Edited by author 02-26-2004 08:32 PM
I met Menya in grade nine Level 6 at Northern Secondary School. I'm searching my memory to recall when and why we first ended up together, but we completed numerous assignments as a pair - a theatre set for "The Admirable Crighton," an English project on homelessness, drama sketches and poetry attempts. She took me to usher with her at Young Peoples Theatre and convinced me to go to the SCA. We lost touch a bit after high school, but met again briefly at Black Creek Village. One of my sisters worked with Menya at Robarts library, ran into her a few years later at a concert and told me of her illness. Jane said that Menya wanted to hear from me. I procrastinated then finally called. I guess I spoke to Pete, who told me she was "on vacation." I realized that must be a euphemism, but thought maybe she was in the hospital. I left my name and number, but never heard from her.

Menya, I tell myself I tried, but I didn't try at all! I keep dreaming about you, but they are nice dreams, full of renewed friendship. I am so sad to find all these websites because I would rather find you.

I wrote this just after Menya died, but the memories were so painful that I had forgotten I penned it. It just sat, quietly, in one of my poetry files on my computer until I started to converse with Menya's aunt Linda.

I sent it to her and she asked me to post it here. It is a snapshot of how I perceived Menya, mostly as Mistress Rhiannon in the SCA.

Shelley Rabinovitch/Dame TSiva

++++++++++++++++++++
The Faerie Harper
Shelley TSivia Rabinovitch
 
Tho' the singer is gone
Still her songs linger in our hearts.
Tho' the firelight fades
Still the flame burns anew.
 
Every wind-rustled leaf
Sings a note, plucks the perfect tune.
Every water-touched stone
Babbles on, whispered song.
 
Sun kissed hair tossed by wind
Dances wild, dances merrily.
Sunlit birds at first dawn
Sing her refrains again.
 
Listen close and you'll hear
For the bard is still present here.
Faerie fingers on harpstring -
Faerie voice on the wind.
 
6 March 2001
In memory, Menya Ruth Wolfe (Mistress Rhiannon of Wye, O.L.)

I have returned to Menya's website and this bulletin board for the first time since leaving a posting a week after her death. Morris has just sent us a copy of his eloquent and moving account of her dying, along with a spectacular banner made by her aunt from Menya's robes and jewelery. Although her memory has been with me constantly, the book made her smile shine again and her voice ring in my ears and I had to come back to share with the community of Menyans.

I could not share directly in Menya's care, or bear witness to her courage over those last months. We were far apart in distance, but never far in thought then. Reading of the final days was a wonderful albeit painful experience, and I am reminded of the text: "O Death, where is thy sting, O grave, where is thy victory?"

A long time ago I remember reading that one of the invocations the ancient Egyptians made in their elaborate funerary rites was a call to "make the name of the dead live again". Morris, your book has made Menya live again - all the joy and all the beauty and yes all the pain that are part of my memories of her. I am crying as I try to type this, as I have not done since learning of her death. Menya, your name lives on and ever will as long as I continue.

"For now we see as through a glass, darkly - but then, face to face".

Thanks for sharing Menya's story of courage and enthusiasm
for life. My mother also died of breast cancer at 44 when
I was 5 and my aunt, my mom's sister, my cousin just had a
mastectomy at 40. Breast cancer is a very cruel disease
because it not only robs women of their femininity but their
very lives most at very young ages when they are just starting their lives. How fortunate for Menya she had a
loving husband and family to encourage and support her during this fight to live. She will be remembered for her
energy and optimism to survive by those who loved her and will help many women who don't even known what IBC is like
me who thought because I had normal mammograms and no visible skin changes or lumps the symptoms I was having
were nothing. Luckily I went to my primary care doctor who
referred me to a breast specialist and I will get the treatment I need. Thanks for sharing the story of this
remarkable woman!!!

I'm not sure where to begin. It's September of 2002, and I've just found out through a completely unrelated web search about Menya's relapse into illness, and death. It's a shock - my last memory of Menya is her radiating happiness, with Pete by her side some four years ago. I remember being so happy that she'd finally found someone, found joy. I don't remember when I first saw or met Rhiannon (but it was most assuredly within the SCA) - but I remember her music, and a sadness from those early times. Pete had clearly brought her immense joy, and chased away those shadows - and it's that beaming love that I remember best. Earlier memories - her harp music, being allowed to plunk at her harp - sleeping on the floor of her apartment, in the late afternoon sun, like a lazy cat - the astounding artwork and research that came so easily to her.

I still plonk at the harp - one of my own now - and it always reminds me of her - now in a far more poignant way. I still have a book of hers, long borrowed - long lost - long forgiven.

A string sounds into the dark
and heralds dawn.

c.

THANK YOU FOR FOR SHARING THIS STORY. I HAD A SISTER IN LAW THAT LOST HER LIFE FROM WHAT STARTING OUT AS A BRIAN ANEURYSM. SHE WAS AT HOME ONE AFTERNOON WHEN SHE ASKED HER DAUGHT TO CALL 911... SHE SAID SHE FELT LIKE SHE WAS DYING. AND TO THINK SHE IS ONLY 29 YRS OLD. SHE MADE THE THE HOSPTIAL. SHE HAD AN ANEURYSM THAT WAS BLEEDING IN HER BRAIN. OKAY SHE HAD TO HAVE BRIAN SURGERY TO CLAP THE BLEED. YES, SHE SURVIVED THE SURGERY! DOCTORS SAY SHE IS GOING TO BE OKAY. THE FAMILY CAN EXHALE.. SHE WAS DOING SO GOOD, ALERT AS SHE COULD EVER BE. SHE KNEW HER NAME, THE DATE, WHERE SHE WAS AT. SHE LOOKED LIKE SHE WAS ALRIGHT. A COUPLE OF DAYS LATER WAS VALENTINE'S DAY 2002. THE FAMILY WENT UP THERE IS SPEND VALENTINE'S DAY WITH. THEY WERE WITH HER ALL NIGHT. THEY SAID SHE WAS DOING SO GOOD THAT SHE WILL BE ABLE TO DO HOME THAT NEXT MONDAY. MEANWHILE HER SISTER AND I WENT OUT OF TOWN FOR THE WEEKEND. SHE WAS DOING SO GOOD. MONDAY CAME SHE WENT HOME. WE DIDN'T GO OVER THERE WE TIRED FROM DRIVING DURING OUR WEEKEND VACTION. THE NEXT MORNING WE GET A CALL. SONIA FELL AND HIT HER HEAD AND IS BACK IN THE HOSPITAL. SHE IS NOT DOING SO WELL. WE FIND OUT THAT HER WAS CAUSED BY A STROKE FROM THE OTHER SIDE HER BRIAN. OKAY WE CAN DEAL WITH SHE JUST HAVE TO HAVE THERAPY BUT SHE'LL BE OKAY. THE NEXT DAY SHE IS REALLY SLEEPY WANTS TO SLEEP ALL TIME SHE IS STILL TALKING. I THOUGHT WELL MAYBE IT'S JUST BEST FOR HER TO REST SO HER BRIAN CAN HEAL. HOW IRONIC..... NEVER ONCE DID SHE SAY SHE WAS SCARED, SHE NEVER SHOWED IT. SHE CONSTANTLY TOLD HER FAMILY SHE LOVED THEM. SHE ALWAYS REACHED TO TOUCH WHEN YOU LEFT HER HOPSTIAL ROOM. SHE CAN'T KEEP HER EYES OPEN. SHE TELLS EVERYONE SEVERAL TIMES THAT SHE WANTED TO SEE HER DAUGHTER. THE PASTOR COMES TO PRAY FOR. HER REPLY WAS THAT SHE IS GOING TO BE ALRIGHT. SHE SAID THAT SHE WAS REALLY TIRED AND THE NURSES WOULD WAKE HER UP CHECKING ON HER EVERY 30 MINS. THE FAMILY WENT HOME. THATS THE LAST WE TALK TO HER. NOT EVEN A GOOD HOUR AFTER WE LEFT SHE HAD ANOTHER STROKE, HER BRIAN COULD HANDLE THE BLOOD THAT HER STRONG HEART WAS PUMPING. HER BRIAN SHUT DOWN. THE ONLY THING THAT WAS KEEPING HER ALIVE WAS THE MACHINE THAT WAS PULLED INTO THE WALL. I DIDN'T UNDERSTAND WHAT HAPPENED. SHE WAS JUST FEEL A FEW DAYS AGO. HER SISTER AND HER MOTHER DECIDED TO TAKE HER OFF OF LIFE SUPPORT. SHE IS IN A PLACE WHERE SHE WON'T EVER AGAIN. WE REALLY MISS HER. HER FURNERAL IS THIS SATURDAY.

Edited by author 02-12-2002 08:36 AM
 Hi All
I was fortunate enough to have been able to take part in Menya's care team. This message board (Pete, you rock) has been a great help over the last year. I don't think I've added anything though, so here goes. I made this addition to the blue book last summer, and it's about last Feb 13th, the day Menya died.

This is written months later of the day that Menya died. When I stepped off the elevator that evening to visit, the ward felt different. Ian met me in the hall and asked if I would go into the quiet room with him for a moment. I could see his news on his face, mingled with the desperation to do the job of informing people right. I stood my ground outside her room and asked him to just tell me what I already knew. She had passed away barely 10 minutes before, that Pete was with her right now, that he'd called her family and said Menya had taken a turn but not how sharply because that's just not the sort of thing you hear over the phone. I told him he'd done very well, that the news had been perfectly delivered.

I stepped inside the curtain drawn around her bed to see Pete kneeling beside her, holding her hand, looking at her face. His eyes held a mixture of relief, longing and love. In the coming hours many friends and family came by. With the generous and competent care of one of the nurses (and while once again listening to "Woodland Harp") I helped to change Menya into some clothing picked out earlier in the week for just that purpose; black skirt, burgundy batik top. Brushed hair, new lip-gloss. Perfume. I left her with a silver chain with an amber apple pendant - apples being the symbol of the Norse goddess Idun, the eternal maiden - I felt that was somewhat appropriate. I was amazed at the temperature changes in her body, at a newly added weight, but most of all by the look of peace and total joy her face had settled into. Seeing her then dressed in her own cloths was extremely important. She looked the perfect and powerful queen. There was a strong sense of clan around her, which I will always feel privileged to have been a part of. The funeral home was called and her father and brother waited with her to attend her out of the building; Menya's body therefore skipped the standard trip to the hospital morgue. As a devout non-conformist, I know this would have pleased her.

Some felt her presence, others her absence, but I think all felt the beginning of a hole in our lives that would be made by Menya's death. How we fill that, I think, will be a reflection of all she taught us and of our love for her.

I knew Menya from high school in the 80's. She was what some people may have called a nerd and as I was the same, we became good friends.

Menya's flair for dramatics became evident to me in our grade 10 history class. We were doing skits on events that transpired in Canada during the 20's and 30's. Our sketch consisted of flashbacks of events leading up to the stock market crash and how they affected a somewhat dysfunctional family surviving the great depression.

Menya and I played a husband/wife team duped by some shady stock market financiers. We were dressed to the nines and had incredibly stupid expressions plastered on to our faces. When we were told to "sign on the dotted line.." Menya plucked the feather from my headdress ( a brilliant piece of improvisation), and signed "B. Dunne". The class then cracked up because Menya had given the name of the class teacher who was sitting at his desk looking somewhat surprised.

I'm sure I told this story many times to anyone who would listen. When Menya could no longer speak, she still smiled when I reminded her of it.

(ska: Lady Elsbeth Lawrence)

I knew Menya for over 17 years. I met her in Toronto through the SCA. We shared some crazy times, as well as many quiet, intimate ones.

I knew she was sick. I tried to stay in touch with her over the years as I moved around the U.S., and I feel terrible that I failed to do so recently. I wish she had known how much I loved her, missed her and admired her.

On my last night at Pennsic XXX, when the Baron of Septemptria announced flatly that Mistress Rhiannon was dead, I was not prepared for how shocked I would feel. I sobbed on the shoulder of a kind lady who had known her even longer than I (bless you, lady, I did not even have the sense to ask your name), then I sat by the lake - almost on the exact spot where she and I once spent a night at our first Pennsic giggling and talking - and wept out my grief and my relief that her suffering had ended.

I will miss her grace. I will miss her music. I will miss her intelligence and her sharp wit. I will miss the way her eyes would light up with mischief whenever the Imps' Guild was mentioned. I will miss brushing her hair. The world is a much colder place.

Rhiannon (for that is the name I called you), please forgive me for not saying good-bye.

 It is with deep and sincere sadness that I now learn of Menya's passing. Although it has been more than a few years since we last exchanged words, I frequently remember the times that we shared. I had heard from Ivor last fall that Menya was very ill, but I had not heard any more since then.
 She was a very rare and special person, tenacious and honest, and she will be missed. It was she who seriously introduced me to the SCA, and to a wonderful circle of friends who I still think of often. Although that period of my life became confused and unfocused, I am grateful to have had the opportunity to get to know her.
 Michael Maurer (Ludwig)

Our friend Kimberley recently celebrated her marriage to Roy, and it brought up another favourite Menya moment for me, when they were both present at my house for one of the Piano Parties and began to sing impromptu duet on the garden lawn...I think I was surprised that Menya waited till <after> the concert, rather than mischievously bursting into full-throated thrum in the middle. But what I do remember was the look of absolute delight on both their faces at the same time. I can see it like it was yesterday.

Other happy Menya Memories(tm):
. the first time she let me brush her hair (O.K., I'll admit it... I have a fetish for long hair) - she even let me braid it for her a couple of times (and though I saw her once fixing it up afterwards, she was trying to do it somewhere where she didn't expect me to see her doing it), and once I got to wash it ['No conditioner? See if I come back to this salon!' - she did a very good offended dignity :-) ].
. reminding her , when she tried the mole gambit (see earlier posts) on me, that I had already seen it when I'd washed and massaged her feet at Pensic, and her then trying to still charge me for the viewing retroactively

Classic Menya, from August 1996:
  http://groups.google.com/groups?ic=1&th=143568971a0b431b

(hers is message #2 in the thread)

Pete.

Classic Menya, from August 1996:
  http://groups.google.com/groups?ic=1&th=143568971a0b431b

(hers is message #2 in the thread)

Pete.

The day a little mundane kid found us sweetly singing bawdy songs together at a demo event, him asking me "do u do this all the time?" and her giving me "that look". Menya reminds me once again about what its all about even now, a lifetime after seeing her last. I spend my days working toward a molecular understanding of breast cancer, never feeling the reality of personal loss and pain. Thank you Menya, for showing me the forest, not just the trees.

Blessed Be

Reading more of the postings remembering Menya, I have seen a precedent for what I'd like to do. Even though we are intended to be talking about Menya, I'd like to say a few things about Pete:
Pete, Menya was _indeed_ the luckiest woman in the world to have found you! I have never encountered a more loving, more devoted, and (at the risk of sounding hyperbolic) more saintly husband in my life. (If I did not say so then, this is what motivated the sermon I put in the card I gave you for your thirtieth birthday). Everything that you have done--and are still doing--because of your profound love for Menya moves me deeply. Know, Pete, that I admire you greatly!

With much love,
Mike

Menya was one of the first people that I met when I moved to Toronto in 1993. I have the SCA to thank for that. Once they realized that I was a musician, they introduced me to the musicians of Eoforwick and the rest, as they say, is history.
I must admit that my relations with Menya have been, er, interesting; in fact, most of them have been of an erotic nature -- and usually involving Pete! :-)
One episode that sticks out (as a testament to her deliciously twisted and shameless sense of humour) was the time that she had asked me if I wanted her to send my regards to Pete. I responded (rather coyly) with the request that she do so in whatever manner she deemed appropriate. The next time I saw Pete, I discovered that she had in fact fulfilled my request -- and apparently in a most fascinating manner! For the sake of decency, I omit the details. :-)
Menya is one of the most colourful people I know and I will cherish fondly my memories of her.

I Knew Menya when I worked at UofT library.
I was shocked when I heard the news, from a library friend 2 months later.
My memories of her are her intense eyes that seem to look through me, and of her playing her harp and singing.
I was composing in a midi studio at that time and she was my muse at that time. I have three pieces I contribute to her, one is even called Menya.
If I could I would like to share them.

Chris "soundqiwarrior@yahoo.ca"

I Knew Menya when I worked at UofT library.
I was shocked when I heard the news, from a library friend 2 months later.
My memories of her are her intense eyes that seem to look through me, and of her playing her harp and singing.
I was composing in a midi studio at that time and she was my muse at that time. I have three pieces I contribute to her, one is even called Menya.
If I could I would like to share them.

Although I never met Menya, I have read just about everything on her website.
And her partner's work. I attended her memorial service and later met Pete and
her cats. There is a lingering spirit of Menya, her creative spirit and all that she
touched. I have felt this in her garden, her work and things she left behind.
Although there is a black hole, a vacuum left by her there is also a gift of
inspiration that I think will motivate some of us to stay focussed on the things
that are uniquely important in life.

I'm reading through the memories, from people I know, or have met, and from people I've never met, and realising that I'm familiar with a lot of these stories, despite many of them having taken place "before my time" or outside my immediate experience. I'm realising that I heard a great many of them from Menya herself, at one party or gathering or another. Menya was not unaware of just how interesting some of her...escapades were, and she had a way of making sure that references weren't going over the head of a newcomer. It's been years since I was a stranger to Menya or Pete, but I don't think I'll forget that talent for making people feel welcome or part of the group, rather than strangers.

  Another favourite Menya Moment (tm)...
 It had been a long and busy Pensic (if you've never been Pensic, imagine 10,000 people all trying to live without modern conveniences for two weeks) and we were stopping off for lunch on the road home. We were all still in medieval clothing as we were all fond of 'freaking the mundanes' and sat down at a table together.
 Menya got this incredible expression of wonder on her face as she looked down at the table. She reverently and gingerly picked up her fork and examined it from several angles while we looked at her with puzzled expressions on our faces.
 "What a wonderfull idea!", she said showing the fork to us all. We laughed our heads off.

Thanks for posting the picture, Pete!

I remember that there were twelve people in the elevator -- eight women and four men. The women sat on the floor of the elevator, while the men stood around the walls.

I have a second picture of the same scene (not including Menya). I'll see if I can find it.

This was actually a "Dante" party. Chris Kowalchuk was Dante, and David Tallan was Virgil, as I recall. Chris played it up, dressing as a tourist with a camera and everything. Gunnar was, er, he was . . . Jesus Christ. Yep, business card and all.

As Gunnar says, we were on our way from Hell (on the 6th floor) to Heaven (on a higher floor), where Menya and I were to be married by the Borgia Pope. (He must have had a day pass or something.)

Yes, it's true! I proposed, and she accepted. It was to be a marriage made in heaven -- that went straight to hell.

We spent our time in purgatory singing 1970s elevator songs ("My name is Michael, I got a nickel" etc.) and conducting poetry readings.

The people I can see here (forgive the mixture of real/SCA names) are Hector, Madinia, Kim, Menya, and me. Hector's big kilt is front and centre. Others I know were there include Chris and David (maybe Tara?). The other picture shows more people, I know.

After our hour in Purgatory, Menya and I decided that perhaps our marriage was not in the cards. We called it off, and next New Year's Eve I married Kim instead -- kazoo band and all. Charles delivered his famous sermon on the subject of Esau and Jacob, as I recall. Most satisfactory.

The weird thing is that being stuck in an elevator is not anyone's idea of a good time. However, many of those in the elevator, including Menya, told me in later years that Purgatory was a memorable party-going highlight for them -- and this in an era of fabulous bashes.

There is a surviving picture of Menya in Purgatory!
  http://www.menyawolfe.com/elevator.jpg

Her name tag reads "The Archangel Muriel".

So who can name all the people in the elevator?

 Regarding what Sue Bridges was saying about the elevator incident [it was during our Heaven and Hell party ("come as your favourite eclestiastical or anti-eclesiastical figure or virtue or vice") - the elevator, being the route from Hell to Heaven was, of course, purgatory] and Menya in her angel costume.
 We all knew - of course - that the angel outfit was just her playing dress-up (shades of 'Alice-in-wonderland') and that she was really a [pun warning] little devil at heart. But then she was always fond of playing [major pun warning] the wolfe in sheep's clothing. You just knew when you left their house at night that Menya would soon be putting on the sheep suit and Pete his moose antlers!

Susan Clark has reminded me -- Menya made me a drink too, in a great tumbler, with an entire peeled banana mashed across the top of it no less! 'Way more rum than coke, if I recall correctly (surprised I remember it at all). It was served with a fiendish grin.

I first met Menya in the Eaton Centre of all places, in 1985. She was in the company of David Tallan. I was in the company of Tarver. All of them made a deep impression on my 21-year-old self -- I instantly knew that my decision to join the SCA meant that I would meet the most fascinating people in the world. I spent years making sure I could sit near her and listen when she would play and sing.

Menya played and danced during my wedding feast. I wish I had better photos of that, not to mention a recording.

Many of you know the story about how twelve of us, including Menya, were stuck in an elevator during a New Year's Eve costume party. We had a Polaroid camera and a good store of alcohol with us, so we managed to have a memorable time despite our unfortunate circumstances. I gave one of the snapshots to Pete and Menya -- it shows Menya dressed like an angel (silvery halo included!), with the sweetest, most innocent expression on her face. It would be fun to have on the Web site.

Menya once wrote a song about a friend in the UK. I loved the music, but I joked with her about how *utterly* meaningless the lyrics were to those of us millions who hadn't met this (no-doubt terrific) 'Mereddin' person. I wrote completely different lyrics for our friend Vychata, and actually sang them out loud (in front of other people) (yep) at a Pennsic one year. I can still sing that song. I haven't heard a recording of the original. Is there a chance that I possess the last clear memory of this simple but effective melody? I hope not! There must be another harp-playing friend who can still perform this song?

Menya and I were almost exactly the same age. (I made the most of my two weeks' seniority, that goes without saying.) Over the years, we sometimes lived in the same building, even the same apartment, and our acquaintance was constant except while she was in England. She was very good to me when I was the one with cancer, and perhaps because I have survived and she hasn't, I have a lingering feeling that I didn't do enough to pay her back for that and all else.

Thanks for everything, Menya.

Yes, Gunnar, she did use that one on me, but I figured out where it was (although I think I guessed the wrong foot...)

 One of the stories told at at the memorial was the one about Menya's birthmark. She would say, "I have a birthmark that you couldn't see if I was standing on the beach in a string bikini", and then offer to show it to you for $5.00 (more or less depending on how cute you were).
 What I'm not sure about is whether she used this pick-up line on Pete when they first met in person, nor whether Pete used his immortal line: "Do you want to see my triple-fluted tongue trick?"
 Either way, it was a match made, not in heaven, but rather very much in earthiness. And very well.
  Gunnar
P.S. It was on the bottom of her foot.

I think one of the more vivid memories I have of Menya was her SCA "stupid peer trick." We were all waiting around for a Laureling to happen (Balderic's, for those of you in the SCA--I believe he was in the loo) so the Queen called for a stupid peer trick. Rhiannon stepped up and proceeded to play her harp--with a loaf of bread. It was extremely goofy, but it was the deranged expression on her face that made it.

I also remember that blue drink she mixed for me at my wedding shower (who knows what was in there?) that led to bouts of dancing on the roof and formerly sedate party attendees to start howling with laughter at balloons placed in rude positions.

On the serious side, she provided the music at my wedding, although I'll be danged if I can remember any of it. I think I walked down the aisle to one of the songs she wrote for Septentria.

To absent friends.

Susan/Nicolaa de B.

I was not that close to Menya, just the odd dinner, or shakespear in the living room. I just wanted to leave my anecdote as testament to her indelible touch.

I was in hospital durring one of her radiation treatments, and she would occasionaly drop by on her way home. My mother was having difficulty with my illness (mental) and we were not really speaking. One day my mother and I were sitting in the lounge, not speaking, when Menya appeared. She bounced down the hallway in her winter coat and a little cap, and sat in the chair in between us. I don't remember all of what she said, but she drew my mother and I into a conversation which lasted all of 20 minutes. After she left, my mother and I kept talking. And we have continued to do so for several years.

We have heard so much of Menya's "pranking", but she also used her ability to sum up what was critial in a person to smooth and facillitate where there was pain.

One way or another, she will always be in my life. I will cry, but you will still be there. Thank you.

annette

Edited by author 03-05-2001 08:48 PM
Some characters are described as "two dimensional", some as "three dimensional". Describing Menya as "three dimensional" just doesn't do her justice - she was "n dimensional". There are just so many different sides to her character, roles that she played, different contexts that she was comfortable in. It really needs a bulletin board like this where the many of us can contribute our pieces of the overall mosaic. And we still won't do her justice.

I knew her for about twenty years. Sometimes we were closer, some times we were further apart. We shared an apartment for a while. And years went by (or seemed to) when we didn't see each other. In those twenty years there were a few sides of her that I saw, others that I know of but never experienced personally. It's hard to pick out which stories to tell.

I met Menya in the SCA. She had a lot of friends there. Many in high places - others in not so high places. People have referred to her "network of operatives". For a while she had quite the reputation for the deviousness of her plotting. It was best not to offend her; one could get burned. I remember once in the mid-1980s when I was autocrating an event with a Hundred Years War theme, I thought a riddle/quest activity might add to the enjoyment of the day. Perhaps a bit of French/English espionage. Knowing Menya's penchant for plotting, I asked her to set something up. Menya accepted and kept me updated on the progress of the "plot". She gave me a role to play on the day of the event. I was to listen for a particular password and give a small scroll only to the person who got it right. Meanwhile, Menya had been arranging the plot with quite a number of her "operatives". The thing is, it was not a French/English plot, but rather a plot to fool me into thinking that there was an espionage game going on. She'd keep coralling different people and sending them along to me with passwords that she made up on the spot. The plan was that I was to get all excited about a game that didn't exist (as everyone but me knew). She hadn't been happy, you see, with being typecast as a plotter and I needed to be taught a lesson. So learn my lesson and don't just see her as the imp she was.

For a while there in the SCA, Menya and I hung around the same group of friends, who met alot outside group meetings and events. I got to see other sides of Menya. During our role playing sessions, for example. I remember the science fiction game where Menya played a Vargir character (a wolf-like species, of course) who was one of our Pirate Quartet. Who could forget her character's Donkey Kong addiction or fondness for howling operas - or the time we hijacked an interstellar shipment of Glenfyddich only to find an imperial plant.

Others have written about Menya's creative side. She seemed adept at whatever art she turned her hand to, with whatever tool. I remember her challenge to herself to learn the harp to performance level within the space of a year - a challenge she met (as most of you know; for most the picture that first comes to mind of Menya is one with a harp). She was also adept at writing words and music, calligraphy and illumination, enamelling, metalwork and a host of other SCA skills. But I also remember her mastering the mouse as a drawing tool, long before she got her tablet (and master it she did; it was incredible the things she could draw with it!). I saw (and heard) a lot of her creative side when I was fortunate enough to share an apartment with her.

My chief memories of her from that time, however, are the smaller things. I will never be able to see dolmades (the Greek stuffed grape leaves) without thinking of Menya. They were readily available in the market down the street and Menya, enjoying them, liked to keep herself stocked. Menya was not one to deny herself the small pleasures that life can afford if the opportunity to avail herself of them presented itself. It didn't suprise me at all to find that she had ended up in a house with a jacuzzi.

This is getting pretty long, and I've only just started to scratch the surface. I'll let someone else have a chance to reveal another side of the many-faceted Menya. For she surely was a jewel.

Dying to Live (dedicated to the memory of Menya Wolfe)
Isee you I hear you
telling me where to go
in no uncetain terms
to find a journal
in that maddening maze
called Robarts

I see you I hear you
refusing to do the dishes
reminding me "it's your turn, don"
stubborn like me
a strength we shared

I see you I hear you
firmly telling me
"I'm right-you're wrong"
just like your mother
who's always right
of course

I see you I hear you and Pete
opening your brave heats
to our aching hearts
while you were
dying to live
dying to reach out
to so many
brothers and sisters
in this cancerous world
dying to live

I see you I hear you
singing-playing-dancing to your music
creatively-anachronistically
of course

What a spirit yu were and are
still dancing
still singing
still playing
your music, our music
we only have to listen

I met Menya/Rhiannon through the SCA almost ten years ago. She helped me purchase my first harp, and I was always trying to get copies of her music. Unfortunately, she decided that her personna was illiterate, and would only teach the music by rote (which doesn't work well when you live in a different city). In the last year, having finally obtained copies of her lyrics, I was working with her to transcribe the actual music. The musical notation of her work can be found at:

http://www.bards.ca/sounds.htm

Currently, it is necessary to download a free program to view the pieces. I intend to add in midi or wav files at a later point in time.

If anyone knows of any additional pieces which she wrote, please contact me at: tablet@interlog.com

Robert Schweitzer
aka Rufus of Stamford

I met Menya in High School at Northern Secondary. She was a grade behind me but we were in the same choir class. An imp back then, she drove the music teacher crazy one April's Fools Day by taking all his white chalk and replacing it with coloured chalk, changing the colours throughout the day. She also wrapped the piano like a present.

She joined the SCA soon after I had, and we spent a lot of time singing together. In those early days, people sometimes confused our names, (just call us Menica and Monya), but that didn't last too long as she soon earned a place for herself.

I recall her mooning over a harp in the window of Remenyi Music, then making that trip to Ottawa to build her first harp with Naon. I remember her early attempt to drive during an SCA trip to Waterloo. I remember her pranks, slumber parties in her residence room, camping at Pennsic, singing and playing with Soldier's Three, and many interesting conversations as Phil and I courted, ("Life is a Shakespearean Comedy").

Menya, I am sorry we had to live so far away these last years. I am glad you found such a loving and caring husband in Pete. I am glad I did see you last fall, where despite your illness, you still maintained your wry sense of humour. I shall miss you,

Monica

I spent a lot of time with Menya over the years. As a child, we visited frequently. As a pre-teen, she designed some seriously strange store windows for me. As a teenager, she was there to welcome me when I came home with my new baby. She was planning to "run" things for me while I coped with the little one. IT DIDN'T HAPPEN. I cooked and scrubbed and laundered. Menya cuddled. She sang spontaneous little baby songs and the bond was formed. In the years that followed, Menya came to our summer house with us, was child-tender extraordinaire, "keeper of the canoe key", resident artist, as well as inventor of rainy day games and strange kitchen concoctions. It was a delight to know I could just goof off because I didn't worry too much about cooking or scrubbing or laundry there. We just laughed and did very weird things -- an activity which suited her admirably.. She used to start those summer mornings with the ritual greeting of "Hello Ant" and insisted that I reply "Hello Nice". She had a high opinion of herself even then!

Watching her grow up was a pleasure. Her interests were so varied that she didn't seem to have any focus -- just a scattergun approach to life. Then one day everything clicked and came together and I think she rolled every funny little skill she had into one career. What a way to go through life -- be crazy and manage to make it work!

I'm sure going to miss you, kid -- and your wisecracks about all my musical shortcomings. Thank you for leaving a little of yourself with everyone who knew you -- and for the free babysitting all those years ago.

I'd just like to say that Menya was one of those special people who helped me through a bumpy patch of my life - I was able to dump my woes on a sympathetic ear which helped me greatly at the time. It's sad to lose such a lovely person but she will live on in my memory for her help and also via her lovely harp music. Thanks to those who helped make that available.

She also gave great back-rubs :-)

There's obviously not enough room here to say everything I want to say about Menya and Pete. So I will say this. It was fate that intervened through a very unusual series of circumstances that put me into Pete and Menya's world. I know they each felt very lucky to have each other. I feel doubly lucky to have known them both.

Menya has left for me an incredible gift. The gift of ultimate courage. No matter how dreadful or tedious the day I'm having, I have only to think of what Menya went through and how she handled her circumstances with such grace and dignity and positive action. Somehow, my day automatically gets better, especially when I recall the supercilious eyebrow that she could arch so well or the wicked laugh and rapier wit with which she used so effectively so often.

I will always treasure the quiet talks she and I had, about a wide range of subjects, from drug treatments to Shakespeare to religious morality, and I will always marvel at both she and Pete's ultimate courage in being able to ask their friends for help. It takes special people to be able to do this, and I was honoured to be allowed into their lives, in both good times and bad. To my soeur de saucisson, the Beatrice to my Benedict, I salute you, Menya----player of bridge and harp, lover of chocolate, and now, guardian angel. Keep the fires of Valhalla warm for the rest of us, for if ever anyone deserved to be in the hall of heroes, it is certainly you.

With all my love,

Mike

Brother Bill and I visited Menya at St. Mike's after a surgery there. Bill had left to pick up the Thai food and I was wheeling Menya around for some hospital "fresh air". We found, after what seemed like ages of asking staff who curiously didn't know where to direct us, the Chapel. In the Chapel, Menya sang. I had not heard her sing before. From Menya's lips came the most angelic sounds. The ease with which the tones came, and their beauty..... They filled the room and my heart. Afterwards, Pete and Bill played some very cute and entertaining game of peek-a-boo with an ancient statue in a foyer....

Oh, how I will miss Menya. We became friends at U of T and over the years I have taken for granted her presence in my world. She is someone with whom I have shared laughter and tears -- mostly laughter. I have said goodbye to Menya before, when she took off on a life journey to be with Pete. That journey brought her and Pete back here. And now my brave and courageous friend, has headed off on another life journey. Someday I will follow. Until then, her laughter will echo in my memory and she will live on in my heart. I love you Menya.

I sometimes hold it half a sin
to put in words the grief I feel;
For words, like Nature, half reveal
and half conceal the Soul within.

But, for the unquiet heart and brain,
a use in measured language lies;
The sad mechanic exercise,
like dull narcotics, numbing pain.

In words, like weeds, I'll wrap me o'er,
like coarsest clothes against the cold;
But that large grief which these enfold
is given in outline and no more.

Menya, I will miss you. We shared wonderful times together, what seems forever ago when we were still free and confident and the world was young and bright.

I remember well how you and your friend Monica greeted me when I arrived at the SCA meeting that fall of 1983 - a couple of giddy girls you seemed to my oh-so-sophisticated graduate student self. I remember the Alice-in-Wonderland-dress and the closet party and extinguishing the Eternal Flame and many other wild adventures. You always will be that impish, wild, dangerous girl when I think of you.

I remember well sharing music with you - the Soldiers Three rehearsing in my room, or at the Pagan Palace, or just singing and playing together for the companionship of it. Though we often sang of drink and debauchery, I think you always loved the melancholy songs best, the laments and the dirges, the ballads of loss and sacrifice. You will always be that singer with sad eyes when I think of you.

I remember well sharing joy with you. You were the catalyst that brought my life and Monica's life together. Although we were going different ways when first we met, it was your constant friendship that kept bringing us together so that our own love could grow. You stood with us at our wedding, sharing the solemn and happy moment with us. And you still were the imp, who wormed out the secret get-away we had thought was totally secure. You will always be that laughing friend, co-conspirator and constant helper, when I think of you.

I remember well sharing trouble with you. When our son Michael was born and we had to learn to accept his disability, you were always there. You were there despite the thousands of miles that separated us, and you would call just to let us talk to you, to voice our fears, to help us carry our burden for a short time. And I remember when you called to share your burden with us, how you told us of your cancer and how suddenly we realized that we really had no burden at all. You will always be that generous caring sister when I think of you.

Menya, you lived with courage and dignity, with laughter and tears, with love, with generosity, and ultimately with acceptance. All these things you shared with us, and we are the richer for it.
Menya, you were and are and will be the best of friends.

I will miss you.

Dear Pete, Those of us on the BC list grew to love Menya from her first posts from England...and with her subsequent move to To...her posts were always informative..and lively ( smile) I always read them.....and enjoyed the latest........She will exist in our minds forever as a woman *with a future* who fought continuously against the breast cancer which constantly challenged her life....fortunately her posts are preserved in the archives for future readers.....I clicked on her web page very early on to see this woman..she was beautiful through and through...with my best regards to you ......jcs

Edited by author 02-20-2001 09:45 PM
Hi this Sarah, I'm from the ibc list. I was diagnosed recently and although I never coresponded with Menya directly I could sense she was a woman of great warmth and life. I am indebted to her for starting the ibc list. Just to know I am not alone. Her strength and courage is inspiring. This is part of a song I wrote when I lost a dear friend that I would like to share with you. I don't know what else to say.
              I look to the light, I feel your embrace
               Brought to my knees, humbled in grace
             Will you stay for awhile, here by my side
              I speak of your love, I keep it alive
                          I keep it alive


Take care and god bless
Sarah

I'm finding it very difficult to write about my feelings for Menya. I truly believe that without her caring and wisdom I would not have lived very long at all. It's been just over 3 years since I was told that I had cancer.

Like Menya, I have Inflammatory Breast Cancer (IBC)
 
Healthy people have no idea how freaky it feels being told one has a rare and potentially lethal disease. The IBC web site and support list Pete and Menya started has literally been a life saver for people all over the world with IBC. Comments come in all the time from list members saying that they wouldn't have been able to cope if it wasn't for the connections they have been able to make with other IBC people through the support list.

Not many people know the terror we feel knowing that we have IBC. One feels SO alone and it's of great comfort to finally find a place where there are others on the same path who understand the journey.

Menya and I talked often on the phone and I had the pleasure of actually meeting her and Pete twice. Once when they traveled to Ottawa and once when I was passing through Toronto on the way to visit my daughter. I'll miss her crazy laughter. Her incredible wit and wisdom will astound me forever. Those who knew her personally will understand my feelings of loss. Those who only knew her through cyber space will also understand. She touched us all. She had a heart so big.

She loved Pete with a passion and once told me that she was the luckiest woman on earth to have him for a soul mate.
I wish Pete the strength to cope with the loss of Menya. If it's of any help, there are hundreds of other people from the IBC support list who feel the same.

At a later date, when my heart is a little less sore, I will try to write some of the silly memories I have of Menya. We laughed together often.

Lee Smith
Ottawa

Over the years Menya has never been far from my thoughts, although I hadn't seen her in over seven years. During my time in SCA, when she first joined, we were often
co-conspirisors on one political coup or another. Other times I was her target for them.

Menya had made an art of her innocent "who me?" look, a look that I will never forget.

You will be greatly missed.

 Thank you Menya. For so much.
 Menya was a true friend ("...true friends help you move bodies - and don't ask any questions."), an inspiration ("Let's inspire him - he'd look very good on the pointy end of a spire"), a teacher ("If you can't find someone else to do it you can always teach-yer'self."), a helpmate ("Need some help, mate?" [OK, not a quote from Menya]), and so many other things - to so many people.
 I have so many happy memories of Menya [and not all of them involve fruit {forbidden or cloven}, or toes, or hairbrushes, or...].
 In fact, somehow she managed to make the sad times happy, if for no other reason than she was there to share in them.
 Thank you again.
 We will always love you.

Short, because this is on a meter:

Whenever I said "I'd like to....", Menya frequently responded "Well, why don't you....?"

Oftentimes, I'd realise I'd no good reason not to.

_Living Well_

Three women. Heather, Kristine and Menya.

Three women at a restaurant called the Living Well: Heather tending bar, Kristine and Menya sitting on barstools. They were having a conference about a _guy_, who shall remain nameless not because I choose to be circumspect but because I honestly can't remember his name as it was so long ago.

To Heather he had be the former friend. To Kristine he had been the former lover. To Menya he had been the former boyfriend.

Three women at the bar of the Living Well, enjoying a glorious night of conspiracy. The poor boy under discussion didn't stand a chance.

Some ten years have passed since that night three women spent at the Living Well. Menya left this world a few days ago.

She always did like living well.

Menya saved my ass.

After 3 days of hell at Women's College Hospital, I was sent home, albeit prematurely. A home care nurse was supposed to show up the next morning.

Next morning, no nurse.

By noon, I was fed up. The hospital way giving me the runaround and I was getting pissed off.

I called Menya for help. Menya succinctly gave me the info I needed -- who to call and who to yell at. Without her I would have continued sitting there waiting for a nurse to arrive.

I thank the gods that Menya was a part of my network.

Pete, if you want a copy of the songs Menya recorded
for me, let me know, and I can copy them and clean up
the recordings for better quality.

I hope noone minds me posting here, as Menya and I didn't
always get along, although I think we got over that.

Wendy Rose, John Carrott, and I are going to hold our own little wake once Wendy is well again, and I still have a tape of songs that Menya recorded for me about 7 or 8 years ago now. It's going to be really hard listening to that knowing that she is now gone.

While things didn't work out between us, there were still
some good times, and she did me a lot of good in bringing
me out of myself and showing me that someone could love me.
So for me Menya's greatest legacy is giving me myself.

Perhaps one of my favourite memories, though, is canoeing
in Algonquin Park. We almost left our tent on the quayside.
We saw the most amazing star filled sky I will ever see.
We cooked bannocks, saw loons, chipmunks, a hummingbird,
and met the maddest French people I will ever encounter.
That was a very special time.

One of the other special times was helping out at stuff
during the Viking festival in York, and it is very poignant
that the height of the festival is this weekend.

More than anything I am glad she found Pete. He
has been such a rock, and frankly an inspiration to the
rest of us as well. He did more than I could ever have
done, so I am glad that Pete was there for her through
it all.

Edited by author 02-16-2001 11:12 AM
Genevieve said something that I feel strongly too. I didn't get to spend time with Menya on that many occasions, if I count them up, but she did seem like a much-loved sister to me. Also her sense of humour was wonderful, and the grin to go with it.

On one occasion we were chatting and Menya asked what my middle name was, and I said I didn't have one. Menya thought about it, and decided on a middle name she thought would suit me. I'm not sure what spelling she had in mind, but anyway, as of this week, I am Sharon Anne Curtis.

Menya, I'm going to miss you a lot. But at least anytime I look at something with my full name on, I'll have a reminder of you right there. Thank you.

I will never forget my first Belane in the Park after I joined the Craft. The night was mild and magical. There were mosquitoes, and consequently bats flitting about. As I entered the grove, I saw this beautiful woman playing the harp. She looked like a Boticelli Madonna,with her long hair and gorgeous huge eyes. We never exchanged many words over the years, but I felt a strong kinship with her when I learned of her brain tumour (I had been Dx'd with a brain tumour-fortunately a misdiagnosis-when I was 25)> I continued to feel a kinship as my own illness progresses. We miss the same things, walking, running, dancing, riding a bike, playing an instrument… Though we were scarcely more than acquaintances, I always felt that Menya was a sister under the skin. She touched my life, and I will miss her.

One of Menya's many talents was getting people to do things they might not have done otherwise, and making it seem perfectly normal.

She was responsible for Pete bringing me flowers - before we had (any of the three of us) met.

I came to realise that she had a network of 'operatives' around the world. I had ambitions to become one of this select and secret band. Unfortunately, as she put it, "You are only a junior operative. You have not had to do anything under an assumed name yet!"

Edited by author 02-15-2001 08:19 PM
One of my favorite memories:

It was Pennsic 19, at dusk. The torches were lit, the campfires were burning about camp and above the buzz of conversation and passing people on the way, I heard harp music coming from up the hill. I stepped out of my pavilion and made my way towards the music. And there she was; seated outside Tammara and Richard's pavilion, playing. I sat down. I listened. And I stayed until she was finished, and then some.

And that's how I want to remember her; in the torchlight, with the smell of woodsmoke in the air and the muted sounds of Pennsic in the background, playing her harp and singing.

Menya and I were "identical evil twins" who played dozens of pranks on the unsuspecting people of Ealdormere. I wish I could take credit for more of the fun, but the most creative doings were always her inventions. I remember her angelic look of innocence that had been honed in mischievous moments over and over again: pinching the bums of kings and princes, biting knees under the head of high table one memorable tourney in St. Catherine's, spreading mud all over the pristine white shirt of a peacocky friend after building a working brick and mud oven one Pennsic. Blessed be, Rhiannon!

God, where to begin... I guess I could start with her jokes. She could always say the cheekiest things with a totally straight face (I remember her making an entire room collapse once by singing the folk song line "he stands at the corner, a fag in his mouth..." without actually doing anything to highlight the double-entendre). Or her retelling of the time when she had started busking "Gold is the colour of my true love's hair" just as, by total coincidence, a woman with blue hair walked by (in her words: "...and I thought...'nah'..."). And then there was the time in the SCA when she was running for mayor of Ealdormere, and walked up to me before the meeting and uttered the words "If you'll vote for me, I'll make you city ratcatcher." How could I refuse?

I remember Menya always including a miniature Robert Munsch book on the top of each Christmas and birthday present she gave me for years. I still have most of them. And I remember when Mom and I came to Toronto a number of years ago. I got to stay with Menya. It was when she taught me calligraphy, because I had always admired hers so much. I still practice it. I also remember persuading Menya to teach me "the" song - the one I always used to bug her to sing for me. I think she finally gave in just so she wouldn't have to sing it anymore.

I remember one of Menya's favourite comic lines was, "Kin I euu it to ya - all I got's a fiver," - followed by a delighted grin.

Edited by author 02-15-2001 03:48 PM
What did it mean to you to know Menya? How did you meet her? What was the funniest moment in your relationship with her? The most touching? Post your stories, and I'll put the best on Menya's web site. We may also use some of them in the memorial service.