Marcia Judith Cholodenko

About 30 years ago, before I met the Cholodenko family, I was trying to call Laura from a payphone somewhere in the Florida panhandle. I was nervous. Marcia answered, and she wanted to know who I was, why I was calling her daughter, and what in God's name I was doing bumming around on sailboats in the Florida panhandle. I ended up talking to her for an hour, getting thoroughly interviewed, and being quite charmed by her curiosity and her outgoing manner. Marcia had one of those phones with square plastic buttons that you push to select between incoming calls, like they used to have in busy offices. When I was at her house, the buttons were always lighting up. She never really sat down at home. Always busy, answering the phone, answering the door, planning a party. If anyone wandered off to the far ends of the house for too long, Marcia would hunt them down or call out their names. She had to have people nearby. She could be bossy sometimes, but as someone who agonizes over little decisions, it was comforting to let her take charge. Over the years, she always wanted to know my thoughts and opinions, and she enjoyed a friendly argument. I think she respected that I was stubborn like her. The most important thing I learned from her was that if you don't agree with someone, you can always say, "Well, you may be right," and move on. She was just fun to be around. She wasn't boring. She talked to everyone. She was decisive. She was interested in everyone around her. She looked you in the eye and made you explain yourself. She was generous with her praise of others, but it wasn't flattery. It came from a place of strength and from her own pride and self esteem. She loved music. Bluegrass, classical, 50s rock and roll. She always asked me to play guitar and sing for her. I played her a song by Don Gibson that she really liked called "Sweet Sweet Girl". She would sing old songs from the 1920s, "Aba daba Honeymoon" and "K-K-K-Katy" to my kids when they were toddlers. On our drives to LA, she made us promise that whoever was not driving was not allowed to take a nap. I never quite understood the logic, but this was one area I learned not to argue. Also we had to call her to check in every two hours or so. When we arrived, there was always an episode of 60 Minutes that we just had to watch. And a delicious dinner waiting for us. And wrapped presents for the grandkids. And then the question, "So, when do you think you might move back to LA?" She often had a small list of projects for me; wiring up a stereo component, installing a hook; fixing a printer. It made me feel good that she needed my help. She touched my heart most deeply through the love she had for my children, and I am very sad that she won't see them grow up. She didn't mind when they invaded her bed at 6 in the morning for tickle wars. They always knew they could count on Grandma for all the chewing gum and TV they could stand. She heated her pool to 95 degrees in the summer for them. But she worried. She was not too keen on anyone riding a bicycle farther than a one block radius from their home. When you were in a car with her, she would get mad at pedestrians for wearing dark clothing. She worried about people! I wish I had talked to her on the phone more often. One day not too long ago she sent me a new bathrobe. She drove me crazy sometimes, always having an opinion about they way I did things. How lonely we would be if no one cared one way or the other. She was one of my best friends.