It would be the year 2012 when I’d learn of a children’s author and illustrator named Tasha Tudor, though she’d passed away in 2008.

As I moved through the day yesterday in sorrow and quiet time of reflection thinking about my dear friend, Miss Marie who passed away on Thursday, Feb. 28^th, I was brought back to my love and adoration of an artist named Tasha whom I’d never met.

It was January 2008 when I published my first children’s book, Frankie the Walk N’ Roll Dog. To celebrate, the Friends of the Library in my hometown hosted a book launch for me at our local resort.  This is where I’d get my first glimpse of Marie, who was a volunteer with the organization, and had recently moved to town.

After Frankie’s passing in 2012, it was that fall I took part in a 12-week course at a local arts center called, “The Artist’s Way” based on Julia Cameron’s book. This is where I’d run into Marie again who not only worked at the art center, but was a participant in the workshop.

I often sat beside her and not only admired her artistic talent, but marveled at her confident and no nonsense spirit. She also dressed in a manner that I’d define as eclectic, with a splash of eccentricity, and an artistic twist.  Through my eyes, I saw her as this beautiful art statement.

She was someone who definitely lived by the beat of her own drum, of which I was working hard to do the same. The fall of 2012 would also take my husband, John and I on a trip to Vermont.

A few days before we left on our vacation, I’d been perusing a 2008 copy of Victoria magazine loaned to me by a friend, that I’d learn about Tasha Tudor and an article in memory of her. She had lived in Vermont and it would be on our visit that I’d learn more about her with a stop at the historical society, watching a documentary called, Take Joy, that I’d become enthralled with her.

As the workshop came to an end in December, my friendship with Marie was blossoming, and I lovingly began calling her Miss Marie. She reciprocated and called me, Miss Barbara. When Gidget, my dachshund, joined my family, she would become Miss Gidget. We were quite the trio when we were together!

Miss Marie adored Miss Gidget and our friendship deepened. We were always welcome at her two story house on the corner, one block from the post office, in the middle of our small quaint town of 950.

How often my heart felt at home climbing the four steps onto her back porch. Oftentimes she’d have sheets or clothing hanging on the make-shift clothesline that was fastened from the corner of her porch to the corner of her art studio.

It was the front of her house, with a half-moon shaped black wrought iron gate that was often closed, that I always think of the book, Secret Garden. For so many years before I knew Miss Marie, I’d often wonder about the woman who lived behind that gate.

It would only be on two separate occasions I’d see her at the front door on my morning walks, and now friends, that I’d see her there wearing on an oil cloth apron. Burned into my memory, that image of her warms my heart because it always took me to this place in time of when life seemed simpler.

Whether at the front door or walking down her back porch steps either to check on her garden or walking out to her studio, if she saw me on my walk, we’d always stop to chat.

It was an honor when she began to sell her exquisite fabric pillows at our local Farmer’s and Artisan’s Market that she shared with me that it was me who encouraged her to sell her artwork. I’m thrilled to own a pillow she made with a dragonfly on it.

And our friendship took another step into understanding when later that day after I’d purchased the pillow that a dragonfly landed on the railing of her porch. Walking by her house two morning’s later and seeing her outside, I stopped to chat and she told me about the dragonfly, sharing with me how she didn’t recall ever having seen one in her yard before.

She said, “I was quite sure it was you Miss Barbara coming to thank me for the pillow!”

While our friendship would only last a little over five years with her too soon passing last week at the age of 72, she had an impact on my life that will live on within me forever. It would evolve into some very deep conversations about spirituality as I grappled with my understanding of God, of which Miss Marie never judged me, but was always open to hearing my thoughts.

Nothing mattered yesterday as I swam in the grief of knowing I will never again see my dear friend Miss Marie. What’s the point of this thing called life, I wondered? Miss Marie was always supportive of my writing and I wondered what the point was of even continuing with that as I near the completion of the second draft of my newest memoir.

I filled the kitchen sink with water and dish wash detergent, as I felt the need to wash the dishes by hand, which I rarely do. But somehow it felt comforting, as I gazed out my window, as fond memories of Miss Marie flashed through my mind. And it was then I recalled what my best friend reminded me of on Friday when I called to tell her about the passing of Miss Marie.

She said, “She was your own Tasha Tudor.” It was true. Miss Marie reminded me of Tasha, who I admired because she too, lived by the beat of her own drum. And in memory of Miss Marie, I sat on the sofa and watched again with an even deeper intensity than before, the documentary Take Joy, and the rare interview with Tasha as she shared her philosophy on life, so similar to Miss Marie’s. Both artists, with a twist of eclectic eccentricity, who lived a simpler life, and both didn’t believe in hurry.

After the film finished I sat in silence and admiration of the altar I put together in Miss Marie’s honor that now sits on my kitchen table. The remaining of the day I just puttered around the house, eventually replacing my winter décor with spring touches as I yearned for light to enter the darkness I was feeling.

When I woke this morning, my first thoughts were again of Miss Marie. For a few moments I just didn’t want to get out of bed as I thought about life without my dear friend. But I could see through the blinds it was a brilliant day of sunshine which enticed me out from under the sheets.

Walking into the kitchen I first glanced at the altar and my favorite photo of Miss Marie and then at the calendar on the wall. Tomorrow evening her friends and family will gather to celebrate her life.

I realized then that her funeral is on March 4^th, but then I heard it as march forth. I’m sure this was a message from Miss Marie that I must move forward with my life. She will always be a part of me.

It was destined in the stars that we become friends because she was a reflection of what I’d wished to become, and now am, in many ways, because of her. And so the best way in which I can honor her and all that she taught me, and showed me through her beautiful example, is to live by the beat of my own drum, and be that example for those who are yearning to do the same.

Until we meet again, dear Miss Marie…

XO,

Miss Barbara