Weather Report with Shopping Memory

Dear Elizabeth,

Weather report.

It just hailed.  The sound of little ticking on the windows grew louder, and then the wind kicked in, and the sheets of rain went diagonal.  Yesterday the wind blew so hard, I passed a blown down awning on Christopher St. and at the corner of Varick and Franklin was a tipped over tree in its gigantic concrete planter. 

They say the gusts were up to 40 miles per hour.  Went shopping anyway.  Impossible to think of shopping without thinking of you.  Harry’s Shoes now has a whole store just for children.  You were patient  trying on different styles and  sizes of shoes while the many older people competed for the attention of Harry’s sales men waiting on you. 

When we shopped in the old Burlington Coat Factory on Park Place—you would hide under the clothes racks, slip between the hanging coats and dresses, play hide and seek there.  

Now the Burlington Coat Factory is a mosque.  And small children wear Uggs.  

Dear Visitors

Dear Visitors to Elizabeth's Blog,

Thank you for coming to this site.  It is wonderful that you are still thinking of her.  Please feel free to say something.  I really cherish every little message left here.

Thank you again.

 Patricia Aakre

Re-post of one of my favorite pictures

What I love about this picture is the way she is laughing. Elizabeth loved to laugh, and loved her friends, and this picture shows both things at once. Emma especially made E. laugh. Thanks, Emma.

Pictures of Elizabeth with her dad

 

Eiffel Tower 2004

 

Narrowsburg, 1996 

 

Elizabeth and Whiskers, Minnesota, 1993
 

When she was two we would take walks in the stroller just before she didn’t need it any more and could fly where ever she chose to dash off to.  She loved to use her legs pumping at the swings, springing from the floorboards in her Johnny jump up, wheeling around in her walker at six months.  Propulsion was her middle name. 

Memory of Akumal

We swam to the open waters from the closed inlet, crowded with snorkelers. So many swimmers  seek the brilliant colored parrotfish, the blue tang, angelfish, sergeant majors, royal gammas, needlenose. We swam to the open water where I imagined I could see in the distance Captain Jack Aubrey's HMS Sophie, but looking straight down, there is a turtle, a big sea turtle, just galumphing along. I point, so that she will see it, but she already sees another and points for me to notice.

Oh Christmas Tree!

Season full of Hope and Peace!

We hope you had a peaceful time in PR.

Here is a picture of our tribute to Lizzy on our

Christmas Tree. See you soon.

Love, Mary, Steve, Cook and Nick

from Nicholas Alciati

I carried a blue plastic dinosaur in my pocket today.
That dinosaur traveled with me to Poughkeepsie to student teach.
That dinosaur ate my awful fast food lunch with me.
That dinosaur was in my pocket when I did a presentation on Robert Rauschenberg today.
That dinosaur was with me when I had the usual hummus and pretzel dinner.
That dinosaur was with me when I sat in my room listening to the Garden State soundtrack remembering the time we sang every song on the railroad tracks.
That dinosaur has gotten me through a lot in the past three years.
That dinosaur was in your dorm room and was given to me by my mom when she broke the news to me three years ago, tomorrow.
That dinosaur was with me at your wake and funeral.
That dinosaur was with me when I decided on which college to go to.
That dinosaur was with me whenever I was having a bad day.
That dinosaur was with me when got admitted into BFA photography program.
That dinosaur was there when I made a book, just for you.
That dinosaur sits next to my bed every night.
That dinosaur is one of the only physical things I have to remember you by.
That dinosaur can never make up for your absence, but the memories I have make things better.
I am so lucky to have known you and without you I may be going to school to just be a number in our society.
I may have denied my artistic passion, but you pushed me to embrace it, rather than hide it.
You influenced me in ways that I think you could never understand.
Although you are gone, you have given me more than most people have in this world.
Gone is such a permanent word, you're not really gone, you're here in other ways and that helps me get through my days as a busy photography student.
I love you Elizabeth, and with your blue dinosaur and the memories I have, I can get through anything.

Anniversary by Susan Markert

It comes

like fog

settling in and over

the day.

A date, a time, a moment

that changed everything.

They did not know

in the produce department at the grocery store

where a mother caught an avalanche of orange peppers

set off by her curious toddler

They did not know

at the stop light

where a car full of teens

smoking

waited for the light to change

Or on the boulevard

where a couple argued in a car

over something insignificant

and both felt unappreciated.

The mailman still came

the catalogs glossy

and promising a better life

My mothers red-rimmed eyes

The sound of a wail

as my purse fell

to the floor

Where did it come from?

It was me

I heard

As if watching

from another room

far from the truth telling

The sky looked different after knowing

as my heart shattered

into millions of little pieces

and fell to the ground

shiny and scattered

And I felt as if

I would never stop crying

Ever.

Does she remember my face

my eyes

before the news?

Did they change

like the sky?

The earth shifted that day

Only some felt it

Still feel it

When the fog moves in.

***************************************

Susan is my cousin, and lost her father, my uncle Edward Markert, suddenly one morning when he did not wake up.  He was 52, Susan 17.

Howling

Every day after his dinner
the cat lets out a yowl that cannot be explained
Is he still hungry
Was the meal too wonderful
Who knows what he is missing or needing
to explain further

When she first died he would go to the bed
in search of her, and I would be there
and he would bury his head in my hand
and be comforted.

But sometimes
a yowl
is what
is needed

from Liza Bennett

Dear Patty:

Just wanted you to know that we're thinking about you and Richard today.   This, always one of my favorite Roethke poems, seems to perfectly distill my own feelings.

ELEGY FOR JANE (My student, thrown by a horse) I remember the neckcurls, limp and damp as tendrils;  And her quick look, a sidelong pickerel smile;  And how, once started into talk, the light syllables leaped for her.  And she balanced in the delight of her thought,  A wren, happy, tail into the wind,  Her song trembling the twigs and small branches.  The shade sang with her;  The leaves, their whispers turned to kissing,  And the mould sang in the bleached valleys under the rose.  Oh, when she was sad, she cast herself down into such a pure depth,  Even a father could not find her:  Scraping her cheek against straw,  Stirring the clearest water.  My sparrow, you are not here,  Waiting like a fern, making a spiney shadow.  The sides of wet stones cannot console me,  Nor the moss, wound with the last light.  If only I could nudge you from this sleep,  My maimed darling, my skittery pigeon.  Over this damp grave I speak the words of my love:  I, with no rights in this matter,  Neither father nor lover.  —Theodore Roethke

Books at Packer

There will be a fund to purchase photography books at Packer Collegiate in Elizabeth's name.  Eric Baylin, her photography teacher, who was so influential in getting her to think of what it takes to make a good photograph, will help with selection.

Elizabeth loved Pippi Longstocking

It's the birthday of children's novelist Astrid Lindgren, born in Vimmerby, Sweden  (1907). She grew up on a farm in southern Sweden, playing with her brothers  and sisters and listening to her family tell stories. Eventually she got  married, had a daughter, and gave up working at age 24 in order to stay home  and take care of her kids. One day, her daughter, Karin, was sick in bed, so  Astrid started telling her stories of a spunky, strong, independent girl who  mocks adults and manages to get by just fine without a family, caution,  education, or the opposite sex. And that girl was Pippi Longstocking, with  magical powers, a pet monkey, freckles, and bright red pigtails that stuck out  on either side of her head. The book was published as Pippi Långstrump (1945) in Sweden, Pippi Longstocking in English, and it became one of the most  beloved children's books of all time. She described Pippi: "Her hair, the  color of a carrot, was braided in two tight braids that stuck straight out. Her  nose was the shape of a very small potato and was dotted all over with  freckles."
 Astrid Lindgren went on to write more than 80 books, and  died at age 94.

Nine Months

 

I have grieved for you as long as I carried you in my belly

Obviously I liked being pregnant more

this state is torture

You are just gone

vanished

I know what happened to your body

but I don’t know about your soul

I want to speak to you so much

and hear your voice

I read your notebook today

so fresh alive

you said my mom is so sad

If people are capable of change

I am changing every day

but one thing is constant

I thought I was bringing you in to the world to grow old

I thought I would get to see you middle aged

none of that

none

of

that

When you were a baby Liza and I rocked you around the house

bouncing you on my hip

singing I’m an old cow hand

from the rio grande

any old song that would cheer you

calm you down to

slumber

I sang you lullabies

Do you  remember the one

All the pretty little horses

Oh darling

I am lost  

Making Apple Pie

It wasn't the flaky dough with bits of butter making it fall apart and melt in your mouth that she liked.  It was the apple slices, punctured and  shaped  by the round coring tool / slicer found at an orchard upstate when things were still made in this country.  The segments  drizzled with lemon juice, coated with brown sugar, cinnamon, flour, and a touch of nutmeg, began to ooze the  juices of pippins, macouns, galas, braeburns, granny smiths, honeycrisps.


She liked to eat the apple mixture raw before it's put into the dough.  She would have eaten half the pie filling cause she didn't like the pie.  She adored the fruit inside the pie especially all of those juices blended together.  Yesterday there were  many apples left without her to eat these juicy bits before their being baked in the pie.  It is a high pie as a result.

Description of Elizabeth January 19, 2000

The Two Elizabeths

1.  Description of Elizabeth Aakre
By Elizabeth Kester, 2000

"Hi!" she says with a jump as I enter the classroom.

"Hi." I say, still tired from waking up.

"Guess what."
"What?" I ask.

"I got a new shirt!" she grins.

I look at her. Her brown eyes are either shining brightly, lighting up the room, or after long Frankenstein rehearsals, tired. She has a big smile on her face. Little freckles lay on her dimples. A regular Pollyanna.

She zooms around the room, talking to many people, informing them of news. She engages in many conversations, and always contributes. When chatting, most students look up at her. She is a tall girl, and shorter than only a few people.

Playing soccer or basketball, there is rarely a time when we are not together. If you kick the ball, or score a basket, she cheers you on and gives you a high five.

Playing on the soft green grass at the East River, she kicks the soccer ball with all her might.

"Good job," I say to her as we set our defensive move. I kick it away from a member of the opposing team with a little swish.

"Go Elizabeth!" she yells enthusiastically.

"Thank you," I say which is my usual response.

Her straight brown hair swishes from under her hat as she gives another kick. I cheer for her and the game is over.

She can be shy. She sits quietly at her desk. If she is embarrassed she silently runs over to her friends and hides her face. When embarrassed, we both mutter something under our breath as if to say we are terrible.

If she gets upset, she deals with it. Eventually she will get over the problem and forget about it. It becomes hazy in her mind.

She makes many different voices. From talking in a baby lisp conversation, to making a little witch cackle, she almost always has an interesting voice.

2.  Description of Elizabeth Kester 
By Elizabeth Aakre 2000

As I walk into the room with her every one stares.  She is so smart and talented and smart that she is very well known.  In fact, Elizabeth is one of the smartest people in our grade!  Since every one knows this, she is often bothered for homework help.

I look at her, her light blue eyes are always twinkling with excitement.  She has a timid smile almost always, unless it's after volleyball practice, which is when our wrists and arms start to ache!

She sets her stuff down on my desk and grins at me.  This is an annoying habit that both of us have picked up since last year.  Since we sat together last year too, we took advantage of the opportunity and sumped stuff on each others desk at every possible time.

While stealing Zack's hat or playing volleyball, Elizabeth is always one of the best players!  Along with being a good team player, she is a great supporter!  Whether you just managed to knock his hat off or managed to steal it and run away with it, she is always supporting.

Elizabeth is one of the best friends I have .  Whether we need to have a good cry over Pacey and Joey, or to have a good laugh over Ian's funny movements, she's always there for you.  Especially if you have a secret.  I don't think that she has ever related one of my secrets to the rest of our friends.  I don't know what I'd do without you.

When it's a birthday

or a holiday, or the beginning of school, or the end of school, or you see a barrette, or a button, that belonged to her, you wonder what life would have been like if she were still alive.

the tree is stunted

in front of the fire station where it lived inside the scaffolding
for more than three years when they renovated the building next door
and crammed its young limbs into holes not big enough for them to grow
and the seasons came and went but the little tree, sister to the one
next door that evaded the truss of the scaffolding and is now tall
and thriving, began to sicken, and yellow
bitten into by its enemy, the scaffolding that
would not let it grow.

When I look at the tree, I think of the time when life included her,
and the limb was young and healthy.

This is too direct a comparison, but I pass the stunted tree
every day and think it is my sister, and wonder how much longer
before they chop it down for good.


Street with stunted tree on left, other tree on right. The building while restoration took place was surrounded by scaffolding.


What it looks like What it should look like

Shakespeare

This arrived in my mail box today, courtesy of Writers Almanac.

In his tragedy The Life and Death of King John, Constance gives this speech:

Grief fills the room up of my absent child,
Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me,
Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words,
Remembers me of all his gracious parts,
Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form;
Then, have I reason to be fond of grief?
Fare you well: had you such a loss as I,
I could give better comfort than you do.--
I will not keep this form upon my head,
When there is such disorder in my wit.
O Lord! my boy, my Arthur, my fair son!
My life, my joy, my food, my all the world!
My widow-comfort, and my sorrows' cure!

Bouquet for Lizzy

Elizabeth's Channel

When she

finally

discovered

the channel that

her daughter used

to swim
upstream

she felt as if she had joined her

and found a way of countering

death
throwing herself

into her daughter’s skin

or was it

her daughter in her skin

the two

of them

working

furiously

to beat back

the waters that must go down.

Sitting on the rocks at the falls

water gushing over her body—

it is good to be alive.

Riverfest 2009

Went to Riverfest today, and remembered when Elizabeth and Ryanne and Cassie all performed the puppet show in the Kiddy Corner near the post office.  The children wore hand puppets of animals and acted out a play about the environment.  Her picture was in the paper.   There were children over there today.  

Some photographs she loved

In the book, Photography: Venice '79 in our living room I found an index card with pages listed in green ink, some of them double underlined (14, 17, 21, 53, 62, 64, 70, 96, etc.) (bold where underline should be since google doesn't allow underline font).

Here are three of the pictures that were double underlined. Elizabeth must have really loved these. The girl reminds me of her.




Eugene Atget, a door in the rue Eau de Robec, Rouen
She had an eye for great pictures. She trained herself to see by constantly amassing pictures of all kinds.



Lewis Hine, group of Newsies. Brooklyn 1908



Lewis Hine: Powerhouse mechanic, c. 1920

Happy Birthday, Elizabeth G.

Beauty

The bearded iris in bloom --
the leaves newly opened --
she cannot see these --
and her beauty we cannot see --
This is how we are all diminished
and almost crushed

Pictures

She left me notes that said:

I O U 20 hugs

Love,

Elizabeth

or pictures made with ink and paper

for example

This is one of my favorite pictures of Lizzy and me the year Richard had a bumper crop in cucumbers. It is in a frame that she decorated with sea shells she had collected on her travels.

What Branches Grow

Glenna Clifton is now a student at Columbia, but in 2006 she was enrolled at Smith College and lived in Comstock House with Elizabeth at the time she died. She gave me permission to post this recording of the dance she choreographed in Elizabeth's and others' memory which was performed this past fall. Thank you, Glenna, for creating this lovely and moving dance.


What Branches Grow from Patricia Markert on Vimeo.

Choreography: Glenna Clifton

Music: Metamorphosis by Philip Glass and Fix You by Coldplay

Columbia Ballet Collaborative

Laura Goodall, Dasha Jensen, Amber Matz, Marisa McKenna, Marygrace Patterson, Sara Paul, Mary Shorey, Eleanor Zeitlin.

In honor of Elizabeth Aakre (1988-2006), Aaron Anton (1926-2007), Max Brindle (1988-2008), and Will Christianson (1990-2008).

Performed at City Center by the Columbia Balet Collaborative Thursday, November 20th & Friday, November 21st 2008.

Sometimes when all three of them went to the river
and Richard fished, and Patty and Elizabeth swam
they were happy together, letting each other alone
yet staying together in an ideal place, with the rapids
not too fast, and the fish big enough to keep,
and when they grew hot they could cool off in the water.

I was dusting her room

and found the bit of green construction paper we had cut into strips then stapled into links to make a chain we used to rip piece by piece one link per day anticipating Christmas.

She loved making the chain with me. I hung it on the door in late November, just after Thanksgiving vacation when she was home on break. We had made origami at the dining room table too. I found the little whales in her backpack which still hangs from her door.

Christmas is over. But I let it in a little this year, when I sang my heart out at the nursing home with the ninth graders. It can't be the same as making origami with Elizabeth but I do love her and I love the young people in my life, who can never replace her but who keep growing up without her.

Happy Birthday, Shirley Jackson

It's the birthday of Shirley Jackson, (books by this author) born in San Francisco (1919). Her short story "The Lottery" made her famous when it came out in The New Yorker in 1948. It's a story about a small New England town where one resident is chosen by lottery each year to be stoned to death. She wrote the story in two hours.

Elizabeth loved Jackson's We Have Always Lived in the Castle.

Merry Christmas

Dear readers of this blog, and contributors, and friends.

It has been a difficult couple of months leading up to December 2, thinking of Elizabeth still not in the world to enjoy the world and the people she loved. And now that the holidays are here I am trying to think of a way to bring Christmas back to Elizabeth and my memories of her.

Why not spread the news of the book funds? The book funds were established to buy books for libraries where children as inquisitive and passionate about reading could find all sorts of titles to enjoy.

Here are the names and addresses of the funds. Giving a little something to the fund is like giving a Christmas present to Elizabeth.


Tusten Cochecton Library
Narrowsburg, NY 12764


CBA Library
6245 Randall Rd.
Syracuse, NY 13214

Photographs taken by Elizabeth

This is one of my favorite pictures of Elizabeth's. I feel as if she is waving goodbye but lingering. Her presence is there in the disembodied arm. She knows we are looking for her through the darkened window as we glimpse what once was, and the wreath of leaves that continue to grow.

Voting

Elizabeth's name is still on the voting registration rolls even though after she received a request for jury duty I sent in her death certificate.

I wish she could have lived to see this day. I am so happy for all the young people her age whose first presidential election was so historic and full of a feeling of liberation.

Looking for you in the Historic Preservation District

I wrote this when Elizabeth was sixteen.

I went looking for you after you exploded and left the house--
I started at the park where we would go when you were four--
The roses and their stray petals we’d bring home and put in a bowl--
the grass, all fenced off now--
-- in the gazebo, a Jewish wedding,-- in the heat,
people were holding up the canopy, everybody wore a yarmulke.

You weren’t in the gazebo of course, or lingering around the sand pit
now moved and painted blue.
A boy, wet from running in the sprinkler,
pulled at his shorts .
Of course you wouldn’t be here.
You had already finished revisiting this place,
and printing a photo essay of children playing,
capturing the pure attachments that form in an instant:
not knowing each other one minute,
then voila friendship!

You weren’t running on the loading platforms,
now stripped of their overhangs.
“The neighborhood’s gotten so fancy!” you noticed eight years ago
when you were eight and skipped up and down the steps of each platform, now all gone, none of that any more, just oversize housing for the rich and their children.
The weather promised rain but the heat just keeps steeping and the steam just keeps soaking us with sweat. If it were raining you wouldn’t ask me if we could
jump in the puddle on Harrison where the biggest pothole in New York City
used to make a splash basin. You are not there.

I walk down West Broadway and see the sign
--Paste Paper and Push for your business—
old and faded but not gone, a remnant of an age gone by.

Where are you my darling? My beautiful one?

Please come home and forgive me.



http://flickr.com/photos/indieink/573388546/

Salamanders, Nick and Lizzie

Since they were wee ones Nick always had an admiration for Lizzie. As they grew into young adults that admiration grew stronger. Nick is now a student at New Paltz and recently changed his minor to Photo.......this change as he stated to me was in honor of Elizabeth! I am so proud of what he has accomplished in his life, however most proud of his relationship with his special cousin and angel. She was his NYC girl that definitely taught him the ins and outs of actually living in the big city.

Well, Lizzie, here is a picture of you and Nick when you were around 8 or so. It is in our back yard in the suburbs of Syracuse (guess you could call this "country"). You both look a little "gooberish" and I can't help but smile when I see this photo that he was very proud to share his little bit of country with you as you turned each rock looking for the creepy salamanders.

Love mama and aunt Mary!

Looking in the window, Ackerman Road

Photograph by Elizabeth

The Sadness of Sullivan County

Palisades Parkway
in early summer. Second
summer without her.

Back then we counted
tag sales (once there were fifteen),
as we won’t again.

The cat circles us,
bumps his head into ours,
then turns. We’re not her.

Where are the kisses
she lavished on him as if
he were human?

She was pure light,
shining her life on others.
How can she be gone?

At midnight the moon
shone through the window. I sense
it is her spirit.

from Nicholas Alciati

9/4/08



I went back into the darkroom today. This is my second photography class since you’ve been gone. Although it’s still so hard sometimes, when I’m in the darkroom I feel comfort. The kind of comfort I felt when we played video games together in my warm basement after sledding down the treacherous hills of Syracuse. You were always Princess Peach. The darkroom gives me time to reflect upon our time together, and I feel your presence with every gentle wave of chemical over my photo paper. When you were gone, my mom brought back a pack of your paper; every print from that pack was perfect, much like you. You were a great mentor to me. You taught me to be myself and to love life. I still hear your laugh in every picture taken with my camera. I can still see your reflection in the chemicals used to develop my prints. I find myself going to the darkroom more, just to be with you. Your passion is now mine, and I love you for it.

I Used to Think

I used to think when people died their images would fade,
their color pictures change to black and white then grey,
their spirits hover like the light at nightfall.
After his fatal heart attack, I felt Walter tethered
to the earth, revolving like a moon in orbit
or were we revolving around him
who felt alone out there?
But when you died I saw nothing.
The sun eclipsed, the moon
went dark, and an absence grew
so vast a continent appeared where I now live.

SUMMER 99

Check out this video: SUMMER 99
The link above takes you to myspace where you watch the movie without the myspace tag in the lower right corner

I threw away some clothes

Socks, bikini bottoms,
the t shirt with the pig's face,
the button down polo shirt,
and dear Emma took away some dresses
but I held on to three gauzy girly blouses.
Emma said, "She was such a scavenger."

Her black sneakers sit in the top drawer of her dresser,
because when she comes back as Didion says
she will be able to find them

Memorial bench at St. Luke's Church Garden on Hudson Street

The bench is nearest the Hudson St. south garden, in the sun. Elizabeth liked to sit in the sun, so we chose the sunniest spot there. The plaque reads "In memory of Elizabeth G. Aakre."

How do you get there?
The Church of Saint Luke in the Fields is located at 487 Hudson Street, in Greenwich Village, New York City, at the intersection of Hudson Street and Grove Street. Directions are here at this link.

Garden Hours
NOTE – the closing times may vary due to Church and/or School functions.

Hudson Street North Garden Gate
(Main gate – 487 Hudson Street)
Monday- Saturday 7am-8pm; Sunday 7am-7pm.

Rector’s Garden Gate
Monday–Thursday 10am-5;30pm.

Barrow Street gate to South Garden
Daily 8am-8pm (dusk during the winter).

Hudson Street Gate to South Garden
Monday-Saturday 10am-8pm (dusk during the winter)
Sunday 11am-6:30pm

Photo by Helen Levitt, New York City circa 1940

I love this photo, and think she would have too. (Would she have said "Genius!"?)
I saw it in the New Yorker today. Lawrence Miller Gallery is having
a show of both Levitt's and Bresson's photographs. The NPR link
has an interview with Levitt who is still alive at 95 and
now photographs mostly farm animals.


NPR Interview with Helen Levitt

How She Played Badminton

She was fast,
she was strong,
she was canny, but mostly she had
the stamina to outlast you no matter how fast
you thought you could run
She could run faster
Her legs went on for miles
For every step that she took
you would have to take twenty
She was limber
and she could stretch down to the ground
and then up to the sky in a matter of seconds
How she dominated the court,
the net held up with two fallen branches from the maples out front
In her prime she did not rely on a net game
faking you out. She revelled in the chase, the running game,
and it was fun to indulge this passion
and challenge yourself to see how much you could run before she would outdo you.
Sending the birdie back to the same place
over and over again
(left corner was her weakness)
On long volleys I would send it there
and she would return to me
bang
Her wrist relaxed snapping the racket til it shot
the feathers across

The neighbor who took the game so seriously
called her devil child


She was invincible

from Nicholas Alciati, Elizabeth's cousin

Photograph of Nick Alciati after production of Footloose, 2005






I started off middle school not sure where I was heading in life. Although I was playing football and running track, I felt as though something was missing in my life. I had always been active in the arts but had shut off the creative side of my brain during this time. Fortunately a golden haired, beautiful girl changed that for me.


I remember floating down the river in our tubes and just talking about everything from her blossoming interest in photography to how stupid she thought the band the Postal Service was. She was one of the only people in my life who I could be fully open with, unafraid of judgment. Elizabeth had an aura to her unlike anyone I have ever met in my 19 years of existence. Everytime I was around her I felt complete happiness and did not hold anything back. If it were not for her I am almost certain that I would not be heading down the path I am. I am now a second year art education major and have decided to concentrate in photography in Elizabeth’s honor. Although she is no longer with us, I still feel her presence every time I snap a picture.

It’s still hard to live life without Lizzy. She was my city mouse and I, her country mouse. I would go to the city and be amazed at the culture and action and she would come to Syracuse and be amazed at the cheap prices. She loved to go to target and the local art supply store just to buy some cheap lotion and pens. Our times playing videogames were also memorable. Although I had never really like playing them, when Elizabeth came to my house we could get lost in Mario Party. Patty never liked that being a librarian and all, but Lizzy packed in the reading as well.

She was a brilliant girl and an inspiration to all she knew. It’s been a hard year and a half, but we all must celebrate her life. If it were not for her I can completely say that I would not be the person I am today. I’m not afraid to break away from societal conformity because of my beautiful Elizabeth. I love you Elizabeth and think of you everyday. You are my angel, and the reason that I keep living my life carefree and creatively.

She loved The Cosby Show

This episode always made her laugh.
It was the pilot for the show in 1983.

Letters from Lizzy

These letters were written to Liza and Bill Bennett, and the annotations are by Liza Bennett. Thank you, Liza, for sharing them.

The Art of the Thank-You Note

Lizzy was her mother's daughter when it came to writing funny, charming, and always slightly unexpected thank-you letters. I went through my little cache recently and found four that I particularly admire. Here they are in roughly chronological order, as best I can discern from her developing penmanship which began largish and loopy with an elaborate signature to arrive at a very poised and ladylike hand.


Written on a little card illustrated by Alice Beard of two girls reading a book with a fairy watching them from behind

"Dear Liza,
Thank you for all of your gifts! Especially... well all of them!!!
Love Lizzy

She then illustrated the gifts in question with little pen drawings and captions:
"fortune teller fish"..."blue porcelain bowl"... "nail art"..."dragonfly bracelet"

Written in pencil, dated 7/26/01, on stationary with cats chasing each other around the edges:

"Dear Liza and Bill,
Thank you so much for the fabric additions to my collection. They're so beautiful!! You're both wonderful badminton players! (a very kind lie) Bill, are you still unbelieving @ your win? Liza, you will definitely beat me next time, but 'til then, keep dreaming!
Much love, Lizzy
p.s. Mom and Dad and the kitties send their best regards

Written on a card illustrated with a woodcut of green leaves, undated

"Dear Liza and Bill,
Thank you so much for my wonderful birthday presents. Now all of the items which have been scattered around my room are put properly in place and organized. In fact, it is strangely frightening how disorganized I was before. I hardly recognize my room! Thanks for curing me of my disease.
Love, Elizabeth Aakre"

Written on a note card I'd given her decorated with a gold leaf, dated 6/28/06

"Dear Liza and Bill,
Thank you for the best dinner of the year! (We'd taken her out to celebrate her graduation from Packer) What a wonderful night — the soup, the waiter, the breadsticks! My ravioli were perfection, and — as a ricotta fan — I could not have been happier. I am sure to be the best read and dressed lady in Northampton next year. Thanks to you both. I will read up on Yeats and Keats and recite for you next time I see you — in July! Tell Molly happy birthday for me,
Love Elizabeth"



cat stationery of Elizabeth's

Other People's Photographs

from Peter Cohen's collection


There is a documentary being shown at Jefferson Market Library Monday, May 12, about snapshots people collect from flea markets, etc. -- something Elizabeth used to do. She had a number of these which she found and kept. Click on the title ("Other People's Photographs") to see more about the movie and the pictures.

The nestling fell

The nestling fell from the tree near the back porch just about dawn.
My cat who visits me in my lap
and looks at me with sweetness and dependence and gratitude
burrowing his snout into my hand as I pet him,
that creature snapped up the nestling and carried
him in his mouth proudly, his tail swaying like
a victorious pennant.

After much subterfuge
we got him to open his mouth
and the nestling fell out.
Of course it could never be the same.
His mother in a proper outrage
screamed a full five minutes
a single harsh note over and over again

I love life
just not my life
that goes on without her

The days begin today for instance
with perfect clarity
the sky blue, the water tower
across the street puncturing the blue
with its pointed tip.
But she is still gone
and tonight my last thought before
turning out the light will be
still gone.

River Reporter publishes article

Local Narrowsburg, NY newspaper the River Reporter printed an article about the book fund a group of us (summer house share folks) established to honor Elizabeth's memory. Happy to see the fund get the notice, though wish the editors had used the photo of Elizabeth we sent to them. It was from summer 2006, she was enjoying floating in a tube in the pond at Ackerman Road house. I think it's now on this site. If the article doesn't appear below, it will soon...I'm figuring that part out!

Invitation to contribute

This is an invitation to post and comment to this blog. You can become a contributor if you like. The blog was meant as a way for as many people to contribute as liked to, as a collaborative effort. There is now a counter to see if it is being viewed since there are so few comments. And then the comments are anonymous. It would be good to have comments and contributions from those of you who have found the blog meaningful to you. As her mother, I don't want to dominate the conversation, but also would understand if you don't feel up to being a contributor. It would just be good to hear from people. For instance, how many would like to have the video back?
Patty

Book funds in Elizabeth's name

Anyone who knew Elizabeth knew how much she loved to read.
We have been memorializing her with book funds. So far they are:

Tusten Cochecton Library
Narrowsburg, NY 12764

This is where we spent summers from when she was six until she died.

CBA Library
6245 Randall Rd.
Syracuse, NY 13214

Lizzy's grandfather, Leonard P. Markert, Jr., started a book fund at the Christian Brothers Academy library in Syracuse where his father graduated in 1918. There is a kiosk with Elizabeth's name on it there.

At the Polling Place

My name is always first
above my husband's
first initial P
before first initial R
Even though I always forget which district
I'm in, the ladies at the tables are nice
They turn the pages of the big spiral bound notebook
to our signatures. There is my name
and Richard's, but above both of ours
for the first time is another.
I wonder, whose?

It is our daughter's,
aged eighteen, who had registered
to vote, but never got to because she died.
What would you do? I came to vote
for president, but I stood there and I cried.