24-05 2021 06:55
wrote:
Before we knew each other very well my friend Julie Nathanson endeared herself to me suddenly and forever when she heard the lyric to a song by my friend Gregg Henry; the lyric began like this: “when you’re caught in the crosshairs of aiming to please” and of course there’s more, and it’s just as good, but this phrase hit Julie upon the first listen and she actually gasped. Any passing phrase that just happened to have cadence and soul and might have gone unnoticed by 99 out of a hundred listeners always gave her pause and this was one of those times. I didn’t really know her then, we’d only been in each other’s orbit for a couple of months but this was such a wide window into her love of language and imagery, such an open admission of the power language held for her that I was instantly smitten.
Whether it was an anecdote about the trials of trueing up a table saw or the internal monologue of her turtle Elvis as he overheard conversations with unnamed clients, she always found the word you wouldn’t think of or the metaphor that loaded the story with ironic context. She was never the star of her stories; they were her experiences, yes, but somehow the stories became about something larger; something fundamental in all our natures.
That’s not to say she wasn’t proud of knowing the difference between a Dremel Tool and a reciprocating hand saw, she was, but only if YOU knew the difference; she would never parade her bottomless expertise in renovation unless you could go there with her. But if you could, she’d go, and go deep.
It’s one thing to tweak cabinetry and walls in a house that’s square, it’s another in a house that has shouldered its way out of true over decades. That requires a sense of the three dimensional that few of us possess. And patience. Patience. Patience.
For someone who didn’t suffer fools you’d think patience might be in short supply. But no; the puzzle of 3D geometry presented by every room in the house was simply an opportunity to mull and measure, measure again and only cut once. For most of us, me included, measuring twice is an axiom ignored in favor of the fiction that we did it right the first time, followed by swearing and searching for a new piece of material to try again. Not so Julie. Mull, measure twice, mull some more, then cut. Right and tight. Patience. And done quicker for it.
In search of perfection but always understanding it’s in the eye of the beholder, walls disappeared, counters evolved, shelving and cabinets floated organically to rest withing easy reach, all elevated by her easy sense of space, positive and negative playing off each other so that one felt the balance as much as saw it.
And as serious as she was about getting things right, and she was devoted to be sure, she had a giggle that would pick you up and tickle you until you were wiping tears from your eyes. God she could laugh. She bubbled until she could bubble no more and then the cackle would come out; when something got a hold of her funny bone she just couldn’t let it go and she would fill the room with joy so contagious you’d end up laughing because you were laughing. That is precious and rare; a laugh deep enough to carry all who heard it up into the ether…
I hope she’s laughing now, God knows this last year she would’ve found a way to bring us through smiling.
Thank you Julie. For every moment.
24-05 2021 06:55
wrote:
Before we knew each other very well my friend Julie Nathanson endeared herself to me suddenly and forever when she heard the lyric to a song by my friend Gregg Henry; the lyric began like this: “when you’re caught in the crosshairs of aiming to please” and of course there’s more, and it’s just as good, but this phrase hit Julie upon the first listen and she actually gasped. Any passing phrase that just happened to have cadence and soul and might have gone unnoticed by 99 out of a hundred listeners always gave her pause and this was one of those times. I didn’t really know her then, we’d only been in each other’s orbit for a couple of months but this was such a wide window into her love of language and imagery, such an open admission of the power language held for her that I was instantly smitten.
Whether it was an anecdote about the trials of trueing up a table saw or the internal monologue of her turtle Elvis as he overheard conversations with unnamed clients, she always found the word you wouldn’t think of or the metaphor that loaded the story with ironic context. She was never the star of her stories; they were her experiences, yes, but somehow the stories became about something larger; something fundamental in all our natures.
That’s not to say she wasn’t proud of knowing the difference between a Dremel Tool and a reciprocating hand saw, she was, but only if YOU knew the difference; she would never parade her bottomless expertise in renovation unless you could go there with her. But if you could, she’d go, and go deep.
It’s one thing to tweak cabinetry and walls in a house that’s square, it’s another in a house that has shouldered its way out of true over decades. That requires a sense of the three dimensional that few of us possess. And patience. Patience. Patience.
For someone who didn’t suffer fools you’d think patience might be in short supply. But no; the puzzle of 3D geometry presented by every room in the house was simply an opportunity to mull and measure, measure again and only cut once. For most of us, me included, measuring twice is an axiom ignored in favor of the fiction that we did it right the first time, followed by swearing and searching for a new piece of material to try again. Not so Julie. Mull, measure twice, mull some more, then cut. Right and tight. Patience. And done quicker for it.
In search of perfection but always understanding it’s in the eye of the beholder, walls disappeared, counters evolved, shelving and cabinets floated organically to rest withing easy reach, all elevated by her easy sense of space, positive and negative playing off each other so that one felt the balance as much as saw it.
And as serious as she was about getting things right, and she was devoted to be sure, she had a giggle that would pick you up and tickle you until you were wiping tears from your eyes. God she could laugh. She bubbled until she could bubble no more and then the cackle would come out; when something got a hold of her funny bone she just couldn’t let it go and she would fill the room with joy so contagious you’d end up laughing because you were laughing. That is precious and rare; a laugh deep enough to carry all who heard it up into the ether…
I hope she’s laughing now, God knows this last year she would’ve found a way to bring us through smiling.
Thank you Julie. For every moment.
