A few readers of this space have asked me why I haven’t been blogging of late (thanks, few readers). Yes, I’ve been insanely busy all of a sudden, which is good but I was also overwhelmed by the shootings at Virginia Tech. Once the initial shock had subsided I thought of writing about the elements of the story that were at least within my grasp and experience — I did a story on schoolyard shooters once, and I’ve had writing students who scared people with their prose — but each day’s revelations seemed to render yesterday’s news moot, or at least render me mute. Now it seems some of the students who survived will be writing about it. May they find courage and some meaning in the telling.
It seems that all those April showers brought us a bouquet of death, My last entry was about Vonnegut, but at least he defied the odds and lived to 82. (In a posthumous speech delivered by his son yesterday, the author told us from the grave not to fear death and credited Socrates with the line, “Death is just one more night.”) Far more disturbing was the news that Bay Area writer Chiori Santiago had succumb to cancer two weeks ago.
Chiori was a freelance writer who did some work for me when I was the arts editor at the San Francisco Bay Guardian a thousand years ago. She was smart, professional, versed in topics as diverse as salsa and Japanese-American history, beautiful and generous. After I left the Guardian (which remains the worst job I ever had), I hired Chiori to write a column at Parenting magazine called “One Family.” She was a joy to work with and kind enough to ignore my unwanted advances on at least one occasion.
I hadn’t talked to her in over 15 years when I got word of her death. The last time we spoke I was working as the film and music editor at Elle magazine and she was pitching me a piece. What I recall was that I was rude to her; I’m sure there was a deadline involved and I was still drinking then, and full of that selfish behavior that some drunks think passes for honesty. I had always meant to seek her out and apologize for my boorish attitude. Which is why you should be kind to people, or at least try.
As a character in an early Vonnegut novel said, “We are what we pretend to be, so we should be careful about what we pretend to be.”
God bless you, Chiori. Please accept my apology.
It also took me a long time to figure out that trying to be nice, even when under other pressures, is worth the effort. I learned that from my mom, Chiori. If it means anything at all, I accept on my mother’s behalf. Thank you.