I find I’ve been thinking a lot about Jan Cusick. I was shocked when I found out she had suddenly died because I’d just seen her the week before at our writing group meeting. I miss her more than I would have expected. Her personality was so warm and welcoming. I’ll miss her calling me “Dear.” I’ll miss her sweet gestures, like clipping articles from the New Yorker that she knew I would find interesting, and bringing them to our meetings to give to me.
           I met Jan twelve years ago, along with Flora Lee Ganzler, when the writing group was meeting at the Rincon Valley Library. After a few months we had to leave the library so that the room could be used for other activities. That’s when Jan volunteered to host our meetings at her house. She cultivated lush gardens in her front and back yard, with an assortment of flowers, plants and vegetables. I admired her ripe Early Girl tomatoes, and the sprigs of freshly cut mint which garnished the mugs of hot tea that she served.
            Jan wrote and read her essays with her singular voice. Whether the topic was a childhood friend in Brooklyn, flying the skies with Pan Am, falling in love and marrying Chuck, raising her family in the Mideast and Europe, her descriptions and experiences took us to exotic lands, traveling to fascinating places in another time. She had the gift as well of being able to elevate even the most mundane events into insightful and often delightful prose.
            She wrote of joyriding with a girlfriend after dark in the desert by the light of the moon, minarets and the call to morning prayers, cocktail parties with diplomats, and visiting museums in Europe with her three daughters.
            It was because of the encouragement from Jan and Margo Van Veen that I also joined the Oakmont French Group where I enjoyed meeting new people and practicing the language. Jan spoke French fluently. She explained that while living in Paris, all the wives of diplomats were taught to speak French. She also spoke Italian and fondly remembered living in Italy. 

           And most of all, because of these times we’re living in, I miss being able to give each of her daughters a big hug and telling them how much I loved their mom.