A Rolling Crone

A blog about travel, art, photography and crone power

joanpgage

joanpgage
Location
North Grafton, Massachusetts, USA
Birthday
February 04
Bio
After 40 years as a journalist, I turned 60 and decided to return to my first love--painting, especially portraits of people encountered in my travels to Greece, Mexico, India & Nicaragua. I’ve exhibited my watercolors and photographs in Massachusetts and have some of them on my web site: www.joanpgage.com. My photo book “The Secret Life of Greek Cats” can be purchased on the web site, or on Amazon. I collect antique photographs, including daguerreotypes, and write about how they have introduced me to some fascinating historic figures, such as Elizabeth Keckley, a slave who became Mary Lincoln's dressmaker and confidante. Last year I attended my 50th high school reunion in Edina, Minnesota and I've just turned 70. My husband and I recently reached our 40th anniversary. We have 3 children, now amazing adults, who keep me up to date on technology--although I still haven't mastered texting. It's been a marvelous journey since I was born in 1941, and I can't wait for the next chapter.

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JANUARY 25, 2011 3:37PM

Liminal Stages and Death on the Internet

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I thought I’d introduce this subject with a photo of a fabulous horse-drawn hearse that I saw in Granada, Nicaragua.  The coffin rides like Sleeping Beauty inside the glass compartment, and you’ll notice that the horses are draped with crocheted blankets.  "Why?" I asked.  "Because this is a very serious time,” I was told.)

My husband claims that I’ve been preparing for death ever since my twenties--over 40 years ago.  I guess that’s what you get when you marry a hypochondriac with a gloomy Scandinavian background. (Remember in "Annie Hall" when Diane Keaton and Woody Allen were breaking up and sorting out their books? She said something like: “All the books with ‘Death’ in the title are yours.”  You should see my library.)

So about death. Like everything else, dying has apparently been transformed by  the creation of the internet.  I think we’re all familiar with on-line memorial pages where mourners can post their condolences and memories of the dear departed.

In today’s New York Times (Jan. 25) there’s a front-page story reporting that  funeral homes are now offering bereaved families the opportunity to invite friends and relatives who can’t make it to the actual funeral to watch the services live on the computer and then re-view the tape over and over again. Some of the companies offering this service to undertakers are FuneralOne, and  Event by Wire.  Even the famous Frank E. Campbell funeral chapel in Manhattan is introducing a webcasting program.

Some funeral directors offer the on-line funeral service for free, according to The Times, and others charge $100 to $300.  A family can make the funeral broadcast open to the public or issue invitations along with a password. (I wonder, does Evite do funerals?) This service has allowed the military colleagues of a Marine killed in Afghanistan, for instance, to view his hometown funeral including the arrival at the airport, the graveside ceremony and the 21-gun salute.  The father of the young Marine said he watches the funeral over and over again on the computer. “I don’t know why, but I guess it’s healing.”

Two weeks ago, the cover story in the Sunday New York Times Magazine of Jan 9, 2011 --“Ghosts in the Machine”-- was all about what happens to the words and images of yourself that you’ve posted on the internet—after you die.  Will you be remembered by your last foolhardy Tweet?  By those embarrassing photos on Facebook? Entrepreneurs, according to The Times, are popping up who will manage your digital afterlife for a fee—acting as a virtual executor who will categorize, file, organize or just do away with your on-line self. 

Andy Fish, the artist and instructor who taught me about blogging and Photoshop and computer illustration, says that he plans another kind of digital immortality—in which he can communicate with his fans from beyond the grave.  Andy often writes  a week’s worth of posts for his blog,  www.AndyFishWrap.blogspot.com , and then schedules the dates on which they will be posted on Blogspot.  Using that facility, he plans to post an annual message on his birthday well into the next century, even if he’s already gone to his reward.

Death, of course is one of life’s major passages. So why not make some plans for it ahead of time? 

For a woman’s group I belong to, with a different topic for discussion every month, we once wrote and read aloud our obituaries. It was a worthwhile exercise.  Leaving a draft of one’s obituary probably would be helpful to  survivors as part of your  internet estate unless, like my husband, you already have an up-to-date bio on your computer for public appearances and press coverage.

(One of Nick’s colleagues at The New York Times back in the day was the head obituary writer. He was always amazed that he could get in to see anyone—no matter how important—by mentioning his job.  Every big shot cares about what his Times obituary will say about him.)

Speaking of life passages, daughter Eleni Gage just launched her blog “The Liminal Stage”, on New Year’s Eve, which she calls “The most liminal night of the year".  The subtitle is:  “Navigating a modern world with the help of time-tested traditions.”

"Liminal" comes from the Latin word for “threshold” and Eleni has packed several liminal moments of her own into the last year: getting engaged, then married and moving from Manhattan to Miami. 

Here you see her at her wedding in Corfu, Greece, about to toss a decorated wedding bread to the single ladies behind her (a Corfiote twist on throwing the bouquet.)


Eleni  majored in Folk Lore and Mythology at college and, like me, she really loves learning about traditions, rituals, superstitions, divination – in all cultures.  She writes on her blog:
It’s precisely because people get anxious around liminal stages, and the questions they raise, that cultures develop rituals designed to bring comfort, protection, and luck…My family is Greek so we throw pomegranates on our doorstep to invite abundance, and sit down to a meal in which a lucky quarter (wrapped in tinfoil for hygiene) is hidden inside a meat pie. …Whoever finds the quarter is guaranteed a good year, an extra little burst of confidence with which to face the unknown future. That’s the point of rituals, and of this blog–to invite luck, to celebrate a given moment, and to use traditions to do what they always have–to give yourself the tiniest sense that you can control what happens to you, even if that’s just an illusion.”
 You can find Eleni’s blog at www.TheLiminalStage.com or by clicking on the title in my blog list to the right.

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Great photos! I participated in an elaborate Granada funeral while I was there, which was an amazing experience, and one which the normally easy-going Nicaraguans did take very seriously. From the solemn wake in the street outside her house the night of her death, to the formal mass in the Cathedral, to the procession behind the hearse (perhaps this exact same one) to the ancient cemetery, to watching the coffin be sealed within the crypt, it was a beautiful and solemn experience.
This is absolutely fascinating. You've offered a totally new perspective to possibilities of Internet use I never even considered. Getting messages from a deceased one on his birthdays sounds eerie, but there's something for every enterprising mind. I didn't know what 'liminal' meant, thank you for teaching me something new.
Why bother? We have so little control on our lives while we are alive, even less once dead. The Queen Mother orchestrated her funeral to the minute detail and made it as grand as she could. She is now remembered for that, for her penchant for alcohol and for having been bombed at home during world war II. Trivia at best.
Once you are gone, you are gone - to heaven/hell, rebirth or nothingness, depending on your upbringing and political views, but gone you are - I wouldn't expect that many souls read the NY Times on the other bank of the Stige river. Delivery for one, would be a stinker.