A Tribute
Unto my good friends and comrades,
It is with great sadness that I send this
missive. Last night, I received a phone call from the Seneschal of
Oldenfeld announcing the very sudden and unexpected passing of a dear
friend, Mistress Silvija the Landlady, mundanely known as Dr. Sylvia
Sparkis. From what I have been told, she had fallen ill, and had been
taken to the hospital by her husband, Baron Romas the Mapmaker. She
passed away in the hospital. We have since learned that she had a blood
clot that had moved into her lung. The good folk of Oldenfeld have
rallied to Romas's side, and are fielding calls on his behalf.
I was very crushed by this news. Mistress
Silvija has been a wonderful friend for many years. As I look back on
our friendship and her life, I wanted to share some of my memories of
her with you.
If
I were to use any adjective to describe Silvija, the word "Spunky"
comes to mind. I always found it ironic that her married name is
"Sparkis," as it seems very appropriate for that 4-foot-something bottle
of pep! With a wonderful sense of humor and joie-de-vivre, Silvija was
affectionately referred to as "Dr. Fun." Indeed, how many have received
their PhD's by studying "fun?" And it never failed that for any
scenario, Silvija had a story. Silvija had an amazing flair for telling
tales that applied, (sort of, in a way, kind of, tangentially) to the
subject at hand. Of course, these inevitably degraded into "another sad
tale of little Stepnifetchnik," but never without many gales of
laughter. Heck, her maiden name in Lithuanian translated roughly into
"crunchy sound of leaves underfoot."
I remember the first time I met Mistress
Silvija at an event. Of course, we were dancing. She was teaching a
familiar dance. In a comic twist on an old Western, I couldn't help but
think to myself, "this dance floor ain't big enough for the two of us!"
Quite to the contrary, though, we immediately embarked upon a wonderful
friendship, comparing notes, teaching techniques and various dances. As
our friendship grew, I discovered that Mistress Silvija was one of the
truest "students of life" I have ever met. Being a mundane Ph.D. of
Anthropology, she often joked about being a "professional voyeur."
Indeed, in a very unique twist on tradition, she received her Laurel in
the Midrealm though completing her doctorate studies - watching,
learning, and teaching.
Within the
Society, she referred to herself as a "Stuff Laurel." This was never a
truer description of anyone, as there wasn't much that Silvija hadn't
done at some point or another. Her talents truly ranged across the
board. She sewed, cooked, danced, performed, gardened, made stained
glass, and so on and so on. Her home, in many ways, is a reflection of
her artistic spirit, combining
her many interests
from stained glass to sewing to gardening; her back-yard butterfly
garden is surreal in its complexity and Eden-like beauty. As one
example, as a wedding present for my dear lady wife and me, Silvija
created an absolutely magnificent stained glass window of the Lion of
St. Mark that graces the front of my home. This three-foot-square
creation is, in her description, a "small" project - she was used to
working on large-scale pieces. As amazing as the window is, I find
difficulty looking at it now realizing that she is gone.
Silvija truly loved culture and folk
tradition. Her anthropological studies took her to some of the furthest
reaches of Eastern Europe. She studied and learned the culture, dances,
songs and the folk-traditions of peoples who have been plagued by war
and destruction for so long that their countries' names have become
almost synonymous with those concepts. Yet, through her efforts and the
efforts of others like her, we have gained an understanding and an
appreciation of the cultural richness of those whose lives are so very
different from our own. Thinking of Silvija reminds me of the many
facets of life. When one looks at a person, a country, and a culture,
there are so many, many ways to learn from it. Is a Russian defined by
his history, or by his clothing? Is a Romanian defined by his cooking,
or by his dance? Is a Bosnian judged by his folktales, or by his
war-torn nation? What I have learned from Silvija is that a culture is
all of these things - good and bad, serious and trivial, new and old.
Like a proverbial "quickbread," a culture consists of the sum of the
whole, while the absence of any ingredient makes the finished product
less-than-complete.
I will miss Silvija very much. She made this society a better
place, reminding us all that we do what we do (or SHOULD do what we do)
because it is fun. I will miss dancing with Silvija. I have yet to
understand how she could always stay on the dance floor, while I found
myself on the sides trying to catch my breath! I will miss the stories
that she had to share - give her a subject, and she could easily come up
with a story to match it! I will miss her complex character - serious,
yet childlike; researched, yet naive; artistic, yet scholarly. Like
Wendy in Peter Pan, Silvija will never grow old. She will always be, in
my mind, a fun, partially insane playmate on the dance floor.
Silvija, shall we do one more Bourree'
Valsee?
In sadness
and with respect,
Giuseppe Francesco da Borgia
Joe Cook
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