocchi, matzoh kugel, and sponge cake? Thanks to her, I can also imagine some of her guests participating in seder holy rituals.
I like thinking this is where she most loved to be — at the table with all her loved ones gathered round — each one a singular jewel in her crown.
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THE TABLECLOTH
by Gail Fishman Gerwin
Decades of dinners sat on the tablecloth, cream
brocade with indelible spots: soup spills, briskets,
turkey gravy, an everlasting stew served up with
debate, whining, laughter, dog yelps from the kitchen,
let me out, I don’t belong in this crate.
One March Passover, winter’s last shot, a half foot
of snow the day before, so many still with us — my
mother, my husband’s parents, our friends, their
parents. We watched them slide down the driveway,
casseroles in hand. Through the cluttered garage they
snaked around parked cars, bikes, striped beach chairs
that longed for summer.
Their coats shed, we gathered around the table,
fifteen crowded where twelve could fit. My husband
dimmed the lights, began a slide show. For months
he’d copied family photos of all present, set slides to
music. He featured the elders as young lovers, showed
hopeful brides, grooms, showed the children (to their
delight) as newborns, toddlers, pre-teens.
The kids cackled at their parents as kids; grandparents
wept for sweet memories (my mother for her husband),
the middle generation watchful for the present, fearful
of the future.
The tablecloth heard a lot that night. The matzoh balls
are too hard. Too soft. You’ll be eating this brisket
for a week. So freeze it. I can’t eat another thing.
And then it heard goodbyes. Time for our friends
to return parents to their nest three towns away.
The tablecloth saw many festive occasions after that,
witnessed gatherings when our daughters’ grandparents
died. Sometimes other cloths, sewn on the machine
upstairs, supplanted its perch. One memorable fabric,
aglow with protective coating, repelled liquid. Spills
beaded and ran down ten feet of table, the direction
depending on which way laughing cousins tilted it.
But this veteran was the favorite, spots masked by
centerpieces, service plates, mismatched water goblets.
Shreds lovingly patched, its life paralleled by personal
growth, its burdens lightened by hungry boyfriends.
Replaced by more splendid cloths, one brought by our
daughter from her honeymoon, it was relegated to the
back of the linen shelf. Until the garage sale. Pulled out,
washed, tumbled, pressed, tied with a gold bow, it lay
regally in the driveway on the ping-pong table, stood
inspection of seasoned garagers.
The familiar family laughter distant, it listened anew.
Why only seven napkins? What’s this spot? Wouldja take
two dollars? How about throwing in these placemats?
And I answered: It’s been sold.
~ from Crowns by Gail Fishman Gerwin (Kelsay Books/Aldrich Press, 2015)
*
Miss you, Gail.
❤️ Read a beautiful tribute to Gail written by her dear friend Adele Kenny at The Music In It.
*
🎉 BOOKJOY, WORDJOY GIVEAWAY WINNER! 🎈
Happy to announce that the lucky winner of Bookjoy, Wordjoy by Pat Mora and Raul Colón is:
🌸 MICHELLE HEIDENRICH BARNES !! 🌼
CONGRATULATIONS, MICHELLE!!
Please email me with your snail mail address so I can send the book out pronto.
Thanks, everyone, for commenting. Another poetry book giveaway coming up next Friday. 🙂
*
The lovely and talented Tabatha Yeatts is hosting the Roundup at The Opposite of Indifference. Sashay on over to check out the full menu of poetic goodness being served up in the blogosphere this week. Have a good weekend!
Copyright © 2018 Jama Rattigan of Jama’s Alphabet Soup. All rights reserved.
This was a beautiful post! Thank you for sharing Gail with us 💕
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Thanks for reading, Linda. Gail was indeed a very special person.
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Sad news. Rest in peace. Condolences to her family.
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Her beautiful spirit lives on in her poems.
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What a beautiful testimony to the person that she was. I’m so sorry for your loss, but ty for sharing this.
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Thank you, Deborah.
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It’s so hard to lose a friend. My sympathies.
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Thanks, Anna. I’m grateful I got to know Gail online. She was always so generous and gracious.
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Whew. I found myself tearing up as I read about the tablecloth. I’m so sorry that you lost your friend. Ruth, thereisnosuchthingasagodforsakentown.blogspot.com
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Picturing Gail seated at her table with her family and friends is a lovely way to remember her.
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Thank you, dear Jama, for this wonderful tribute to Gail Gerwin. She was a truly special person, a dear friend, and a jewel in poetry’s crown.
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Yes, she was truly special, and thanks to her, I got to know you and your poetry :).
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It’s a loving post, Jama. I love “each one a singular jewel in her crown.” And oh, that poem, filled with her memories, yet touching all of us too. I smiled all through, and said “hurrah” to myself at “It’s been sold.” Thank you!
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I love when good writers can make specifics so universal. This was one of Gail’s greatest gifts as a poet.
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A beautiful, intimate and loving memorial for your friend Gail, Jama. I am so sorry.
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Thanks for stopping by, Wendy. Gail is truly missed by all who knew her.
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What a loving tribute to a woman who seems to have filled the lives around her with so much love.
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She was indeed very loving — you could sense that right away.
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What a tribute – and for her to share something so beautiful and personal as her family traditions and faith is the sign of a truest friend. May her memory be a blessing, Jama-j.
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Her memory and her friendship are indeed blessings. So grateful our paths crossed online.
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Thanks for sharing your lovely memories and your friend’s lovely poetry. I can see the spots on that tablecloth, hear the memories it holds…
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I love the poem’s immediacy, full of details we can all identify with.
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What a beautiful post. What a beautiful friend. What a beautiful memory. A blessing for me to receive today. Thank you
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Gail’s memory has brought light to an otherwise dark week.
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Lovely memories of your friend Gail, and her poem, or I should say “The Tablecloth'(s)” poem melts away with each verse added. The last line reveals all–thanks for sharing all Jama!
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Yes, melts away — a good way of describing it!
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I’ve been crying a lot over the past week, but my tears after reading this post is a celebration for lives well lived and loved. Thanks, Jama.
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So nicely put, Diane. Same here.
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What a lovely post and tribute. Wishing you warm hugs around a table shared with friends.
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Thanks, Kay, I wish the same to you!
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A lovely reflection, Jama. Beautiful memories.
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Gail was one of a kind, beloved by so many.
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I still mourn the sale of the dollhouse my dad built for me. It was a scale model of our house, and as packed with memories as Gail’s tablecloth. I wish I would have had enough space to give it the same ending as the tablecloth in this poem.
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Oh, that *is* sad, Mary Lee. The dollhouse sounds like such a treasure, especially since your Dad built it. Too cool that it was a model of your house too.
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I love that she treasured each stain. Her heart had its priorities right.
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Yes, she led with her heart. Her memory is a comfort and blessing for sure.
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Great tribute.
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Thank you for this beautiful posting of this beautiful lady. The poem was lovely. I will keep my eyes peeled for her book.
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Thanks for reading, Tana!
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