Kito,
If I had only known that you would be gone so soon, I would have talked to you more often! How much I miss being able to email you about politics and talk about how crazy things are...
I keep having flash memories of that day last November when you picked me up at the Denver airport, and then we stopped at that mall...we were both browsing around the Anthropologie store, etc. I just keep remembering how normal that day seemed, just putzing around, no hurry to talk...it is so painful to think that visit was the last time I would ever hang out with you.
I think if you had lived, I would have persuaded you to brave the Indiana heat and come out here this summer for the Harp Festival. We hope Maddie comes out for it. And Miles, too. And Emily...
It's funny, how all the friends we had in college...some faded away and some were really kindred spirits.
Oh, just, I love you, Kito, and I think of you so often...
Lynne
Sunday, March 25, 2007
Thursday, February 15, 2007
A message I got from Kit
I was looking back at past emails from Kit and really liked this one from last fall, when I had written that I wanted to come and visit:
Dear Lynne,
You would have loved the kegger that we had for my B.D. And, I love you dearly and how wise we are to know that the only thing in this life that makes us rich is beloved friendships.
I'll look at my calendar and get back to you. Cass Owens is going to visit on Friday! Isn't that amazing.
more later,
kit
Dear Lynne,
You would have loved the kegger that we had for my B.D. And, I love you dearly and how wise we are to know that the only thing in this life that makes us rich is beloved friendships.
I'll look at my calendar and get back to you. Cass Owens is going to visit on Friday! Isn't that amazing.
more later,
kit
Tubas, plastic ants and miniature donkeys...
I remember the first time I met Kit Webster (Mary). I had only been dating her brother Patrick a short time. She came up to Denver from Colorado Springs with her then two year old daughter Emily to hear an outdoor Tuba concert of Christmas carols in Larimer Square. That sense of fun and joie de vive followed Kit wherever she went or whatever she did. When Pat and I married in 1989 Kit playfully 'decorated' our wedding cake with realistic black plastic ants.
I remember introducing Kit to a friend in Castle Rock who has a pair of miniature donkeys. Kit though they would be perfect for the Palm Sunday service at church to engage the children and make the service more lively. I though at the time she must have the most unique contacts in her Rolodex at work (from places to order live butterflies to the donkey lady). Her work at Grace Church seemed a perfect expression of who she was. The colorful artwork that filled the hallways at Grace came from her inspired Sunday school students and was a joy to see.
If we can take a lesson from Kit, it is to find the joy in the everyday and then share it.
We miss you Mary Webster.
Tam O'Neill
I remember introducing Kit to a friend in Castle Rock who has a pair of miniature donkeys. Kit though they would be perfect for the Palm Sunday service at church to engage the children and make the service more lively. I though at the time she must have the most unique contacts in her Rolodex at work (from places to order live butterflies to the donkey lady). Her work at Grace Church seemed a perfect expression of who she was. The colorful artwork that filled the hallways at Grace came from her inspired Sunday school students and was a joy to see.
If we can take a lesson from Kit, it is to find the joy in the everyday and then share it.
We miss you Mary Webster.
Tam O'Neill
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
Lynne's column about Mary
Two really funny people died recently. Art Buchwald was one. As much as I liked his witty political and social satire, I was really moved by his decision, along with friends Mike Wallace and William Styron, to be public about each of their battles with depression.
The ability to share one’s biggest problems, most threatening experiences, is a gift to others.
Which makes me think of the other funny person – Mary Catherine Webster -- my friend since our freshman days at Forest Quad in 1972. An Irish wit and storyteller, she attracted friends like a magnet.
We took several Religious Studies classes together during our years at IU, each on a quest to find our spiritual home. Eventually, she changed from her childhood Catholicism to Episcopalianism. I converted to Judaism. We often spoke of what a favorite religion professor, Anne Carr, had said: that the kind of questions you’re asking are more important than the answers you think you’ve found at any given time.
I think our friendship endured because we were always asking the same kinds of questions. And, if we had talked a week ago or a month ago, our conversations never failed to illuminate the important things -- where we were going, what we had learned, our goals, our hopes -- sometimes, our weaknesses. And always with laughter.
When I visited Mary last fall, I spent Sunday morning at Grace Church in Colorado Springs, watching her as she worked with teachers and students in her job as Director of Religious Education there. (We joked about how well she had put that degree in Religious Studies to use!)
In January, as she began a workshop for her Sunday School teachers, she prayed: “Thine is the kingdom and the power and glory” before she became too short of breath to continue. She did not survive a massive heart attack that day.
For Mary, interest in politics and thoughtfulness about material goods and charitable giving was a natural extension of her spiritual life. To observe her 50th birthday a couple of years ago, she wrote a letter to women friends asking them to contribute to charity instead of a gift; and began a course of study which would have resulted in her becoming a lay deacon of the Episcopal Church, a role in which ministering individually to people plays a big part.
How does thinking of Mary Catherine Webster connect to Art Buchwald, besides their ability to make life more colorful by the stories they told?
During our sophomore year in college, I was very, very depressed – enough to skip a couple weeks of class, weeping, feeling sorry for myself, wrapped in my wounded pride.
Mary was the friend who called and said “I love you and I want to be friends forever. But if you don’t call today and get yourself into some counseling, our friendship is over.”
I got the counseling. It changed my thinking. It gave me the tools to recognize, later in life, when I again needed some help.
Just as Art Buchwald called Mike Wallace every night when Wallace was on the road, helping him to make it through his depression, Mary was the one who gave me the push to make it through mine.
She would have made a great deacon.
Lynne Foster Shifriss is assistant to the editor of The Herald-Times.
Note: A favorite book of mine is “Seems Like Yesterday,” by Ann McGarry Buchwald, about their romance and lives together in Paris in the ’50s. You can find used copies on Amazon.
The ability to share one’s biggest problems, most threatening experiences, is a gift to others.
Which makes me think of the other funny person – Mary Catherine Webster -- my friend since our freshman days at Forest Quad in 1972. An Irish wit and storyteller, she attracted friends like a magnet.
We took several Religious Studies classes together during our years at IU, each on a quest to find our spiritual home. Eventually, she changed from her childhood Catholicism to Episcopalianism. I converted to Judaism. We often spoke of what a favorite religion professor, Anne Carr, had said: that the kind of questions you’re asking are more important than the answers you think you’ve found at any given time.
I think our friendship endured because we were always asking the same kinds of questions. And, if we had talked a week ago or a month ago, our conversations never failed to illuminate the important things -- where we were going, what we had learned, our goals, our hopes -- sometimes, our weaknesses. And always with laughter.
When I visited Mary last fall, I spent Sunday morning at Grace Church in Colorado Springs, watching her as she worked with teachers and students in her job as Director of Religious Education there. (We joked about how well she had put that degree in Religious Studies to use!)
In January, as she began a workshop for her Sunday School teachers, she prayed: “Thine is the kingdom and the power and glory” before she became too short of breath to continue. She did not survive a massive heart attack that day.
For Mary, interest in politics and thoughtfulness about material goods and charitable giving was a natural extension of her spiritual life. To observe her 50th birthday a couple of years ago, she wrote a letter to women friends asking them to contribute to charity instead of a gift; and began a course of study which would have resulted in her becoming a lay deacon of the Episcopal Church, a role in which ministering individually to people plays a big part.
How does thinking of Mary Catherine Webster connect to Art Buchwald, besides their ability to make life more colorful by the stories they told?
During our sophomore year in college, I was very, very depressed – enough to skip a couple weeks of class, weeping, feeling sorry for myself, wrapped in my wounded pride.
Mary was the friend who called and said “I love you and I want to be friends forever. But if you don’t call today and get yourself into some counseling, our friendship is over.”
I got the counseling. It changed my thinking. It gave me the tools to recognize, later in life, when I again needed some help.
Just as Art Buchwald called Mike Wallace every night when Wallace was on the road, helping him to make it through his depression, Mary was the one who gave me the push to make it through mine.
She would have made a great deacon.
Lynne Foster Shifriss is assistant to the editor of The Herald-Times.
Note: A favorite book of mine is “Seems Like Yesterday,” by Ann McGarry Buchwald, about their romance and lives together in Paris in the ’50s. You can find used copies on Amazon.
Thinking about you, Kit
Dear Kito,
I'm just thinking of you so much today. I was in California last week, with my friend Sue and her daughter Talia, and our daughter Abby. Amalia was with us a lot of the time, too. In the early mornings, I would get up and work on my laptop on a column I'm writing about you. It's for the religion page, so I have to cut it to 400 words, and it's about 550 now. I'm going to post the long version on this site later. I find myself talking to you all the time, or thinking "I'll send her that article!" It has been one month today since your death, and I still can't really believe that you are gone. I guess that, to me, you will never really be gone. You will always be in my head and my heart.
Love you, dearie,
Lynne
I'm just thinking of you so much today. I was in California last week, with my friend Sue and her daughter Talia, and our daughter Abby. Amalia was with us a lot of the time, too. In the early mornings, I would get up and work on my laptop on a column I'm writing about you. It's for the religion page, so I have to cut it to 400 words, and it's about 550 now. I'm going to post the long version on this site later. I find myself talking to you all the time, or thinking "I'll send her that article!" It has been one month today since your death, and I still can't really believe that you are gone. I guess that, to me, you will never really be gone. You will always be in my head and my heart.
Love you, dearie,
Lynne
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
“Let’s Have a Show" from Sally Ziegler
Among her many gifts my dear friend Mary had a sense of occasion that was amazing. A routine staff birthday party at Grace Church was made special by her adding a nosegay of flowers or by choosing the honoree's favorite flavor. But it was in her work with children that Mary’s sense of the festive made itself most evident in the joy she gave to young children. Every child In the Sunday School received a birthday card from Miss Mary and every one included a coupon for a cone at the best ice cream store in town.
Mary and I worked together for nine years at Grace & St. Stepehn's in Colrado where I serve as a deacon and was always grateful for Mary's intent to study to be ordained as a deacon, too.
On Palm Sunday there were donkeys for the children to pat and ride if they were brave (and small) enough, bringing Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem to life in the concrete thoughts of the little ones. ( We won’t dwell on the year when one of the jennies died in childbirth the night before). There was the wonderful but stressful year when Mary wanted to make the hymn about a green blade springing come to life. She and her own children blew out dozens of eggs so she could spend hours planting half-shells with grass seed that needed to be watered and tended for weeks so each child in the Sunday School received one of these little jewels on Easter morning. My grandchildren who are half Jewish treasured these gifts from Mary for weeks after Easter was past.
One of her best “shows” was the butterfly release on the day of Pentecost which also marked the graduation of Sunday School children into middle school and Youth Group. Only Mary could have found a source for dormant -- or at least passive -- butterflies that arrived in tiny cellophane envelopes to be sent soaring into the blue Colorado sky signifying the new life ahead for the young people. In spite of the year that most of them froze in transit Mary's sense of occasion and her joy in the children’s growth remain important memories for many here in Colorado Springs.
My personal “best of show” was in December, 2005, in Children’s Chapel. Mary and I shared the responsibility for this weekly worship service for children ages 3-6. Every Sunday morning was an adventure that gave new meaning to to the phrase “herding cats”. But on the third Sunday in December Mary added her own unique gift to me and to the children. In celebration of my 70th birthday she had each of the children come up to me in front of the altar and give me a beautiful Peace rose and a hug. This gift of friendship and of love will always live in my heart and symbolize to me Mary’s amazing gift of joy in the moment.
Thursday, January 25, 2007
Monday, January 22, 2007
One small memory
Last November, when I was visiting in Colorado Springs, I spent Sunday morning at Grace Cathedral with Kit. One neat little thing that she did was to jot down some stuff on a piece of paper. I asked her -- what for? She said that when she would come in to work on Tuesday morning, she would look at her little paper and remember the little notes that she wanted to write to people.
I'm going to use that technique so that when I think of writing a little note to someone -- I actually will do it!
That's just one small thing that Kit did so well.
I'm going to use that technique so that when I think of writing a little note to someone -- I actually will do it!
That's just one small thing that Kit did so well.
from Terry Fife
Terry Fife said...
During 30 years of friendship, Kit and I spent hundreds of hours watching movies together. We spent even more time discussing them--immediately after a screening, if we were lucky enough to be together. But usually we reviewed and rehashed films during our lengthy and frequent phone chats.
The day after her sudden death, a flood of films rushed through my mind. What were the first movies I had seen with Kit? What were the last ones we discussed? What was the last film she saw with Phil, and with each of her kids? What about all those wonderful and unusual movies at the RMWFF she so adored and shared with so many others.
Despite the fact we both considered ourselves fairly sophisticated and discriminating film buffs, the recurring image in my mind earlier this week was of a really BAD movie we had seen together, and of Kit's unique ability to sense good from bad, and to simply, and sometimes outrageously, say so.
It was a hot, humid day in the summer of 1977. Kit and Laurie Sprague (a college friend of mine who had introduced me to Kit, whom she had known since high school) and I decided to cool off in one of Michigan City's air-conditioned movie theaters. The pickens, I recall, were slim, but we finally settled on "You Light Up My Life," a film known for its popular theme song made famous by Debbie Boone, but actually lip-synched by some utterly forgettable actress. We were prepared for mediocre, but figured there would be some redeeming features of the film to make it worth our time (which we had lots of in those days) and our money (which was in much shorter supply).
About twenty minutes into the film, Kit looked at Laurie and at me, and pronounced, "this film is so bad, we should demand our money back."
Laurie and I looked at each other, wondering if it was even possible to request a refund. Kit, on the other hand, was both confident and determined. Laurie and I made our way out of the darkened theater while Kit made a bee-line for the box office. There she politely but firmly informed the person in the booth that "the movie was simply so bad we would not be able to continue watching it." Whereupon our tickets were fully refunded and we headed straight for an ice cream store.
The next year, "You Light Up My Life" actually won an Oscar for its theme song, but it remained the bottom-line barometer of bad films for us over the years.
Kit was a radiant and brilliant light in my life. A firecracker who relished burning from both ends, she lit up many lives and illuminated many truths along the way.
Terry Fife
Chicago, Illinois
During 30 years of friendship, Kit and I spent hundreds of hours watching movies together. We spent even more time discussing them--immediately after a screening, if we were lucky enough to be together. But usually we reviewed and rehashed films during our lengthy and frequent phone chats.
The day after her sudden death, a flood of films rushed through my mind. What were the first movies I had seen with Kit? What were the last ones we discussed? What was the last film she saw with Phil, and with each of her kids? What about all those wonderful and unusual movies at the RMWFF she so adored and shared with so many others.
Despite the fact we both considered ourselves fairly sophisticated and discriminating film buffs, the recurring image in my mind earlier this week was of a really BAD movie we had seen together, and of Kit's unique ability to sense good from bad, and to simply, and sometimes outrageously, say so.
It was a hot, humid day in the summer of 1977. Kit and Laurie Sprague (a college friend of mine who had introduced me to Kit, whom she had known since high school) and I decided to cool off in one of Michigan City's air-conditioned movie theaters. The pickens, I recall, were slim, but we finally settled on "You Light Up My Life," a film known for its popular theme song made famous by Debbie Boone, but actually lip-synched by some utterly forgettable actress. We were prepared for mediocre, but figured there would be some redeeming features of the film to make it worth our time (which we had lots of in those days) and our money (which was in much shorter supply).
About twenty minutes into the film, Kit looked at Laurie and at me, and pronounced, "this film is so bad, we should demand our money back."
Laurie and I looked at each other, wondering if it was even possible to request a refund. Kit, on the other hand, was both confident and determined. Laurie and I made our way out of the darkened theater while Kit made a bee-line for the box office. There she politely but firmly informed the person in the booth that "the movie was simply so bad we would not be able to continue watching it." Whereupon our tickets were fully refunded and we headed straight for an ice cream store.
The next year, "You Light Up My Life" actually won an Oscar for its theme song, but it remained the bottom-line barometer of bad films for us over the years.
Kit was a radiant and brilliant light in my life. A firecracker who relished burning from both ends, she lit up many lives and illuminated many truths along the way.
Terry Fife
Chicago, Illinois
Saturday, January 20, 2007
Kit and Lynne
Lynne and Kit, November 2006, (I took this picture with my cell phone!) when Kit dropped me off at the Denver airport after I spent a weekend with Kit and family -- laughing, talking politics with Miles, listening to Maddie play the harp, more laughing, showing each other fun websites on the computer, sitting around laughing at the antics of the two dogs, Annie and Finn, having an incredible day at the Rocky Mountain Women's Film Festival, visiting with Kit's mom Nancy and stepdad Ferd, more laughing, eating dinner at the restaurant where Emily works, talking about plans and problems and redecorating and children and politics and religion. And more laughing. I remember sitting in her car that weekend as we talked about how lucky we had both been as far as husbands and children. We sat in the car and laughed and laughed when I told her a joke I used to say to my late father-in-law, who was a geneticist. I used to say -- look at us, we're just two regular-looking people, but we made such incredibly beautiful children! It's a genetic miracle! And he would agree that yes, it had to be a genetic miracle! My heart hurts so much to think that she is gone. But, she is not really gone. I know that she is with God. And she's probably saying: "Lynne, you idiot! It's OK!" And I know that she is OK. It's just that I will miss her so much. And I have just discovered that the "click" pad on my laptop will not work when it is wet with tears...clearly time to stop typing and distract myself with a book.Kit's obit
This ran in the independent paper in Colorado Springs. It's not easily readable, so I will type out the text: (NOTE: I've discovered that if you click on the graphic, you can print it out on legal-sized paper -- letter-sized is a bit too small. Now, I have this hanging by my desk.)Mary Catherine Webster
September 23, 1954-January 13, 2007
Mary Catherine Webster, beloved wife and mother, champion of children, tireless comforter, and articulate opponent of injustice died unexpectedly of a heart attack, on January 13, 2007, in the company of her family. Mary is survived by her husband Phil, the love of her life and her partner in wisdom and wit, and their three children, Emily, a nursing student at U.C.C.S. and Miles and Maddie, IB students at Palmer High School. She is also survived by her mother and stepfather, Nancy and Ferdinand Schindler, of Colorado Springs and her brother, Patrick O'Neill and his family, Tam and Hannah, of Denver. Her father predeceased her.
Mary was born on September 23, 1954, in Winamack, Indiana, to John James and Nancy (nee O'Connor) O'Neill. Her Catholic elementary education led her to Indiana University where she was one of the first to earn a B.A. in Religious Studies. Mary and Phil moved to Corpus Christi, Texas, after marrying in 1978. Mary taught at Franklin and Incarnate Word high schools, with the instinct to assign a task to her laziest student to get it done efficiently. Daughter Emily was born in Texas, and twins Miles and Maddie were born shortly after the family moved to Colorado Springs where Phil joined FedEx.
Mary loved children, dogs, cooking and especially words.
Mary was gifted with exceptional social intelligence, a talent for friendship and an uncanny ability to remember every word she heard. She was a letter writer, an Irish wit and story teller, and a movie buff devoted to the Women's Film Festival. For the last nine years Mary was the Director of Children's Education at Grace and St. Stephens Episcopal Church, a ministry grounded in her unwavering faith and devotion to family. Though still training for ordination as a deacon, Mary served without ceasing; gathering communities of faith around her with creative acts of celebration, the wisdom of her counsel, and unnumbered acts of kindness. She honored landmarks in others' lives with flowers, ice cream coupons, homemade raspberry jam, linen hankies, and always a handwritten note and a listening ear.
All who knew Mary will miss the grace of her company, the animation of her voice, her impeccable style and her halo of white hair. Mary has always lived in the fellowship of saints and is dearly loved though seen no longer. Her family invites you to honor her memory with an act of kindness in her name.
How you can post memories and stories, too
I am Lynne Foster Shifriss. I created this blog as a way for people to post memories or thoughts or funny stories or pictures about Mary Catherine Webster. Whether you called her "Mary" or "Mary Kay" or "Kit," I think it's pretty easy to agree that she was a person with whom many people wanted to be friends. I felt that way about her ever since we met in the fall of 1972 at Forest Quad, in our freshman year at Indiana University in Bloomington. I always felt so lucky to know her.
As a gift to her friends, her family -- to all of us -- we can share on this blog either by commenting on a post (just click where it says "comments" at the bottom of a post) or by clicking on the orange button at the top and signing in (user name = marycatherinewebster@gmail.com, password = tribute) to do a post of your own. If you do your own post, you can easily put in a photo that you have in your computer. You can always email me at lshifriss@yahoo.com if you need any help with this. If you don't know how to post and want to email a story to me, I will post it for you.
I know so many people are hurting now, and in the next few days, I intend to tell some stories and hopefully find some pictures to share....and I hope you do, too.
Thanks so much,
Lynne
As a gift to her friends, her family -- to all of us -- we can share on this blog either by commenting on a post (just click where it says "comments" at the bottom of a post) or by clicking on the orange button at the top and signing in (user name = marycatherinewebster@gmail.com, password = tribute) to do a post of your own. If you do your own post, you can easily put in a photo that you have in your computer. You can always email me at lshifriss@yahoo.com if you need any help with this. If you don't know how to post and want to email a story to me, I will post it for you.
I know so many people are hurting now, and in the next few days, I intend to tell some stories and hopefully find some pictures to share....and I hope you do, too.
Thanks so much,
Lynne
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