This evening being May Eve I ought to have put some birch and witten (mountain ash) over the door to keep out the ‘old witch’. But I was too lazy to go out and get it. Let us hope the old witch will not come in during the night. The young witches are welcome.
Reverend Frances Kilvert, April 30, 1870
Found in The Assassin’s Cloak: An Anthology of the World’s Greatest Diarists, edited by Irene Taylor and Alan Taylor.
In our years of correspondence, Rachel and I discussed pretty much every topic under the sun, and a few from the other side of the sun as well.
In one exchange, we discussed epitaphs. As I was doing a great deal of conference planning work at the time, I jokingly wrote that mine would be, “She planned great menus and sourced the best swag”.
Rachel replied:
Unquenchable Fire would know that the answer is, “The Land of the Dead.”“She planned great menus” seems an exciting epitaph. I would take notice of that if I walked past it.
Now & then I think of what I might want on my tombstone (if I were to have one). I suppose, “She had a fucking amazing life” would not be acceptable.
“Saver of lives” might be nice.
“She walked with God and was no more,” what the Bible says about Enoch, would be interesting.
Of course, not dying (or aging or getting disabled, etc.) would be even more interesting.
“Where do stories come from?” might be nice, especially since readers of
“Knight of the Imagination” is another favorite.
Actually, my favorite epitaph—because it came from someone else, was from a fan, who wrote, “When she’s gone, there will never be another like her.”
To that anonymous fan: thank you.
She had a fucking amazing life.
She’s gone, and there will never be another like her.
Rest in poetry, passion, and play, my dear friend.
It’s 1:45 AM, I’ve just arrived at my hotel after 26 hours of travel, and this is the first thing to appear in my timeline.
I’m exhausted and overwrought and have no proper words at the moment.
I love you, Rachel. I will miss you. I will post something more suitable (or at least coherent) in the morning.
Rest in peace and poetry, my friend.
I’m traveling for work, and was in Stockholm last week, so I wasn’t home to do any kind of organized ritual for the equinox. Our hosts took us to dinner at Aifur, a Viking-themed restaurant where playing is encouraged, which ended up being just the right place to be that night!
Since we were a large party, our waitress had us pull coins from a large goblet of gold (three each), and then she demanded “payment” when drinks were delivered, which was much more fun than paper drink tickets.
Welcome to the restaurant! Image credit: Aifur.
Image credit: Aifur.
The feast! Image credit: Aifur.
It was loud and raucous and not my usual thing at all, but the host’s enthusiasm is infectious, the staff are encouraging, and being with a bunch of local people descended from Vikings who were happy to play along made it easy to get into the spirit of things.
We had a great time in a Viking feast hall, with lively music, good food, and plenty of mead to celebrate the passing of winter!
I received this news as well. I’m devastated. Rachel has been a fixture—and a legend—in the literary world for most of my adult life, and I’m 60.
More than that, she has been a dear friend for the last 15 years, and I really don’t know how to think of the world without her in it.
I would give anything to see you and speak with you and hug you one more time, Rachel.
May you pass peacefully, my dear friend. I miss you already.
(The message below was posted on Tumbr by Neil Gaiman on March 12, 2023 at 10:24 AM PDT.)
