Stories About Janice

Memories of Elphaba 

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One of the truest friends of my life appeared to me one day out of the ether – which is to say, the Internet. For years I knew her only by her username, Elphaba. It came from the Maguire novel; the musical “Wicked” hadn’t premiered yet. 

 

We frequented Television Without Pity, a website devoted to recaps and discussion of TV shows. Her mind was keen and her opinions resolute. She could come across as a contrarian, but she was open to a well-reasoned argument. She and I disagreed often and strenuously about the home-redo series “Trading Spaces.” Our views and sensibilities clashed, and one of us thought decorator Hildi Santo-Tomas was evil incarnate. Spoiler alert: it wasn’t the one who’d dubbed herself Elphaba.

 

After a while she stepped away from our group. We knew only that she’d gotten a serious diagnosis and needed time to research it. After she returned, I began to learn just how brilliant and bighearted and brave she was. In relationships of long duration, memories blur. I can’t recall when she became Janice, but when her recipe for Roasted Chicken and Potatoes Monterrey appeared in my TWoP inbox in 2004, it still came from “Elphaba.” I don’t remember when we first talked on the phone: only that I was nervous. We met in person in 2008 – even more nervous as I boarded the T! – when I was in Boston for a conference. We spent the afternoon in Quincy at a favorite cafe, then at her cherished public library, and finally at home, where I met her beloved Greg. Nothing about the visit was unexpected or disappointing or out of sync. Janice was Elphaba, as authentic and recognizable as she’d been from the start.

 

As Janice’s number and severity of diagnoses grew, so did our friendship. We discovered our mutual love of the color orange and penchant for gallows humor. Her spirit remained incandescent and irreverent, her intellect fierce. She shared some of her writing, and the inner editorial voice I’d developed as an English major went silent in wonder. She never made me feel my problems were trivial, despite the enormity of her own. Given her limited energy, her thoughtfulness was heroic. She would pick out a book or a baked treat or some lovely trinket she knew I’d like; after she met my husband and son, she embraced them in her bounty, too – including keeping teen David amply supplied during his Hot-Sauce Years. When she could no longer dispatch gifts herself, Greg took them to the P.O.

 

Her other gifts go deeper.

 

The passion of her activism has prompted me to stop complaining about issues from my sofa and do something. 

 

No matter her physical decline, she’s found pleasure in a sip of coffee or a glimpse of the shore from her upstairs bedroom or, this spring, the hope of seeing baby rabbits in her yard. I – of fourteen anxiety-driven contingency plans at all times – remind myself every day of her example.

 

A little more than a decade ago, she was hospitalized for major surgery and her experience was miserable. I’d long postponed a routine medical screening, but her courage prompted me to schedule it.  As a result, I was diagnosed with Stage 3 cancer, which is now far in the rear-view mirror. She sent me ginger drops, in case chemo made me sick.

 

Elphaba, who came from the ether, literally saved my life.

 

My Janice, my dearest Elphaba, has personified the song “Defying Gravity” before it even existed in the world. I love you, I love you, and I always will.

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– Cynthia Weston

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We met during the fight for marriage equality in 2014. I had just publicly come out of the closet and was feeling pretty badass about it, but then at a particularly hateful public debate in Quincy, I met Janice. What at first glance appeared to be a somewhat frail woman turned out to be a FIERCE warrior standing up to protect me, and by fierce I mean ferocious and fabulous at once. I was so stunned by her words of support I felt tears flooding down my face. Uncontrollable blubbering turned out to be a thing with us.

Even though life was brutal to her, she still made the most of it; Janice had so many different interests and experiences that we were bound to have many alike, and became close friends. When ever we met it was like we’ve been friends all our lives, even those quick “30 minute visits” all turned out to be 3 hours long. We just couldn’t stop talking and I couldn’t stop crying because I came to love her so much so quickly and couldn’t process how someone so wonderful had to endure what she was going through.

Every time I reminded Janice that she was my personal hero, she would just respond that her actions are just what she felt everyone should do. I honestly think that it was her love for Greg and determination to help as many people as she could while she was here that earned her the prestigious medical title of “a walking miracle” as penned by the many doctors that just couldn’t figure out how she was still here.

But Janice was human and even though she had that passion and drive to help others, there was no escaping that she was suffering and it took its toll. It took many many heart-to-hearts to finally understand that she was tired and looking forward to passing on.  It’s not that she wanted to leave, it was that she wanted and needed to pass on and was even happy that it was finally coming on.

As I write this tribute to my friend, I’m at it again, crying uncontrollably, as I’m overcome with happiness for my friend and sorrow for my other friend Greg.

Janice will always be my hero, and role model for the person I want to strive to be.

I love you Janice

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– Jerry Ringuette

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Janice was a wonderful neighbor. We bonded over our love for tea and our gabbing about anything and everything. Janice introduced me to her homemade chai tea and I introduced her to King Cole tea I order from Canada. We both enjoyed and appreciated the other's taste for tea.

 

She was always so interesting and knowledgeable about so many various subjects. There was never enough gabbing time to cover all of our topics, so we'd have to stop and try to schedule the next get-together. Unfortunately, our time to meet was cut short and we didn't have nearly as many cups of tea and conversations as I would have liked. But I will fondly remember the ones we did have.

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Rest in peace, Janice.

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– Helen Logan

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Every time I crack an eggshell--which is to say, at least once a week--I think of Janice and Greg. Some years ago there was a thread on Janice's Facebook page that revealed the secret for cracking eggs without getting bits of shell in the bowl. Apparently, you should knock the shell against a flat surface like the kitchen counter and not against the edge of the bowl. By golly, it worked, and I've cracked every egg since then on my counter while simultaneously taking the opportunity to send blessings to both Janice and Greg. In the same moment, I often remember Janice's 2009 essay "Sustenance," which introduced me to the concepts of cooking in stages and mise en place, strategies I use religiously now. I think of her desire to teach Greg how to cook his favorite dishes, and I repeat the essay's final line in my head as I go about my culinary preparations: "But tonight we will eat well." 

 

Although I was not a close friend to Janice, I had the opportunity to visit her at home, to invite her into my home, and to enjoy a home cooked meal with her and Greg. I respected her opinions and how she expressed herself, and therefore eagerly kept up with her social media posts. I benefited from her commitment to marriage equality and feel alternatively motivated or chagrined when I have the chance to speak up for others--and either do so or falter. Now that she has died, I will continue to send blessings to Greg and to hear Janice's calls to action every time I crack an egg. I feel fortunate to have a reason to think of them both so often.

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-Ann Marie Willer

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