Wonderful winter solstice memories

I had heard tell of Pammie for several years before I had the pleasure of meeting her at a winter solstice dinner she and Sue held in December 2008. I came expecting good food (Sue was cooking) and fascinating tales of international travel. The evening brought me all that and more. Pammie was welcoming and entertaining and she made me feel like both an old friend and an honored guest. I was delighted when Pammie and Sue repeated the event the following year. Last year I started looking forward to it in October. This year when I met up with little Noah at John's book-manuscript-submitting party, we talked about seeing each other again at Pammie's for the winter solstice. Well, truthfully, Noah may have only had strawberries on his mind, but I got happy just thinking about the winter solstice dinner. It didn't take a lot of time for Pammie to touch my life, just a few delightful evenings.

Pammie and the Boys (and Mindy, too)

            I met Pammie shortly after moving into my apartment in 2001. It was the normal neighbor thing ``Hi, how are you'' when you ran into someone in the elevator. In August, I told her I was taking my mom and aunt to Ireland for vacation. Her first question was ``Can I watch your cats?'' I had made arrangements for a professional sitter to visit for one of the weeks I was gone, but she wasn't available the second week. A friend promised to check on them every day. There weren't enough keys for everyone, so I arranged for Pammie to get one set of keys that she would make duplicates to give to the friend. And so I went off on vacation.

            When I returned to New Jersey, where my aunt lived, I called the friend to tell her I would be driving down to Washington the next day and make arrangements to pick up the keys. She said she never picked up the keys. Throughout the four-hour drive, all I could think was that my cats had been left at the mercy of a stranger for a week, and there was a good chance I'd find them starving or even dead when I got home.

            Pammie was waiting for me. She explained that, since my cats' names were Tennyson and Montague, she was sure they'd like the Shakespeare or an Arthurian legend, but it turns out Tennyson preferred the tales of the Arabian nights. Monty, being Monty, liked anything. Not only had she been going in to feed them, she had gone in and read to the them so they wouldn't feel lonely being all by themselves in a relatively new home.

            The boys adored her. They would run up anytime she came into my place, and if my front door was left open they'd go running over to her place. They even managed to get along with Orlando, her cat, as long as it meant they could see Pammie. When Orlando died, they provided comfort to her. She would give them special treats, Christmas presents every year, and made sure Tenny was always stocked up with his fresh-sliced turkey breast. She told the deli people at Giant that she was making sandwiches for a church group. She'd call me to ask if I needed ``You know what for You know who.'' After a while, she shortened it to leave notes that simply said ``YKW2?''

            Fast forward several years, and Monty developed cancer. I had heard that cats would run away when they knew they were going to die, so their owners wouldn't have to face the emotional trauma. When things got really bad, Monty took his pain-wracked body and ran away to Pammie's, where he knew he'd be safe. She came with me to the vet's when I took him that last time, but couldn’t stand to stay once my John arrived because she was just so overwhelmed. 

            Tenny couldn't stand being an only child and cried miserably for two months before I finally agreed to get another cat. We found Mindy's glamour shot on  adoptapet.com and decided to bring her home. The rescue people had warned me Mindy was ``overweight and demanding,'' which I consider a breed trait for Maine Coon cats, but didn't mention that she was morbidly obese and sometimes rather abusive. She hit Tenny when they first met. But she loved Pammie from the start. She'd get peckish from my putting her on a diet, and would run over to Pammie's to complain. Pammie would give her love (and occasionally a treat) and let her roam around. It was great exercise. Mindy always wanted to get out and run to Pammie's door, looking at me in confusion when it didn't open.

            It was also where Tenny and Mindy reached their detente. Tenny would go in, immediately scratch the couch while staring at Mindy as if to say `I was here first.' Mindy would pretend to ignore him and immediately head to the study where she would start her almost daily walk. As Mindy became svelte and more comfortable in her surroundings (including with Tenny), her sweetness came shining through. Pammie always said it was because I had promised Mindy she was in her ``forever home'' after a succession of owners, but it was the acceptance and love from her Aunt Pammie that really helped.

            On the night Pammie died, the kids stayed home, comforting me, John Auchard and my John as the police and paramedics came through. The next day, I had my door open and Pammie's door open as John Auchard and I looked for a phone book to notify her friends. Normally, Tenny and Mindy would have streaked out of my place and run to Pammie's. Instead, they sat in the doorway of my apartment, just waiting for me to come home so they could both curl around me in comfort.

            It took two weeks before Mindy would even look at my front door. When she finally did, she looked toward Pammie's door, and quickly away before turning down to go along the sunwell. They know they'll never find a better friend than their Aunt Pammie.

Pammie: Blue-Eyed Hindi-Speaking Yorkist and Much Loved Friend

A waiter once spoke in Hindi to one of the members of our book club at a dinner, while addressing Pammie in English. “I speak Hindi,” Pammie said quietly to me, seeming a tad put out that the handsome waiter had not remembered talking to her earlier in that language. I told my husband about it when I got home that night, finding it funny in the nicest way. Pammie seemed not to understand why the waiter would look at this woman with those enormous blue eyes and not automatically think “ah, yes, Hindi speaker.”

Pammie benefited enormously from her travels, giving her a brilliant, if unorthodox, perspective. I knew of Pammie’s sharp and curious mind even before I met her. She had passed onto Sue her wonderful pet theory about a potential Scottish link to the grand statues on Easter Island. This gave Sue, my sister and me another idea to ponder during our 2002 visit there, trying to see how some redhaired Picts could have possibly had a role in the reddish stone "hats" that stand atop the grand statues of the ancestors of the Easter Islanders. I think that Easter Island is one of the few fascinating places in the world that Pammie didn’t visit.

Her approach was excruciatingly correct about the important things in life, including her friends, whether they walked on two or four feet, and language. She sent handwritten notes and fussed about flowers sent as gifts. Pammie told me once that she knew that we would get on well because we both stuck with the traditional meaning of “decimate” as to reduce by a tenth, and frowned upon the modern dilution of its meaning to any old drastic reduction. She also told me that she was thrilled to find that we were both Yorkists, meaning that we shared a conviction that Richard III has been done a mean trick by history. Her interests seemed vast and varied.

Pammie possessed a rare combination of great warmth and a sharp, sharp wit. She will be missed greatly because she was, rightfully, adored so much and by so many.

"A Pig Parade is a Terrible Idea" and other Pammie stories

Courtney, Noah and I were remembering Pammie last night by reading the children's book she gave him last Christmas. Its title, I think, says a lot about Pammie's whimsical nature. "A Pig Parade is a Terrible Idea" (http://www.amazon.com/Pig-Parade-Terrible-Idea/dp/1416979220) is quite funny. You might have guessed that from the title. It also doesn't talk down to kids, and is funny for adults, too. If you've ever spoken to Pammie, that won't be surprising.

Pammie never spoke down to Noah, or anyone else that I ever saw. She appreciated everyone for who they were. Her laughter and positive attitude seemed to bring out the best in her many friends. She was a delightful contributor to our book club. She hosted a great solstice party with great conversation and great food -- even when she wasn't in the best of physical shape at this past celebration. She loved to have a drink or two with her meals. She was a good talker and a good listener.

We miss you and love you.

A spirited woman

Pammie was a rare woman. Well traveled, well-read, and with a mischievous sense of humor who was always fun to meet. She was the life of the Bloomberg book clubs, whenever she was well enough to attend. And I am especially thankful to her for introducing me to Alexander McCall Smith. I especially enjoyed getting to know her because she always had a story to tell about her time in India and Nepal. The last time I met her, at the 2010 Christmas party in her beautiful home, she surprised me and my husband with a few words of Hindi.

Pammie And Halloween

     Of the many charming and funny memories of Pammie that I relish, her love of Halloween is right up there near the top. One Halloween in particular cracks me up.  I was driving home from work after picking up my son Danny from school. We pulled into the driveway, and I saw what to the best of my memory was a rhinoceros, anyway a fearsome beast, walking in the front door. 

     The rhinoceros extended from a sharp horn, to a long snout with a toothy scowl, all the way down to his hips.  Below the hips extended two spindly little legs that looked quite human.  Danny and I followed the rhinoceros into the lobby, and I said, tentatively, "Pammie, is that you?"  A quiet, frustrated voice floated out of the toothy mouth:  "I've been in this lobby for hours and everyone who goes by says 'Hi, Pammie,' 'Hi, Pammie,' 'Happy Halloween, Pammie!' Honestly!"

     To this day I laugh when I think about that lovely encounter. I also treasure memories of all the treats, for Danny and for our dog Woton, that we would find at our door before Halloween, and other holidays, lighting up life after a hard day. How will we get through Halloween?

From Marianna Ohe

Pammie's home

Pammie's apartment was a house of wonders for our son: trinkets galore! And all out for him to touch and play with. For adults, it was a tour of all of the fascinating places she had been. But, above all that, Pammie was a giving person. It showed in her words and in her actions. And, I will forever be grateful for that.

Pammie's eclectic reading

     Pammie was indeed well-read, and had a particular liking for sly humor. Just a week or two ago, in light of the whole News Corp. scandal, she had me read Rudyard Kipling's ``The Village that Voted the Earth Was Flat,'' about London newsmen who take revenge on a small town because of a traffic ticket. Here's a link: http://www.readbookonline.net/readOnLine/8324/   
    Part of the story involves some sort of weird dance that I envisioned as a cross between Native American circle dances and the Charleston. We discussed how it might have looked. Just imagine Pammie trying to emulate the dance. 'Nuff said.

Pammie the adventurer

Pammie was wonderful to be around because she could tell tales about all her travels, she loved to discuss liberal politics, and she had read *everything.* She got the book club to read one of the Flashman books, which was wacky fun if (and that is a very big if) you could get past the most objectionable parts of Flashy's character and the language he used. She also gave me a paperback of the complete works of Saki, the pseudonym of H.H. Munro, an Edwardian-era British writer of mostly short stories that skewered top society often in macabre ways. Her favorite story was "Tobermory," the story of a cat who was taught to talk, to the dismay of all the humans around him. And here it is: http://www.geocities.com/Athens/Oracle/7207/tober.html
I had never heard of Saki, but she was certain I would love his stories, and of course she was right. Pammie had a great life, she had a great talent for making friends, and I will miss her. With love, Laurie

Christmas at Pammie's

Pammie enjoyed Christmas immensely with all its warm feelings as well as its many ritual trappings. She  enthusiastically contributed ornaments every year to the tree in Sue's apartment and always had an impressive wreath on her door. But the decorations could also reach the point where they ran up against Pammie's uncompromising practicality. Case in point: the f**ing garland. Pammie had an artificial garland that she intended to be strung festively across the the tops of the windows in her living room, but it was a royal pain to get it positioned up there. In fact, rather than being displayed, it simply got cursed at. Its official name was the f**ing garland.

Come Celebrate Pammie's Birthday

Pammie would have turned 70 this Wednesday, Aug. 10. Please join us in toasting her life at the Elephant & Castle at 10th and Penn, downtown, anytime after 6:30 p.m. The reservation for a table in the back (where you can join us for drinks or dinner) is in my name.

About Pammie

Pamela Gordon Heinl Burdick, foreign service wife and friend of many, died at her Washington DC home on July 30, 2011. The daughter of Colonel Robert Debs Heinl, Jr., and Nancy Gordon Heinl, she was born on August 10, 1941, in Guantanamo Bay, Cuba. She was a student at the Oyster School in Washington DC, the Stella Maris Convent School in Barnstaple, England, and, graduating at 15, at Visitation Academy in Georgetown (class of ‘57). Just after her sixteenth birthday, she began as a freshman at Mt. Holyoke College. She later studied at Reid Hall in Paris, and at the Sorbonne.

On July 15, 1961, she married John R. Burdick in Port-au-Prince, Haiti. She traveled extensively throughout her life, and, on postings for CARE, the Peace Corps, and AID, she lived with her family in Haiti, Colombia, Sierra Leone, Morocco, India, Nepal, and Tanzania, as well as stateside in California and Washington, DC, her first and last home.

She is survived by her former husband John R. Burdick, and her daughter, Alexandra (Alexa) Gordon Roberts, both of Chester, SC, her son, Peter Robinson Burdick of Lake Placid, NY, grandsons Zachary J. Roberts and Aiden O. Roberts of Chester, SC, and her brother Michael C. Heinl of Washington, DC.

A memorial service in Washington is planned for the fall. Memorials may be made in her name to the Animal Rescue League of Washington, DC. Please make all donations in her name, so her family can know.