Jane Maxwell Harter

These photos were taken around 1995 when Jane was in her early 80s (maybe 82). It was her birthday and she asked me to take her to the cliffs of Torrey Pines where she hiked down (not all the way) with her trusty cane. In far better shape than I will ever be.

A man passing by offered to take our picture together. The only one I'll ever have. I think Maxfield Parrish would have approved.

I am plundering my files of Jane--far too much to post it all here. Cards and letters that I've saved along with her torrent of cartoon drawings (she was a huge fan of Thurber) which I simply do not have time right now to post, but will in the future. Jane was also a terrific clay sculptor which she referred to as "Active Imagination' rather than "Art" (her mother was an accomplished artist and Jane was an accomplished follower of Carl Jung).

Jane's handwriting was exacerbated by her love of Flair pens. We met when I directed her son George Weinberg-Harter's play Golden Trash Stamps which broke box office records at the Marquis Public Theatre's "Gallery" space for playwrights workshop plays. She had just lost her husband, Sam, and was very weepy but fascinating in spite of her grief.

When I moved to Los Angeles, we maintained copious correspondence. I think I may have shared way too much with her at times (lacking a mother with whom I could share details). Jane was nothing if not encouraging me to keep writing and pursuing creative professions. She was kind enough not to ever refer to it as my "Active Imagination" exercises. Although of course that's what they are.

In her later years, Jane was quite lonely. A born extrovert, she could never have enough visitors. And being deaf--frequently losing her hearing aids or refusing to wear them--meant you were in for a torrent of words in her presence. And a LOT of laughter.

Jane was also a poet. And even when she hit her 90s and was made quite addled by wretched dementia, her son George would find the occasional poem she had penned the night before. I have a few and will post later.

The above photo was taken at what I believe may have been her last birthday party. It was not her birthday, but George said Jane wouldn't know the difference. The way things were going, she might not even be able to retain the gathering an hour afterward, but why not have a party while she was still "young" enough to experience it in the present moment?

We went to a Chinese restaurant with Jane, after picking up her old friend Dorothy who came with her own oxygen tank. Jane was merry, but seemed plagued by swift bouts of melancholy. Due to her incredible self-knowledge,,, despite the dementia, that she was on her way out.

After lunch, she kept talking with the fish here, whom she pitied. Being unable to swim in the ocean. And being forced to watch its mates served up on plates.

On the way to that restaurant, before picking up Jane's friend, we had a mishap. A flat tire. This landed us at the tire store for about 45 minutes. And as I walked around the lobby with Jane, she remarked, "What an amazing place. Look at these sculptures! What gallery is this?"

Taking pictures at times when people are stressed or not wanting to really pose is important, I believe. Because we cannot know at the time how much they might mean to us later. This is a terrible picture of Jane and George. But it makes me happy remembering that moment.

Jane still found some time to practice her scaring skills.

Scene from that Chinese restaurant. Jane is morosely communicating with the fish to her right.

I don't know if that's a look of true happiness or if she's thinking, "Stop taking so many pictures of me."

Jane's great laugh. So sincere. Jane never pretended. She never said anything she didn't mean. She didn't hide her feelings. Jane was simply herself. Take it or leave it. The constant talk was often circular with nothing solved and no progress. Yet after this dinner, she read to us from the book of Edna St. Vincent Millay poetry that Dorothy gave her--closing her eyes and reciting the rest from memory.

These photos were developed by a film place (back in the day). I gave the original of this to George whom I do not believe was thrilled to receive it. All I have left is what was on the proof sheet. He said something like, "Ah yes, George and his mother in happier times!"

Dorothy and Jane. Old friends like bookends.

And a merry old soul was he. (Another from the Proof Sheet)

This photo was never developed for some reason, and I never went back to ask that it be turned into a photo. So it's from the raggedy proof sheet. The waitress took this and I got in the shot.

More mothering from Jane via a card.

Jane made her own cards...More or less.

I don't know who took this. Maybe George. It shows her great love for dolls that continued throughout her life. In a card, she explained to me that it was connected to her great desire to "mother." She had a brief episode of teaching small children that she never forgot, and often talked about what she had learned.

Somewhere I have a photo of Jane dressed up in a Raggedy Ann costume, sitting in front of her dolls, ready to be placed on the shelf.

"P.S. - To show you that I was no doubt born to mothering baby dolls..."

At a previous birthday party (one that Jane could probably recall for a while afterward), we met at a restaurant. Jane's daughter, Anne, chats with her in this photo.

On the other side of the table sat George, his wife Susan, and Anne's ex-husband & father of her two children, Bob. 

Same party. Different view. Anne's son and Jane's grandson, Christopher, sits across from his father. To his left are Anne's husband Forrest, Anne and of course, Jane.

After dinner, we stopped by this floodlight to play their favorite game of looking scary. Jane went first. Impossible act to follow, but George and Christopher tried:

The flash on the camera made it less scary than it actually was.

Christopher clowning.

I took Jane to Montecito. Must have been when she came to visit on the train when I was living in Ventura, CA. I was squabbling with my then-husband and Jane told me it was all delightful. The sign says: "Horses Prohibited."

I suppose Jane and I were a little like Harold and Maude. She wanted me to be a mad adventuress. But I was often depressed and miserable. One day when I came to visit, she said, "You just seem so 'blah.' Cheer up!"

So we shall gather this Saturday, on October 19, 2014, to remember Jane and set her ashes free in the ocean, where she had asked for them to end up (whenever the time was right, of course). And to tell her again how much we love her, knowing that it will not fall on deaf ears--for she will be right there, soaking up all the Love we have to give her.