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Page A3 / The Joan
De Arc Crusader / Friday, December 25, 2020
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Editor’s Note: Legendary Joan De Arc Avenue
matriarch Barbara Bueker Stewart passed on this year at the age of 87. She
was rather well thought of. Some examples:
Her very
own heaven
By Sue Bueker Nolan
Our mother has her very own heaven. I know, because when I was small,
she told me in no uncertain terms that heaven is exactly what you want it to
be. I wasn't merely satisfied with that; I was delighted! In my view, my
heaven became an amusement park that featured lots of colorful candy. What a
comfort that was to a little girl who suffered from chronic fear and
anxiety.
My heaven changed over the years; it
took on grown up features. There were more and more people there that I
would see again. That was the good thing.
I've
always thought that our mother had a healthy view of death and dying. She
attributed that to having lost two husbands, and our Uncle John. She became
lonesome for her people at the end. They had all left her behind. But it
brought comfort to think of all those people she loved waiting for her in
her heaven, whatever form her heaven took. Always optimistic, I agreed with
her wholeheartedly. It made sense. I knew she was ready to go there.
When she was dying in hospice, I didn't mention heaven, but she did. It
sounded like she had given it much thought. She knew that I was the
emotional one. I was the one who would fall apart when we lost her. I was
also the one who could risk everything by picking up a drink again to soothe
my pain. I didn't.
She told me that her first
order of business when she arrived in her heaven was to make up a beautiful
room just for me. I wonder if she is still working on it?
Born knowing
By Barbie Bueker Formichella
Not everyone
is born knowing who they are.
Most people
struggle with this concept, and I certainly did. As a child I just wanted to
fit in, to be accepted, to be like everyone else. But even in her early
years, Barbara Swaggerty knew exactly who she was. She was someone who
thought outside the box, who was curious, had opinions (!), questioned
authority. She told us that her parents were perplexed by her, the child who
would be seen AND heard, probably the only adult in the room. Her mother
would admonish, “What will the neighbors say?” Did our mother care what the
neighbors would say? Actually no. Not really. She was rebellious in the only
way available to her as a girl growing up middle class in the 1930s and
‘40s: intellectually. She read. A LOT. And even though she was intensely
proud of the education she received in the Detroit Public Schools, she was
in many ways self-educated, and ahead of her time. WAY ahead.
Mother was a feminist. I once asked her, probably 40 years ago, who she was
voting for, and she said, “I’m only voting for the women.” She would mark
her ballot wherever she found a feminine name, for whichever party. Not a
fan of the patriarchy! She was pro-choice and anti-war before it was cool.
She perceived organized religion as manipulative and empty, and sought
spiritual fulfillment elsewhere. She passionately embraced other cultures,
other faiths and other traditions, and taught elementary school art classes
like they were college courses in world humanities. Lucky kids! She was a
champion of the disadvantaged, whether they be human or otherwise, and was
generous to a fault.
She described herself as
“eccentric,” but we knew what that meant. It meant that she was herself, and
it was okay. It was okay for us too. Our thoughts and opinions and feelings
were valued by her. Celebrated. It’s become clear to me how very rare this
quality is, as I hear stories about the parents of my friends and
acquaintances.
So if I’m a little eccentric, if
I have a strong opinion or care a little too much, here’s why. I wasn’t born
with this acceptance of self like she was. But I learned from a Master.
A snap shot of
Mother
By Charles Bueker
My mom was famously equally generous with all her children, and it was not
often that we did things together where not everyone was included. My
favorite memories of her, though, are when it was just we two doing
something of interest only to us.
We had both
developed (heh) an interest in photography when I was in high school, after
mom had taken a class at Glendale Community College, and I became fascinated
with any sort of camera. We would occasionally go on photo expeditions
together, she with her box camera and me with my trusty SLR, to locations
where interesting photo opportunities were just piled up all over the place.
It was unbelievable fun, and a side of my mom that my siblings never got to
see.
I remember vividly the night we drove
around downtown Phoenix, hopping out of the car in front of various
buildings with tripods and light meters, capturing some of the most epic
black and white architectural images of Phoenix you’ll ever see.
I wish I could find those pictures again, as the city after dark back
then was beautifully lit and totally unpopulated. To this day I still love
walking around big cities with a camera, and I owe this all to my mother.
Barb my
wonderful neighbor and art show judge
By Konnie Russell
Coffee and sometimes daiquiris at Helen Mitchell's brought us
together. We talked about children, households, politics, and the other
neighbors. Barb was opinionated, informed and very bright. She had more than
one letter to the editor published in the local newspaper, and Reader's
Digest even published a joke she sent in. When we worked the election at the
Presbyterian Church, the little boys on bicycles came by yelling for their
candidate. Barb, who was in
charge, went outside and made them back off behind the 50 foot line, where
lobbying for your candidate was legal. They were thrilled. I can remember
Barb as acting liberated even before Ms. magazine came out.
One year, as the summer wore on and the kids became bored, it was decided to
have a neighborhood art show. Kids were all sent home to come up with their
best creations and bring them back to be taped up on my garage door. Barb,
as the mother in the neighborhood with the most artistic talent, was
recruited to be judge. There were lots of doggies and kitties and stick
families from all the children with the exception of Lynnie Humphries, who
posted some beautiful and anatomically correct reclining nudes. The mothers
were all extremely amused, but kept their amusement to knowing looks at each
other above the heads of the children. We did not want to create a scene or
create a big deal among the kids, who didn't seem to think it was anything
out of the ordinary. Barb awarded Lynnie the first blue ribbon (created from
a couple yards of ribbon from TG&Y). Ever the diplomat, she awarded all the
doggies and kitties ribbons as well.
I loved
Barb. She was a perfect friend for 60 years.
Beautiful Barbara
By Julie Mitchell Munday
Oh my goodness, your darling Mother!
Not
only was she gorgeous, artistic and smart, she made me feel so safe.
There was always another mother to see if I needed one. And a place to
go. An adult to consult. Don't remember if I ever did, but just the fact
that she was there was so comforting and made me so secure. I smile every
time I think about her!
The
lights are still burning on Joan De Arc Avenue
By Pattie Krohn
Could there have been a more difficult year than this one? A litany
of sorrows while coping with a fourteenth century plague and a
nerve-wracking election? But
certainly, the most difficult time was when we lost Barbara.
The number of condolences in the mail and on the internet was testament to
how much everyone loved Barbara and how many people’s lives she had
affected. I had known Barbara since elementary school, living on the street
behind Joan De Arc and being a constant presence in her house. I would watch
the way she interacted with her children and I told myself that when I had
children, I would be like she was. She was always available, approachable,
sympathetic, and ready to make things right again. Always laughing, Barbara
had a light heart and joy about life and especially her children whom she
adored and were her pride.
Those were fun years,
the best, she once told me. She took me everywhere with the kids, shopping
at thrift stores, antique fairs, the malls. And we found great things which
my mother totally disapproved of, but for us it was simple fun. Barbara was
a collector extraordinaire; she would buy anything that attracted her eye.
And the collections were beautiful and massive!
When I lost my father, I turned to her. For years I relied on her
compassion, her strength, and just how much she honestly loved me. Those
were very difficult years for me, and I thanked her many times over the
years for being there. Fortunately for me, I spent a lot of time with her
this year and was able to say goodbye.
Barbara and I
loved to argue about religion and cosmology. Usually it was friendly
arguing, but we were both stubborn and sure we were right and often had to
call a truce and have a big hug. She was so smart that these conversations
were fun even though our beliefs were very different.
She maintained that the universe has its own intelligence and I
disagreed. This universe? You must be kidding. If anybody sees this universe
somewhere, please tape a big “Kick Me” sign on its back.
Maybe the lights burning on Joan De Arc are still from last year or even
years before that, and that’s okay. In our memories, those lights will
always be there as a warm reminder of a welcome home and a loving family.
Two things I shared with
her that she didn’t argue about. Where did the big bang take place? Well,
right where you are sitting. Where else?
And that there are two Auroras Borealis, one at each pole. We are
walking on stardust. And she is certainly delighted by that right now.
Barbara
the philosopher
By John Bueker
Among her other myriad talents, my mother was something of a
philosopher. We shared a love for the
Meditations of Roman emperor Marcus Aurelius, that timeless collection
of stoic philosophical directives composed by a genuine philosopher-king,
the ideal ruler according to no less a thinker than Plato. Marcus’s famous
book is probably the only volume of philosophy that was never meant to be a
book nor ever intended for an audience beyond the author himself, which only
enhances its unique power and authority.
Yet
Mother’s philosophies of life came less from books and more from living,
through the exercise of careful observation and thoughtful reflection. Of
all the philosophical notions she imparted to me, the one that still seems
the most enduring and endearing is her simple precept that nothing at all
lasts. She usually formulated this principle in the axiom: “the good times
don’t last, but neither do the bad.”
All is
flux, Barbara would remind me, and the circumstances of our lives will
constantly change unto the very end. She therefore urges us to mindfully
enjoy and savor those times in life when things are going well and happiness
abounds, for these will not last. We agreed that our years on Joan De Arc
were the very exemplar for this condition. Conversely, she would say, one
must persevere and not despair during the bad periods, for these too will
dissipate in time.
Marcus himself would have
smiled at this genuinely stoic approach to managing one’s perception of
life. I am honored and humbled that my mother’s ideas and ideals will live
on in my siblings and myself.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________JDA
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