![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Odd how something can crop up more than once in a day; in our family it's called a 'Quiller-Couch' rather than a coincidence but I won't go into that ;-)
In a post today, I mentioned Ginny Heinlein. Then the mail arrived and in it was the delayed edition of the Heinlein Journal, the commemorative edition for Ginny, who died last January. Included in the articles about her from people like Spider Robinson (who was the reason I made that earlier post on![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
villagechick's LJ) was my own contribution. I'm going to post it here just so it's somewhere.
I miss Ginny.
When I was young, I wrote to two famous people. One was the Queen, one was Robert Heinlein.
The letter to Mr Heinlein was answered by his wife. In a long, friendly letter she answered the points I raised and shared a story about one of her cats with me. The letter was dated May 1st 1983. Time passed and Mr Heinlein died. I found out some time after it happened, flicking through the pages of an SF encyclopedia during my lunch hour, turning to his name automatically, staring in disbelief at the stark date of death. I cried all the way back to my office, mourning a man I had never met, regretting the end of his stories. If anyone had told me that twenty years later I would cry for Virginia as she left this world, but this time mourn for a friend, I would have been incredulous.
And she was a friend. She posted to alt.fan.heinlein for the first time on February 7 2000 and there was a stunned silence as we all fumbled for words. I welcomed her, aware of the fact that she might not have been genuine (though somehow, you couldn’t doubt it was her) but preferring to extend a welcome to a fraud than to snub Mrs Heinlein. But it was really her and in the years that followed, we were honoured by her posts, infrequent, pithy, always to the point.
I got to know her better in the AIM chats and during my involvement with the Heinlein Society. The awe never quite wore off and I regret this because so often I saw she was online and didn’t IM her. I wanted to but I didn’t want to intrude, to impose. The odd time I did get my courage up, she was wonderful to talk to. I came to realise that she took a deep enjoyment in her time on the internet and the new friends she made through it.
New friends at Ginny’s age couldn’t hope to fill the place of the friends she’d known for years, friends who were leaving her steadily as they, like Robert, ‘crossed the bar’ but I like to think that we helped, a little, to amuse and entertain her and to take care of her as much as we could. I undertook a project to help her once and although the hours of work I and others put into it never accomplished much due to the events of September 11 calling a halt, I felt deep satisfaction that in some way, however small, I’d paid back a little to the lady who wrote me that letter, helped me when I wrote about her husband’s books and sent me a gift to celebrate the birth of my second child.
That gift was typical of Ginny; she asked if I would allow her to send Lauren a present as if I were doing her the favour. I said ‘yes’ of course, expecting a small toy perhaps. Instead, Ginny sent me – I mean Lauren, ahem – a bracelet she had worn for many years, a chain with a spade guinea, over two centuries old, hanging from it. It had been a gift from an English friend and she wanted Lauren to have it as a reminder of her heritage. I cannot express my feelings at such a gift, doubly precious for the thought behind it and the associations with Ginny. Lauren will receive it when she’s older – I promised Ginny – but Ginny also urged me to use it until that date arrives and on very special occasions, I wear it and never fail to think of the giver. I hope she won’t mind if I share what she told me of it in an email;
“The bracelet was given to me by a Captain Stanley Hayter. He told me that it was a family heirloom, and formerly had been part of a watch chain with the coin as a fob. I believe that it belonged to his grandfather, and that is all I know about it.”
When I heard that Ginny was ill, some time before her final illness, I wanted to send her something to cheer her up. After a little thought, I sent her a box of Godiva chocolates. When she got back home, she wrote to say that she’d been unable to eat any of the hospital food and they’d saved her life; she’d never tasted anything so good.
I wish they were capable of that. I wish Ginny were still here. I miss her. I think we all do.
This journal and lots of other information about Heinlein is available through the website of
The Heinlein Society
In a post today, I mentioned Ginny Heinlein. Then the mail arrived and in it was the delayed edition of the Heinlein Journal, the commemorative edition for Ginny, who died last January. Included in the articles about her from people like Spider Robinson (who was the reason I made that earlier post on
villagechick's LJ) was my own contribution. I'm going to post it here just so it's somewhere.I miss Ginny.
When I was young, I wrote to two famous people. One was the Queen, one was Robert Heinlein.
The letter to Mr Heinlein was answered by his wife. In a long, friendly letter she answered the points I raised and shared a story about one of her cats with me. The letter was dated May 1st 1983. Time passed and Mr Heinlein died. I found out some time after it happened, flicking through the pages of an SF encyclopedia during my lunch hour, turning to his name automatically, staring in disbelief at the stark date of death. I cried all the way back to my office, mourning a man I had never met, regretting the end of his stories. If anyone had told me that twenty years later I would cry for Virginia as she left this world, but this time mourn for a friend, I would have been incredulous.
And she was a friend. She posted to alt.fan.heinlein for the first time on February 7 2000 and there was a stunned silence as we all fumbled for words. I welcomed her, aware of the fact that she might not have been genuine (though somehow, you couldn’t doubt it was her) but preferring to extend a welcome to a fraud than to snub Mrs Heinlein. But it was really her and in the years that followed, we were honoured by her posts, infrequent, pithy, always to the point.
I got to know her better in the AIM chats and during my involvement with the Heinlein Society. The awe never quite wore off and I regret this because so often I saw she was online and didn’t IM her. I wanted to but I didn’t want to intrude, to impose. The odd time I did get my courage up, she was wonderful to talk to. I came to realise that she took a deep enjoyment in her time on the internet and the new friends she made through it.
New friends at Ginny’s age couldn’t hope to fill the place of the friends she’d known for years, friends who were leaving her steadily as they, like Robert, ‘crossed the bar’ but I like to think that we helped, a little, to amuse and entertain her and to take care of her as much as we could. I undertook a project to help her once and although the hours of work I and others put into it never accomplished much due to the events of September 11 calling a halt, I felt deep satisfaction that in some way, however small, I’d paid back a little to the lady who wrote me that letter, helped me when I wrote about her husband’s books and sent me a gift to celebrate the birth of my second child.
That gift was typical of Ginny; she asked if I would allow her to send Lauren a present as if I were doing her the favour. I said ‘yes’ of course, expecting a small toy perhaps. Instead, Ginny sent me – I mean Lauren, ahem – a bracelet she had worn for many years, a chain with a spade guinea, over two centuries old, hanging from it. It had been a gift from an English friend and she wanted Lauren to have it as a reminder of her heritage. I cannot express my feelings at such a gift, doubly precious for the thought behind it and the associations with Ginny. Lauren will receive it when she’s older – I promised Ginny – but Ginny also urged me to use it until that date arrives and on very special occasions, I wear it and never fail to think of the giver. I hope she won’t mind if I share what she told me of it in an email;
“The bracelet was given to me by a Captain Stanley Hayter. He told me that it was a family heirloom, and formerly had been part of a watch chain with the coin as a fob. I believe that it belonged to his grandfather, and that is all I know about it.”
When I heard that Ginny was ill, some time before her final illness, I wanted to send her something to cheer her up. After a little thought, I sent her a box of Godiva chocolates. When she got back home, she wrote to say that she’d been unable to eat any of the hospital food and they’d saved her life; she’d never tasted anything so good.
I wish they were capable of that. I wish Ginny were still here. I miss her. I think we all do.
This journal and lots of other information about Heinlein is available through the website of
The Heinlein Society