Come On Up to the House

On September 12th someone extremely significant in my life died suddenly. It was not unexpected, but it was much faster than anyone thought it would be. It’s difficult to explain exactly who and what this person was to me…she was my boss, she was my friend, she was my landlord, she was like a second mother, and she was like my child. She drove me crazy and she made me laugh like no one else.

This weekend we threw one hell of a party for her. There was amazing food, wonderful people, a six-foot-tall bonfire, and an open bar. It was at her beautiful home in her incredible yard. It was the party she always wanted to have. Before the party, however, we gathered in a funeral home to remember her. Fun fact: almost exactly 13 years ago I was in that same room with her saying goodbye to her husband. Anyway…I took that time to stand up and share my memories of her. It’s certainly not everything I have to say about her, but it’s a good highlight reel of the time I spent with her. This is what I said:

I met Ann when I was 16 years old. My friends and I were attending Old Songs Music Festival in Altamont, NY (because we were nerds) and the four of us ended up helping her and her husband Roman break down their booth in exchange for a dress that one of my friends wanted. In the course of the hour that it took us to pack everything away Ann found out that I was moving to Great Barrington to go to Simon’s Rock. She offered me a job on the spot.

That was the kind of person Ann was. When she had a gut feeling about someone she went with it. I didn’t end up working for Eagle Ray until 4 years later after I had graduated, but she was just as sure about me in 2005 as she had been in 2001. She brought me into the Eagle Ray family, introduced me to the vendor world, and never looked back.

In the nearly 13 years I spent with Ann I learned so much. She supported me, encouraged me, and helped to shape who I am. Ann brought people into her life that brought her joy and kept people around who needed her help. Ann would often joke that Ashley and I were students at The Ann Merz School for Wayward Girls. In the time we spent with her she instructed us, gave us guidance, and helped us to find perspective in the world. And if that perspective happened to resemble hers? All the better. Every time either of us would do something exactly the way she would do it, she would beam with delight, but even we chose to go our own way she was happy. She never wanted to hold either of us back from our dreams, even when it would have been easier for her if we stuck to the status quo. I think, ultimately, Ann was proud to say that both Ash and I are successful graduates of the Ann Merz School for Wayward Girls. And I’m proud to say that Ann taught me how to do everything from run a business to organize my life to laugh at my mistakes.

Ann loved to laugh. I’m willing to bet that every person here could recognize Ann from across the room just from hearing her laugh. I can think of many times where I found her in a crowded co-op, behind a fellow vendors booth, or deep within the hallowed halls of Lowes just by following her laugh. Seeking her out like that was the best game of Marco Polo I could ever imagine playing. Ann was filled with joy, even when life was a struggle. She strove constantly to look on the bright side of things, to see the world in a positive way. More than anyone I have ever met, Ann was able to change her mindset, making even the darkest things into a blessing. Even when she received the diagnosis that ultimately ended her life, she saw it as an opportunity to change, to become better.

Ann cherished the things that brought her joy. From her beloved dog Kitty to a YouTube video of Sweet Brown, Ann found delight in everything. Some might say she’d love a joke to death, telling it over and over again and laughing hysterically every time. That devotion to hilarity, that need to share her giggles with the world, that’s one of the many things I loved and admired about her. Because of her huge heart, beautiful soul, and love of life, Ann was a beloved member of our vendor family. Every festival was better with Ann there. Even on the worst weekends, when it poured rain and the tent leaked and the customers stayed home, Ann found something to laugh or smile about. Moreover, she’d find a way to make me and everyone else around her laugh or smile.

Ann was a woman who lived. REALLY lived. As we traveled around she’d regale me with stories of all her life’s adventures. In 13 years, there was rarely a repeat. Sadly, most of those stories aren’t suitable for mixed company, but if you’d like to hear them, well, find me later. As much as she had lived a full life before we met, we had quite a few adventures together.

There was the trip to North Carolina when the RV not only stopped accepting gas in the tank but actively started rejecting it. She ended up dubbing me the gas tank whisperer as I was actually able to fill the tank whereas she ended up covered in gas and smelling like a NASCAR pit crew (her words, not mine).

There were late night golf cart rides, prank wars, and back stage dance parties. The time Kitty took off at New Bedford and scared Ann out of her mind. Then an announcement came from the main stage that a golden retriever puppy had been found chowing down at the food tent, was finally full, and was ready for her human to come pick her up.

There was the infamous midnight wedding of Fancy Nancy and Madison at Strawberry Park where Ann slept through the ceremony but woke up just in time for the reception (and the glorious spread of nibbles our dear friend Pa contributed). Let me tell you, fake weddings are all well and good, but you have not lived until you’ve gone to a fake wedding reception complete with Ann in her nightgown and sleep mask.

There was the Falcon Ridge storm of 2008 when Ann was trapped in the RV with a sprained ankle while I literally held the tent down and watched ez-ups flying down the midway. When we drove back from Hillsdale after that traumatic event she insisted I come to her house. She wanted to make sure I was safe and she knew that I shouldn’t be alone.

There was the time Kitty got sprayed by a skunk at a festival and we had to beg a can of tomatoes off of the Chili Brothers. The time Ann caught someone shoplifting and chased the thief down the street screaming “why would you steal from me!” while I looked on in awe. The flight to Bali where she convinced me to lie on the floor of the international terminal of Hamburg Airport with my legs in the air up against the wall.

Hell, Ann took me to Bali, a place I never expected to go. She brought me to a part of the world I never even considered visiting, introduced me to our wonderful tailor and her beautiful family, and showed me special places there that meant something to her and to Roman.

I am so grateful for these memories and the person who shared them with me.

When someone passes away suddenly or unexpectedly it’s hard to wrap your mind around the loss. It’s hard to accept that this incredible person who held such a special place in your life and your heart is gone. I feel that loss viscerally, like a hole has been ripped in my chest. I’ve told myself that Ann is out of pain and is at peace. But here’s the thing, Ann wasn’t a resting at peace kind of person. She never stopped, never slowed down. She was always moving, always looking for her next adventure, her next laugh. Though I miss her with all my heart, though the loss of her has left me devastated, I don’t think Ann is resting at peace. I think wherever she is Ann is dancing with joy.

…

I sat down this afternoon to figure out what I wanted to say about this experience…this great loss I’m going through, and, the process of trying to find the right words I started listening to “Come On Up to the House” by Tom Waits. Though the song has a bit of a bite to it, it does kind of remind me of Ann. She was never one to mollycoddle. She was definitely a pull-yourself-up-by-your-bootstraps kind of person. I can’t help but hear her in the lyrics of that song. “So the world is falling apart, so I’m dead, so what? Quit your crying and come join the rest of us fools at the party.”