Elizabeth Jane Simpson Hunt
December 15, 1914 – June 7, 2009
On August 7th, we said our last goodbyes. Here is what I said:
Unfortunately, it is only a short time ago, that I sat down to a similar task, to put down notes about a person that was part of my life for a very long time. And I realized, that when it came right down to it, I really did not know a lot of details about Elizabeth Jane Simpson Hunt, but I did spend quite a lot of time with her and I have great memories of the fun we shared.
Of course, that came in time. The first meeting, was quite uncomfortable for her, as I would only learn later in life, having children of my own. I had gone out on a few “outings” I would call them, not really dates with Jim. We were getting to know each other but not really “dating”. Anyway, this one particular Saturday, Jim and I decided to go hiking in Topanga Canyon and I was driving. So I showed up at Putney Road and Jim let me in the house. He forgot something in his bedroom so we went in there to get it and we were going to leave right away. But, Putt Putt, the cat was lounging on the bed and decided to check me out. I ended up sitting on the edge of the bed to pet the cat, when Lib walked in. She was horrified that a girl was sitting on Jim’s bed. I realized her absolutely uncomfortable demeanor and quickly headed out of the room. Not a really good way to introduce yourself to someone’s parent.
Over the years, I learned that the one thing Elizabeth Hunt had, was a passion for writing. She had scribbles and notes on every kind of paper imaginable. I heard for years about a book she was writing on the Civil War. Early in our relationship, Jim built her a file to keep her chapters in, to try and help her organize all the paper. When we were packing her house for her move to La Jolla, she still had that file. I am sure it meant a lot to her, just the fact that her son built it for her.
One of the most memorable times of my life, was my first trip East to see Jim, but also to meet his relatives. Lib was there for the summer taking care of her mother as she did every year to give her sister Helen a break. Many things happened on that trip, but what I remember most, was how she had fun just being Lib. Everyone was always happy to see her. We went to Huntingdon to see where her father had a cabin. We went downtown to visit relatives. We stayed in her brothers house. I remember waking up one morning to find her on the front porch shooting at a tree with a 22 rifle. That was Lib. Quite unpredictable.
Elizabeth Jane Simpson Hunt had a very good life. She loved and was loved by her family.
posted by Huntess at 8/18/2009 03:03:00 PM
7 Comments:
I think of Aunt Lib with very fond memories. She was always fun to talk with and often had a different slant on things. I'll never forget the time we went out for dinner with her and Jim (Jim and I). The waitress asked if we would like a drink. "Oh no" everyone said but ten minutes later Lib says to her "I'd like a big shot of whiskey please." When it came she drank it down with gusto and then resumed the conversation as if nothing had happened. She was kind of unpredictable and quirky and completely charming. In my infantile view of where she may be now she and Mary S and maybe Barb and Susie are all yukking it up. God bless them all.
It was always nice to see Aunt Lib during the summer when she came to take care of Nanny. Always a smile on her face, happy to see us. Maybe it was the California influence, but I always found her to be pleasant and fun even after a glass of "brown".
When I got back from Vietnam many years ago I spent my leave at home on the east coast, then returned to duty in California. I flew out first to get things ready for the arrival of Marg and Thatcher.
I was into many types of drugs at the time, particularly psychedelics, and took a hit of LSD upon departing Newark.
Lib met me at LAX as I was peaking.
She knew something was up but had the grace to go with the flow. I spent the next several days as the Hunt's guest with my mind bent one way or the other. Lib never said a word, just let loose with that unique laugh of hers now and then.
She was a treat.
Here's to you Lib.
Jim
Aunt Lib, the writer, was always a supportive critic. Once, exactly 40 years ago, I showed up at the Hunt house in LA with a fist full of recently written poems. She wanted to read them and I reluctantly let her do so. As she read through them she laughed with great gusto (that unique laugh that Jim mentioned), and when she finished she told me the poems were the very best and that I was a great poet. Of course the poems were so-so, and I’ve never quite lived up to the star billing, but she sure made me feel good. That’s what I remember best about Aunt Lib: she was a genuinely happy person, and when you were with her you felt good.
Back in October of 2001 i flew out to San Diego just a few weeks after 9/11. I remember it was $149 round trip and they upgraded me to first class because everyone was still afraid the planes would be blown out of the sky.
I went to chat with Lib. They said her mind was on the wane and I had some questions before it went totally out the window. I spent three days with her in La Jolla walking and talking and sitting along the ocean.
Her short term memory was pretty well shot but she had tremendous recall about her youth and the family history. I learned much about WB and their brother Jim from the eyes of the older sister. I also heard much I had never heard before about our grandfather CR and our great grandfather JR (of Antietam fame) and JR's sister, Aunt Annie.
Recently I finished a novel with JR and Annie as primary characters. it's all fictionalized, of course, but i nevertheless give lib a great deal of the credit for all she taught me about the family over the years.
and lest i forget to mention, i named my eldest daughter, the big rosy red apple of my eye, after auntie.
trunks, branches, twigs, leaves
they're all dropping now
or broken
some dropped off early & washed downstream somewhere. . .
we hold on tight
but winter comes
Nora
Helen wrote this poem for class last year. I think it is timely for the last two posts.. Lib and Mary...
The frames filled to the brim
with faces that stare with a grin
Some alive, but some dead
Some pictures of the back
of ones head
Still in our hearts, but not in
our house
They left us so quickly,
like a scurrying mouse
Pictures are there for us
to remember what's impalpable
To look at their faces without a tear
is impossible
Pictures are there to remember
times that we will miss
Next time you see
a lost one in a picture
Give it a kiss
We will miss them all... Wendy
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