In memory of Marian

I must get these thoughts on paper before they drive me to distraction.

She was one of "The Girls" who ate lunch every Tuesday at McGuire's Pub in downtown Hickory, NC along with Marcia Copper and me. She was a tiny woman, less than 100 pounds soaking wet, about 5 feet 1 or 2. In her youth she had been a strapping 5 feet 7-plus, still slim, but had built an athletic physique from being a championship swimmer. I didn't know her then. She had 3 husbands and 4 children, her children by the first 2 husbands and her true love was the 3rd, Joe Belk, a world-class trombonist. She, a French Horn player, and he had been married too short a time when cancer took his life. She was devastated but never let anyone see her cry. She said often, "I don't stew." Meaning she didn't dwell on the past; if she remembered it all she remembered the good times.

She was 82 when she died and her luncheon companions were 69 and 76 at the time of her death. We had known her 20 years, give or take, and had steadily watched as illness and finally death claimed her.

But we'll never forget her. She had strong opinions, such as she couldn't abide cell phones in public places; she loved classical music and when she worked it was to the accompaniament of a classical music station; She maybe didn't stew but she was prone to anger when something displeased her, such as when she needed a haircut. She would say, "I need a haircut! I've kept putting it off. You know, don't you, that I have 7 crowns (points on the scalp from which her hair grew) and nobody can cut my hair." She said this with arms flying all around her head to emphasize the point.

She kept up with everything relating to current events and could tell anyone who asked about the presidential candidates. She kept up with the best and worst of them and their associates. She read only two newspapers but she read every single word.

Among her most indignant comments had to do with those newspapers: misspelled words and incorrect grammar. She could tell you every rule of grammar and she frequently wrote letters to the editors about some sin a reporter had committed when it came to grammar, spelling and punctuation.

Songs? She could remember songs most of us had long since forgotten. "Poor little Rhode Island," she would sing. "You are my sunshine," she sang another time. Then there was "Toot, Toot, Tootsie Goodbye" and "Goodnight Sweetheart." She sang them acapella -- and in tune. Just for her friends.

There is much more to be said for Marian Belk. Someday I might come back and tell you some more about her.