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Mary Ellen: A Tribute to a Virtual Friend
With the passing of Mary Ellen Bradshaw on April 19, 2004, I find myself faced with the unique Twenty-first century phenomenon of wishing to honor a virtual friend.
You see, I never met Mary Ellen; I only knew her through Suite101 where she was the Contributing Editor for Virtual Journeys. I knew her through discussion groups and the occasional e-mail, but never in the flesh if you will. We never even spoke by phone or chatted over the Internet.
I suppose that I could say in stock fashion at this point that though I never met Mary Ellen personally, I knew her all the same. After all, does not an author impart much of her fundamental nature through her writing?
Does not the soul shine through in the encouragement that two authors who admire each others' writings give to each other through discussion groups and e-mail?
I am not sure that the phenomenon is that simple.
With virtual friends, it is tempting to feel that we "cut to the chase." That though we may have never met and do not really experience each other's personalities, we get in exchange the powerful compensation of consciousness: The experience of the true essence of that person uncluttered with the actual day-to-day realities of living and idiosyncracies of personality.
Thus, we do not have to put up with that person's idiosyncrasies. For example, in my writing I never tell you about my little temper tantrums, my tendency to personalize the criticism of others or all the other myriad ways--positive and negative--in which I live my life and am all too human every day of my life.
While it is wonderful to experience that person in the abstract (so to speak)and while we may feel quite smugly that we know the true "essence" of that virtual friend, a human being is such a complex mixture of appearance, personality, mannerisms, intellect, emotion and spirit that surely the feeling that we truly know that person in the digital "aether" is truly a bit of an illusion.
This is not to denigrate the powerful effect of virtual relationships on soul, mind and behavior. I honor that power and even wrote an as yet unpublished novel on the phenomenon, And Love Must Follow.
Still, I feel that I must share some thoughts with you about my friend, Mary Ellen.
One time Mary Ellen answered an e-mail that I sent her in sympathy for her illness with a little story about the "Dorman women" (Dorman is her maiden name). She related that she was a fighter like all the Dormans and related the following little story about her 94-year old mother who was hospitalized with a broken femur near the time of Mary Ellen's diagnosis with cancer. I hope Mary Ellen does not mind my sharing this story with you.
My mother had a very bad heart condition. Emergency staff . . . wanted to know if my mother had been having heart attacks.
I told them as far as I knew no. I looked closely into my mother's eyes to see if there was pain. Nothing! She was chatting away . . .
Later[that day] the surgeon came in and said it was doubtful she would survive the surgery but thought she should have it for better pain and movement management post op.
For two days relatives arrived and visited thinking this may be the last time they would see her alive. For my mother, she was enjoying this immensely.
Finally it was time to move her to the operating room. As they wheeled her out there was silence, then a voice muttering from the stretcher could be heard: " You're not getting rid of me this easily."
Of course, I mostly knew Mary Ellen through her writing, and I so enjoyed those armchair adventures while reading her articles. Whether it was the sights of old London or the remains of a Roman road or yet an unspoiled Canadian landscape, she always told her stories simply and beautifully.
And travel she did. . . all over the place: Athens, Santorini, Olympia, Patros, Katalon and Rhodes in Greece, Ephesus and the south coast of Turkey by sailboat, Egypt, Pompeii and all of Italy and London and so many other places.
I always envied not only her frequent globetrotting adventures, but also her ability to cope with changing landscapes, people, languages and customs. Having traveled a bit myself, I can tell you that travel can be exhausting physically and emotionally.
I especially loved her descriptions of Italy, and one of my favorites of her articles is about her stay at A Farmhouse in Tuscany:
It is a pleasant sight that greets our eyes, as we get our first glimpse of the traditional Tuscan stone house, with its red tile roof and golden brown, stone walls. The house is surrounded by olive groves. It is a pretty place with a small flower garden in front and pots of bright red geraniums here and there.
I appreciated her wry sense of humor, which occasionally showed up in her writing. She noted in the article above that in addition to the very Tuscan tile roof and olive groves there was "On one side. . .a stone shed and the other a very large, brand new swimming pool and patio. Not [exactly] part of a traditional farm."
With the passing of Mary Ellen Bradshaw on April 19, 2004, I find myself faced with the unique Twenty-first century phenomenon of wishing to honor a virtual friend.
You see, I never met Mary Ellen; I only knew her through Suite101 where she was the Contributing Editor for Virtual Journeys. I knew her through discussion groups and the occasional e-mail, but never in the flesh if you will. We never even spoke by phone or chatted over the Internet.
I suppose that I could say in stock fashion at this point that though I never met Mary Ellen personally, I knew her all the same. After all, does not an author impart much of her fundamental nature through her writing?
Does not the soul shine through in the encouragement that two authors who admire each others' writings give to each other through discussion groups and e-mail?
I am not sure that the phenomenon is that simple.
With virtual friends, it is tempting to feel that we "cut to the chase." That though we may have never met and do not really experience each other's personalities, we get in exchange the powerful compensation of consciousness: The experience of the true essence of that person uncluttered with the actual day-to-day realities of living and idiosyncracies of personality.
Thus, we do not have to put up with that person's idiosyncrasies. For example, in my writing I never tell you about my little temper tantrums, my tendency to personalize the criticism of others or all the other myriad ways--positive and negative--in which I live my life and am all too human every day of my life.
While it is wonderful to experience that person in the abstract (so to speak)and while we may feel quite smugly that we know the true "essence" of that virtual friend, a human being is such a complex mixture of appearance, personality, mannerisms, intellect, emotion and spirit that surely the feeling that we truly know that person in the digital "aether" is truly a bit of an illusion.
This is not to denigrate the powerful effect of virtual relationships on soul, mind and behavior. I honor that power and even wrote an as yet unpublished novel on the phenomenon, And Love Must Follow.
Still, I feel that I must share some thoughts with you about my friend, Mary Ellen.
One time Mary Ellen answered an e-mail that I sent her in sympathy for her illness with a little story about the "Dorman women" (Dorman is her maiden name). She related that she was a fighter like all the Dormans and related the following little story about her 94-year old mother who was hospitalized with a broken femur near the time of Mary Ellen's diagnosis with cancer. I hope Mary Ellen does not mind my sharing this story with you.
My mother had a very bad heart condition. Emergency staff . . . wanted to know if my mother had been having heart attacks.
I told them as far as I knew no. I looked closely into my mother's eyes to see if there was pain. Nothing! She was chatting away . . .
Later[that day] the surgeon came in and said it was doubtful she would survive the surgery but thought she should have it for better pain and movement management post op.
For two days relatives arrived and visited thinking this may be the last time they would see her alive. For my mother, she was enjoying this immensely.
Finally it was time to move her to the operating room. As they wheeled her out there was silence, then a voice muttering from the stretcher could be heard: " You're not getting rid of me this easily."
Of course, I mostly knew Mary Ellen through her writing, and I so enjoyed those armchair adventures while reading her articles. Whether it was the sights of old London or the remains of a Roman road or yet an unspoiled Canadian landscape, she always told her stories simply and beautifully.
And travel she did. . . all over the place: Athens, Santorini, Olympia, Patros, Katalon and Rhodes in Greece, Ephesus and the south coast of Turkey by sailboat, Egypt, Pompeii and all of Italy and London and so many other places.
I always envied not only her frequent globetrotting adventures, but also her ability to cope with changing landscapes, people, languages and customs. Having traveled a bit myself, I can tell you that travel can be exhausting physically and emotionally.
I especially loved her descriptions of Italy, and one of my favorites of her articles is about her stay at A Farmhouse in Tuscany:
It is a pleasant sight that greets our eyes, as we get our first glimpse of the traditional Tuscan stone house, with its red tile roof and golden brown, stone walls. The house is surrounded by olive groves. It is a pretty place with a small flower garden in front and pots of bright red geraniums here and there.
I appreciated her wry sense of humor, which occasionally showed up in her writing. She noted in the article above that in addition to the very Tuscan tile roof and olive groves there was "On one side. . .a stone shed and the other a very large, brand new swimming pool and patio. Not [exactly] part of a traditional farm."
interesting way of saying your opinion
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