Harriett Hobble Shore ~ 1932-2012

This page is a work in progress - feel free to comment and make suggestions.  The basis comes from a wonderful essay Rick wrote in recollection of my Mom - I'm altering it a bit as I find details and photos to add.  Jaye

 

 

 

 

Harriett Lorella Hobble Shore

Harriett & Libby

She was Harriet Laurella Hobble (she later added an additional "t" to her first name) when she was born in Wichita, Kansas on September 17, 1932.  Her father had been the son of a prominent family in Dodge City, with a grand house "on Boot Hill".  Her father had been married earlier and she had a half-sister Anna Mae, who was raised by her Grandparents.  She had a younger sister, Libby (Grace Elizabeth).



Harriett & Libby in Colorado

The Depression sent Harriett's father Ted Hobble west, first to Colorado, then to California while Harriett was still a little girl. She recalled the dust storms, the time on the road, their making due in a summer cottage through a Colorado winter. Ted, through family connections, found work as a carman for the Santa Fe Failroad in the worst part of the depression, and settled the family in dry, remote Needles, California, right on Route 66. He stayed with that job and in that place for the rest of his life.  Though Harriett grew up in Needles, she always seemed to be a real Midwesterner in her tastes and demeanor, a descendant of pioneers and homesteaders “old American families“ through both of her parents.

Upon becoming a young woman, she left Needles to move to San Diego with her girlfriends and in time met Bruce J. Shore, a young Marine officer stationed in San Diego. Though also from the middle of the country (he was born and bred in Iowa), Bruce had already seen a lot of the world and must have been the image of everything she wanted to move away from in Needles.



In Hawaii during Viet Nam R&R

They were married in 1953 and started on a military life of moving from one place to another for the next twelve years, from Rhode Island to South Carolina to North Carolina (where Jaye, the third of five kids born in five years, was born) and finally to Albany, New York ~ not that far from where some of Harriett's ancestors had settled in the 1600's.

Harriett 1962

Bruce retired as a Major after serving in Vietnam and the family's nomadic life gratefully came to an end, as Bruce settled into a job at Schenectady Trust Bank (now Trustco).  Harriett, who had always been a voracious reader ~ often reading a book in one day and retaining a stunning amount of it ~ completed her college degree and then went on to obtain a Master's Degree from the University at Albany in Classics. As Jake can tell you, she was very proud of having learned Ancient Greek and Latin and of having read the great Greek and Roman philosophers in the original language.


One of the Weddings, 1980s

I've known her for 22 years and until very close to the end of her life she was a brilliantly mordant and exceedingly literate and erudite conversationalist. She always had fascinating observations on books, movies, nature, food, history, and more. I have to say ~ and I think she knew this  ~ she really didn't belong in Albany. It was really too small and provincial for her. She loved recounting her trips with a friend to New York City to dine, shop and see a play. She would have liked seeing more of the world. If she had been born 20 years later, I bet she would have been a classical archeologist, somewhere in Italy or Turkey, brushing ancient Roman dust off her clothes at the end of the day. She was fully human ~ temperamental, sometimes barbed, sometimes more dark than light. I'm aware that being her son-in-law (and, as Jake can attest, being her grandson) was a warm, endearing experience that probably did not always match the experience of being one of her children. Unlike them, I was blessed to always see her finest side ~ and I believe it was her truest side. I will miss her ~ a lot. Knowing her was a real privilege.


Harriett 2011

Harriett 1964

Colorado River 1940s

With Laura in Altamont 2011

Iowa for Jaye's baptism 1958



Harriett's Aunt Harriet

Harriett as a girl

Rick's Memorial

I met Harriett in 1990, when I was brought to Colonie as Jaye’s new boyfriend with the beard and ponytail.  It was a revelation to me how distinctly different life inside the house on Whip Circle was from where I came from.  You see, in my family, we do a lot of joking and breezy talking about recent events, but no one ever sits for very long in one place.  What I discovered when I came here was conversations.  Wonderfully long conversations.

And where I came from, no one read that much or talked about books, and no one did crossword puzzles.  And while my Dad grew tulips on the front lawn and my Mom grew tomatoes in the backyard, there was nothing like the kind of serious flower gardening that went on here.

I loved this new world, where what you did after you arrived was to settle in and explore a universe of conversation.  Bruce had seen much of the planet while I had been to Canada.  And it amazed me how many subjects Harriett could discuss knowledgeably and incisively.

Though I’ve been around here, on and off, for a couple of decades, I know I’m really an outsider, and I can only offer an outsider’s perspective – an in-law’s point of view.  There’s so much that you all know that I don’t.  I would just like to share some souvenirs.  As I look around the apartment where we live, I keep seeing things that remind me of Harriett and how far she has reached into our lives.

I see a photograph of our president and his family that Jaye placed in our living room and I’m reminded of the times Harriett would proudly list the Republican presidents that she said she did not vote for.  I look at her children and see a lot of independent thinkers – no doubt a source of some political exasperation to their dad at times.  That independence of mind, I think of that as very much Harriett.

I see our incredibly messy and disorganized recipe collection outside our kitchen and I’m reminded of all the times Harriett talked about food and shopping for food and the parking lot where she bought the food and especially cooking food.  Here’s a recipe that I remember she was excited about – she wrote it out and gave it to Jaye.  “Rosemary sauce for fried or sautéed fish.”

In our hallway, I see a framed photograph of a flinty-eyed Pierce Roscoe Hobble, Harriett’s great-grandfather, veteran of the Civil War and survivor of Andersonville Prison.  I’m reminded of Harriett’s love of family history and the way she collected stories, some of them true, about her rich heritage.  The Hobbles and Forees, the Shays and Lyons, the Bolens and Poiniers.  The family line may or may not have extended back to the Pharaohs and Charlemagne, as her father wrote, but it certainly did cover a vast swath of American history, from the beginning, and you could sense that she felt that she was a part of it.

On our bookshelves, I see all these books that came back with us in our car after visits to Colonie.  It got to the point where I would say to Jaye as we were driving up, “Listen, you can’t ask your Mom what she’s been reading lately because you know she will insist you take six books home, and we have nowhere to put them and no time to read them.”  Harriett read like some kind of magnificent word and idea vacuum machine.  She didn’t just read with incredible speed, she absorbed what was in those books and spoke critically about it.

In Jake’s room, there is the massive Latin dictionary that she gave him.  And there’s this little book, New Latin Grammar from 1895 (isn’t it a little odd that there could be new Latin grammar?), which used to be owned by some guy named David Sider in 1967.  Harriett bought it at the used bookstore and wrote her name in green underneath his (without crossing his out!).  These books remind me of her years as a scholar, a girl from Needles, California who learned Greek and Latin.

And I seem to have a lot of photos, and images in my mind, of Harriett among or near flowers.  She was a marvelous gardener, someone who knew a lot about plants and truly delighted in them, even though it was hard to get her to admit it.  I would always wait for it, the moment after one of us would tell her how beautiful the garden was when she would say “Oh, those are just out of control, I haven’t done anything with those, I really haven’t been able to keep this garden the way it should be,” or something like that.

In our bedroom, there’s a box which holds this key on a ribbon.  It’s the railroad key used by Ted Hobble, Harriett’s father.  Harriett gave this to Jaye.  It’s a reminder of Harriett’s father – even though I never met him, I often had the feeling that he was in the room, and not as a smiling presence.  From what little I know, it seemed to me that his legacy was a challenging one for Harriett.  They don’t need to be dwelt on, those challenges, but I feel they need to be acknowledged.

Finally, there’s a living memory of Harriett that is thankfully almost always around me, and that’s Jaye, who sometimes can actually sound a bit like her mom, say when someone cuts her off in traffic.  But what I really mean is that there was a true, warm, generous sweetness that was in Harriett which lives vibrantly in Laura, Bob, Don, Jaye and Margaret.  Thanks to that, I will always remember Harriett, and will always miss her.

Memorial Service September 23, 2012

Service of Thanksgiving for Harriett Shore

September 23, 2012 at 4:00 PM

Albany, NY

Greeting

We come this afternoon to give thanks for Harriett Shore’s life.  She came into this world in Witchita, Kansas on September 17, 1932.  Her parents were Ted Foree Hobble and Grace Lyons Hobble.  Her sisters, Grace Elizabeth and Anna Mae, pre-deceased her.  She married Bruce Shore in 1953.  Together they had five children, who survive her:  Laura, Robert, Jaye, Donald, and Margaret.  She is also survived by six grandchildren: Jake, Harrison, Brendan, Sarah, Peter, Katherine.  She has one Godson, Victor.  Harriett left this world from Albany, NY on September 20, 2012 to be with God, the Christ, and the Holy Spirit forever and ever.

This is a time to say farewell.  This is a time to remember.  This is a time to support each other in our common loss.  Cry or laugh – let our emotions lead us today.  This is our time.

Prayer

Holy God, you are the source of love and life.  We come this afternoon to say farewell to Harriett, who left this world to be with you.  We give thanks for her life, remembering how she touched us and how her life blessed us in ways we are only beginning to fathom.  Be with us in this time of remembrance and thanksgiving.  Help us through our grief, supporting and strengthening us, today and for the days, the weeks, and months ahead.  Let us not forget the promise of Jesus that though we die, by your love we are given eternal life.  Amen.

Readings and Reflections:

Psalm 139:1-18

O Lord, You have examined me and know me.

 ² When I sit down or stand up You know it;

You discern my thoughts from afar.

³ You observe my walking and reclining,

and are familiar with all my ways.

⁴ There is not a word on my tongue

but that You, O Lord, know it well.

 ⁵ You hedge me before and behind;

You lay Your hand upon me.

 ⁶ It is beyond my knowledge; it is a mystery;

 I cannot fathom it.

 ⁷ Where can I escape from Your spirit?

Where can I flee from Your presence?

⁸ If I ascend to heaven, You are there;

 if I descend to Sheol, You are there too.

 ⁹ If I take wing with the dawn to come to rest on the western horizon,

¹⁰ even there Your hand will be guiding me,

Your right hand will be holding me fast.

¹¹ If I say, "Surely darkness will conceal me,

night will provide me with cover,"

¹² darkness is not dark for You;

night is as light as day; darkness and light are the same.

¹³ It was You who created my conscience;

You fashioned me in my mother's womb.

¹⁴ I praise You, for I am awesomely, wondrously made;

Your work is wonderful; I know it very well.

¹⁵ My frame was not concealed from You when I was shaped in a hidden place,

knit together in the recesses of the earth.

¹⁶ Your eyes saw my unformed limbs;

they were all recorded in Your book;

in due time they were formed,

 to the very last one of them.

¹⁷ How weighty Your thoughts seem to me,

O God, how great their number!

¹⁸ I count them -- they exceed the grains of sand;

I end -- but am still with You.

Reflections: Bruce Shore and Jim Cameron

Peace my heart...

Peace, my heart, let the time for the parting be sweet.

Let it not be a death but completeness.

Let love melt into memory and pain into songs.

Let the flight through the sky end in the folding of the wings over the nest.

Let the last touch of your hands be gentle like the flower of the night.

Stand still, O Beautiful End, for a moment, and say your last words in silence.

I bow to you and hold up my lamp to light you on your way.

~Rabindranath Tagore

Reflection: Jaye Freyer, Jake Freyer, Rick Freyer (see Memorial Posts)

The Path of Life

The young mother set her foot on the path of life. “Is this the long way?” she asked. And the guide said: “Yes and the way is hard. And you will be old before you reach the end of it. But the end will be better than the beginning” But the young mother was happy, and she could not believe that anything could be better than these years. So she played with her children, and gathered flowers for them along the way, and bathed them in the clear streams; and the sun shone on them, and the young Mother cried, “Nothing will ever be lovelier than this.”

Then the night came, and the storm, and the path was dark, and the children shook with fear and cold, and the mother drew them close and covered them with her mantle, and the children said, ”Mother, we are not afraid, for you are near, and no harm can come.”

And the morning came, and there was a hill ahead, and the children climbed and grew weary, and the mother was weary. But at all times she said to the children, “A little patience and we are there.” And the children climbed and when they reached the top they said “Mother, we would not have done it without you.”

And the mother, when she lay down at night looked up at the stars and said, “This is a better day than the last, for my children have learned fortitude in the face of hardness. Yesterday I gave them courage. Today I have given them strength.”

And the next day came. Strange clouds which darkened the earth, clouds of war and hate and evil, and the children groped and stumbled, and the mother said, “Look up. Lift your eyes to the light.” And the children looked and saw above the clouds an everlasting glory, and it guided them beyond the darkness. And that night the Mother said, “This has been the best day of all, for I have shown my children God.”

And the days went on and the weeks and the months and the years, and the mother grew old and she was little and bent. But her children were tall and strong and walked with courage. And when the way was rough, they lifted her, for she was as light as a feather; and at last they came to a hill and beyond they could see a shining road and golden gates flung wide.

And Mother said, “I have reached the end of my journey and now I know the end is better than the beginning for my children can walk alone and their children after them.” And the children said, “You will always walk with us, Mother, even when you have gone through the gates. “ And they stood and watched her as she went on alone and the gates closed after her.  And they said,  “We cannot see her, but she is with us still. A Mother like ours is more than a memory. She is a living presence.”

Your mother is always with you. She is the whisper of the leaves as you walk down the street. She is the smell of bleach in your freshly laundered clothes and she is the cool hand on your brow when you are not well.

Your mother lives inside your laughter. And she’s crystallized in every teardrop . She is your first home and she is the map you follow with every step you take. She is your first love and your first heartbreak, and nothing on earth can separate you. Not time, not space, ...not even death.

Reflections ~ Don Shore, Margaret Illis (see Memorial Posts)

Taking New Forms

When we lose someone we love, we should remember that the person has not become nothing.  “Something” cannot become “nothing,” and “nothing” cannot become “something.”  Science can help us understand this, because matter cannot be destroyed – it can become energy.  And energy can become matter, but it cannot be destroyed.  In the same way, our beloved was not destroyed; she has just taken on another form.  That form may be a cloud, a child or the breeze.  We can see our loved one in everything.  And smiling, we can say, “Dear one, I know you are there very close to me.  I know that your nature is no birth and no death.  I know that I have not lost you; you are always with me.”

If you look deeply at every moment of your daily life, you will see that person.  Practicing like this, you will be able to overcome your grief.  The same is true with your mother or your father.  Their true nature is the nature of not born, not dying, not arriving and not departing.  In reality, you have not lost anyone who has died.

Thich Nhat Hanh – “no death, no fear”

Reflection

Revelation 21:1-6

Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth; for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more. ² And I saw the holy city, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. ³ And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, "See, the home of God is among mortals. He will dwell with them; they will be his peoples, and God himself will be with them; ⁴ he will wipe every tear from their eyes. Death will be no more; mourning and crying and pain will be no more, for the first things have passed away." ⁵ And the one who was seated on the throne said, "See, I am making all things new." Also he said, "Write this, for these words are trustworthy and true." ⁶ Then he said to me, "It is done! I am the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end. To the thirsty I will give water as a gift from the spring of the water of life.

Closing Prayer

You have blessed us, O God.  We have been blessed by Harriett’s life.  We have been blessed by wisdom from writers ancient and new.  We have been blessed by words shared with one another.  Thank you for these blessings.

Thank you for your presence this afternoon.  We are grateful for your loving kindness, which will sustain us in our sorrow for the days, the weeks, and the months ahead.  We will remember Harriett long after we depart from here – those memories will give us solace.  We are thankful that her pain is gone and she is with you, the Christ, and the Holy Spirit for all eternity.

We remember the promise of eternal life in Christ Jesus.  We pray that when the time comes to close our eyes for the last time in this world that we will open them in your realm to see Harriett again.  Amen.

Closing Hymn – Amazing Grace

Benediction

Margaret's Memorial

The Road Goes Ever On and On (J.R.R. Tolkein)

The Road goes ever on and on

Down from the door where it began.

Now far ahead the Road has gone,

And I must follow, if I can,

Pursuing it with eager feet,

Until it joins some larger way

Where many paths and errands meet.

And whither then? I cannot say.


This was another favorite we remembered from our youth - the read- aloud from The Hobbit that predated books on tape.  This book and trilogy captured so much that was my Mom's passion but also ours - and open mind to other cultures and histories,as well as our own ancient past and the secrets that might lay in it.  

Don's Memorial

Spring Morning 
   
                       by A.A. Milne



Where am I going? I don't quite know.
Down to the stream where the king-cups grow-
Up on the hill where the pine-trees blow-
Anywhere, anywhere. I don't know.

Where am I going? The clouds sail by,
Little ones, baby ones, over the sky.
Where am I going? The shadows pass,
Little ones, baby ones, over the grass.

If you were a cloud, and sailed up there,
You'd sail on water as blue as air,
And you'd see me here in the fields and say:
"Doesn't the sky look green today?"

Where am I going? The high rooks call:
"It's awful fun to be born at all."
Where am I going? The ring-doves coo:
"We do have beautiful things to do."

If you were a bird, and lived on high,
You'd lean on the wind when the wind came by,
You'd say to the wind when it took you away:
"That's where I wanted to go today!"

Where am I going? I don't quite know.
What does it matter where people go?
Down to the wood where the blue-bells grow-
Anywhere, anywhere. I don't know.






Our favorite books our Mom would read when we were young were by the author A.A. Milne.  Many of us can remember poetry from those early days and the delight we all found.  Don read a great one that seemed perfect for the moment - brought tears to all our eyes.

Jake's Memorial

Catullus Poem 101 ~ Read in both Latin and in translation.





Multās per gentēs et multa per aequora vectus
adveniō hās miserās, frāter, ad īnferiās,
ut tē postrēmō dōnārem mūnere mortis
et mūtam nēquīquam alloquerer cinerem.
quandoquidem fortūna mihī tētē abstulit ipsum.
heu miser indignē frāter adēmpte mihi,
nunc tamen intereā haec, prīscō quae mōre parentum
trādita sunt trīstī mūnere ad īnferiās,
accipe frāternō multum mānantia flētū,
atque in perpetuum, frāter, avē atque valē.

By ways remote and distant waters sped,

Brother, to thy sad grave-side am I come,

That I may give the last gifts to the dead,

And vainly parley with thine ashes dumb:

Since she who now bestows and now denies

Hath taken thee, hapless brother, from mine eyes.

But lo! these gifts, the heirlooms of past years,

Are made sad things to grace thy coffin shell,

Take them, all drenchèd with a brother's tears,

And, brother, for all time, hail and farewell!

We found a book of Harriett's from her Master's class in Catullus poetry where she had scanned and annotated this poem.  Jake read it beautifully!  

Harriett L. Shore Obituary

COLONIE – Harriett L. Shore, 80, of Colonie, passed away peacefully with her family at her side on Thursday, September 20, 2012.  Born Harriett L. Hobble on September 17, 1932 in Wichita, KS, the daughter of the late Theodore Foree Hobble and Grace Lyons Hobble.  She was raised in Needles, CA, and was a 1950 graduate of Needles Union High School.  She also lived in Rhode Island, Virginia, and North and South Carolina before moving to the Albany area in 1964.  Along with being a loving mother, she was employed at Macy’s in Colonie, and also served as a volunteer with the forerunner of Prevent Child Abuse NY.  In 1982 she earned an MA degree in Classics at the University at Albany.  She was a passionate reader, and was interested in women’s issues, gardening and genealogy.

Harriett is survived by her beloved husband of 58 years, Maj. Bruce J. Shore, USMC, Retired; her children Laura Shore (Nancy Ota) of Altamont, Robert Shore of Wright, NY, Jaye Freyer (Frederick) of Scarsdale, NY, Donald Shore (Linda Ellett) of Rock City Falls, NY, and Margaret Illis (William) of Berkeley Heights, NJ; her grandchildren Frederic (Jake) Freyer, Harrison Shore, and Brendan, Sarah, Peter and Kathryn Illis, and her godson Victor Tomelden.  She was predeceased by her sisters, Grace Elizabeth Hobble Johnson of Reno, NV and Anna Mae Hobble Farrington of Dodge City, KS.

Funeral services will be held in the Hans Funeral Home, 1088 Western Ave., Albany, Sunday afternoon at 4pm.   Relatives and friends are invited, and may call at the funeral home Sunday prior to the service from 2-4pm.  Internment services will be held at the Gerald B. H. Solomon Saratoga National Cemetery in Schuylerville on Tuesday at 11am.  To leave a message of condolence for the family, send a sympathy card, or obtain directions to the funeral home, please visitwww.HansFuneralHome.com.

Jaye's Memorial

My mother was born in 1932 and lived as a child through the Worst Hard Time, her family options hollowed out by the dust storms and the great depression.  She knew hardship, lean times and cold nights, parents challenged and changed by those times, but from that sprang a woman with a strength, spirit and undaunted intelligence and curiosity.  

She was born into a family of pioneers and homesteaders.  Her great grandfather was one of the first founders of Dodge City, Kansas, and there were many family stories passed down of the Wild West in its infancy.  She inherited the genealogy bug from her grandparents and delighted in discovering that ancestors of hers were among the very first settlers of New York, indeed, not ten miles from where she and Bruce ultimately settled, her ancestors helped build the first fort in New Amsterdam in 1621.  It made perfect sense to her that she, whose family had been moving westward for three hundred years, would back east and close the circle.  

When she met my dad, Mom was a vivacious California girl, living just off Route 66, swimming in the Colorado River, listening to cool jazz in the 1950s. My dad was a handsome Marine Corps officer.  Their adventures in building our wonderful family included 12 years of many moves to accommodate the military assignments my father served.  No easy task moving young children and pets from one state to another, yet the spirit of adventure and new things each move brought is what stands out for us in retrospect – the curiosity she encouraged in us to discover what was special in each new place, and a wonderful ability to embrace those discoveries with us. 

When they settled down in Colonie in 1964, my Mom changed with the times.  She learned yoga and explored gourmet and international cooking with her friends.  She was a gifted gardener with a strong love of the local flora, and she worked hard to incorporate and nurture wild flowers into her gardens.  I remember when a large swath of wooded land near our house was slated for a new development.  She rounded some of us up to go into the woods and save some of the plants.  I think we still have the Jack-in-the-Pulpits in our front garden from that adventure.  

She also strongly identified with the emerging women’s rights movement.  As soon as she was able, she returned to school and proudly graduated from the University at Albany 1982 with the first Master’s degree in her family, in Classics. Her gifts, curiosity and enthusiasm with regards to ancient language, history and literature won her the admiration of members of the Classics department and provided her with a lifetime of delight.  She maintained an unabated interest in classical archeology.  

Not long before she passed, Mom told Laura that if she had been born later she might have been a truly modern woman.  I think she was way more modern than me.  Though I’ve ‘done’ and ‘had’ the things she associated with modernity, she was the true pioneer – she walked a less guided path with little support and a lot of pluck. I loved her courage in reading her way into the ancient world, discovering a rarified road to a place where there were women as well as men in the pantheon.  She could have followed more traditional routes in gaining a business or teaching degree but she followed her bliss, did the hard work of learning languages no longer spoken to gain access into an intellectual place with a grace and aesthetic she appreciated.  

And I loved that she shared this with me!  Most teenagers would groan at the thought of going to the same college as their Mom but I found it incredibly invigorating meeting my Mom in the Rathskeller and talking about her Catullus translations.  

So Bon Voyage Mom, visit the places you longed to see and keep in touch!