Dear Connie,
It’s been a long and rich friendship—47 years by my count, more than half of both our lives. During the past several days since you told me about your illness, I’ve been reflecting on the many occasions we shared, events we attended, and life experiences over which we connected. We met in Frank’s class at the University of Maryland in 1973. The girls were young then. Barbara had just returned from Cornell University and started attending the University of Maryland. Leila, the age of my son, was involved in diving and he in swimming. So there were our studies and our children.
Then there was our gallivanting. You introduced me to the world of concert music. Among the first of those performances was Jean-Pierre Rampal years ago at The Johns Hopkins. Why that sticks in my mind is hard to know. There were the many string quartet concerts that I loved and the Kennedy Center choral performances we attended. More recently there was our surprise encounter at one of the Smithsonian opera series lectures held in the Women’s Democratic Club.
In the earlier years, there were the gatherings at my apartment in Columbia. You are one of the few friends who met my father or attend a party at my brother Gil’s house in Annapolis on Swan Point. Even then we left his party early as we had tickets to see a Tennessee Williams play at Olney Theater that evening. I shall always remember the cheese fondue supper you prepared on one of my birthdays, served at your home with the girls attending. Then there were our many walks on the Canal path to Wide Water and Angler’s Inn.
I remember the night you called worried about Barbara’s accident on the Beltway one Thanksgiving Eve. You asked me to call Gil. He met Barbara at the University of Maryland Shock Trauma Unit. It was a snowy night and an early morning surgery. He drove from Annapolis in his jeep, picked up his surgical nurse, made his way to the operating room where with a skeleton staff performed reconstruction surgery of Barbara’s cheek, etc. The snowstorm continued through the day. Later on I know they had a few dates on his sailboat and maybe a few other trysts.
You came to my aid when my husband Richard died. You were an immense help during that difficult time especially the day of Richard’s memorial service. Again, you were the first to call me after seeing the Post’s death notice of Richard’s good friend, John Wiebensen, years later. John was Richard’s long-time friend, both architects, and both died unexpectedly years apart. I spent an afternoon this past Sunday, October 4 with Abigail, John’s widow. We often meet on October 4 to remember Richard and John as they both died on October 4, yet years apart.
Our interest spread into the world of museums and gardens. There was our Georgetown Garden Tour one year when Barbara joined us. More recently we explored Hillwood Estate Museum and Gardens with another friend of yours. We retreated to garden walks together when mobility became an issue and the Canal treks became a thing of the past.
In more recent years we had all those Saturday lunches at Hunter’s Inn at Potomac Village—half price hamburgers and Bloody Mary’s. At first we met to celebrate our January birthdays, then we just met to meet up. Our conversations needed no introductions or recounting, we were in touch with each other’s lives throughout the years we shared.
Connie, I am missing you and shall always miss you. We had a long and rich friendship.
Joanna Edwards October 10, 2020