Ann Pat’s version of Ecclesiastes:
There is a season for everything,
a time for every occupation under the sun:
A time for lolling around eating chocolates and reading trashy novels;
a time for getting off one’s duff and doing a worthwhile thing.
A time for learning one’s tradition, loving it, and knowing it through and through;
a time for saying: Enough! We can do better than that.”
A time for seizing every opportunity;
a time for saying, ” I’m tired. Let someone else take over.”
A time for cherishing friends face to face exploring their minds and heart,
relishing their company;
a time for storing friendships in memory and moving to a place where
absence will make the heart grow fonder.
A time for dancing;
a time for limping.
A time for loving;
a time for leaving.
A time for holding loved ones in my hands;
a time for gently placing loved ones in God’s hands.
Reflection for Ann Pat
(Martha Alderson, for 3/19/13)
Ann Patrick Ware was a woman of courage, conviction and considerable talent. A
valiant woman, indeed.
We have just heard her version of Ecclesiastes with the very real references to a
time and a season for everything and the clear message that we should get on with
it, whether “seizing every opportunity” or saying, “I’m tired. Let someone else take
over.” The words to her songs in “New Words for Old Hymns and Songs” are also a
light into sources of her sorrows and celebrations. Written for her NYC WLG,
sometimes for special occasions such as the blessing of a new residence, the songs
are now commonly used by us all, and the themes resonate: international conflicts,
ethnic hatred, those afflicted by AIDS, homophobia, but also thanksgiving and
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rejoicing for special occasions, for the seasons of Earth, for religious observances,
and of course for one’s birthday.
I once wrote a parody for Ann Pat that included so many subtle references she
declared it to need exegesis. Her writings and songs are not subtle. However, even
the seemingly simple ones could well be subjects of careful study and many lectures.
• “God, give us the courage to live our lives boldly/And courage to speak what we
know to be right.”
• “Bless us all here …/As we try to recapture the truth/Once so certain to us in our
youth.”
• and as we sang last night: “Come, let us rouse our courage,/Make justice our
demand,/And keep our eyes on this world,/Not some far Promised Land.”
I did not know Ann Pat as a classroom teacher or administrator, so I am at a
disadvantage, different from many of you. I did not know her as the one who went
from KY to CA during an assembly so that Mary Jean Friel could be released from jail
(for an action with Farm Workers) or the one going to court to support women
prisoners on Rikers Island. Neither did I know her when she was fresh from study in
Rome or making waves from the Executive Committee or from whatever vantage
point. I wasn’t privileged to know her as the warm and welcoming host in her NYC
apartment—or even as the excellent cook she was.
I did know Ann Pat as an outspoken supporter and critic, one who followed
conviction with action. I knew her during a pivotal event for her, the signing of the
NYT ad asking for discussion among Catholics and especially with Catholic hierarchy
about reproductive choice, during the campaign that included Geraldine Feraldo, a
beleaguered pro-choice Catholic on the nation’s vice-presidential ticket. She
developed close bonds with the “Loretto signers” and sympathizers and held firm
her belief that choice and including a woman’s perspective are essential positions.
It must be said that the events of 9/11 were an enormous burden to Ann Pat. From
her 30 years in NYC, she felt keenly the losses, especially of loved ones seeking
information; seeing photos posted on fences caused her to sob. Perhaps that tragic
event reminded her of how far away she was from “her” city of many years. Perhaps
it was feeling keenly the inhumanity of which humans are capable. At any rate, she
never completely recovered from the grief.
I knew Ann Pat as a clever and intense lunch companion (well, it’s dinner here). We
laughed and shared language stories and jokes. While Sr. Michaela, with whom she
had a special bond from many long Loretto years, was still living here at 590, the
lunch conversations were not to be missed. Such wit; such wisdom. I knew her as
Ivone Gebara’s friend, editor and translator and as a special friend of Janet Walton
and Mary Ragan who regularly came from NYC for her birthday and had all-day
weighty conversations, and of many others—including our guests today. I knew her
as Alice Cochran’s companion and, to AP’s apparent chagrin, I enjoyed their verbal
spats. (“If you weren’t such a Republican, you would see that.” “If you weren’t so
sanctimonious, I would consider it.”) Their adventures were entertaining in the
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reporting, especially with Ann Pat’s talent for clever wording and, no doubt, mythic
heightening.
And I knew Ann Pat as she gradually lost some of her edginess and slipped into an
unwelcome state of “being old.” She despised “losing her wits,” as she put it. No
amount of assurance that she had plenty of wits to spare comforted her. She wasn’t
happy that her “time for limping” had replaced a “time of dancing” (even if dancing
had been metaphorical). Still, visits with her continued to be full of laughter as well
as of serious moments, talk of novels, discussion of the acrostics and crosswords
Cecily sent every week, and interest in words and expressions. She maintained her
skill as a careful proofreader of Interchange and of the Loretto Earth Network News.
She hadn’t forgotten a single rule of grammar, correct spelling, or the foreign root of
a word. (That was evident even in the hospital, where she decried the split infinitive
on the message board in the room!)
Her eager mind, her devotion to being a Sister of Loretto/Loretto Community
member, her enjoyment of chocolate and of light reading as well as theological
treatises (as in Ivone’s or her friend Tony Equale’s) and, as in her version of
Ecclesiastes, her way of holding loved ones in her hands were only some of the
sterling qualities of Ann Patrick Ware.
She had special friends throughout her life—the Loretto community far and wide;
friends and colleagues in New York, in Germany and Brazil, the people in this house
and city. And her lovely smile was broad when visited by Ming Li, Conway or Sox.
As Janet wrote in a recent card to Ann Pat, “There’s no way to say thanks enough,
but to promise keeping your love and courage alive.”
I loved Ann Pat, as did you. I claim this valiant woman as my friend for which I am
eternally grateful. So now, in her words, we gently place her in God’s hands.
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