Remembering Josepha Sherman

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I went to New York City yesterday for a memorial service for Josepha Sherman, who died recently after a long illness.  Josepha was a prolific writer, an editor, a folklorist, and the co-author of (among many other books, mostly written solo) Greasy Grimy Gopher Guts: The Subversive Folklore of Childhood.  I've got a copy here on my desk and, unlike most such books, it really is genuinely, cheerfully subversive.

As was Josepha.  I wasn't a close friend -- not like most of the people who showed up last night.  But I enjoyed her company and she clearly enjoyed her life.  Every time I saw her, she was just enjoying the heck out of the situation, whatever it might be.

Listening to her friends relate fond memories, I couldn't help thinking of how in some ways she and I were opposites.  I never know how to respond to gifts, for one thing.  When somebody gives me something, I stand tongue-tied until Marianne nudges me and says, "Say thank-you, Michael."

I suspect that Josepha never had to be told to say thank-you.  She knew that life is a gift and she was continuously grateful for it.

Now that gift has come to an end.  But the memories remain, the friends remain, the community she was a part of remains.  Rest in peace, Joespha.  You left some good things behind.

Including at least one book so subversive I can't quite find the guts to quote it here.

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