Ginger DeMoulin — a life well-lived

Ginger and Bill DeMoulin

Virginia "Ginger" Bonney DeMoulin passed away the morning of December 3, 2021.

I don't remember when I met Ginger. She was my sister's mother-in-law, so probably sometime around her wedding in 1986. But I do remember many days since then, because Ginger and Bill, her devoted, adoring husband, attended all of my nephew's and niece's birthday parties, numerous Thanksgivings and Christmases, and countless other special events.

Ginger was always in the middle of these events. As an "extroverted introvert" married to an "introverted introvert," I tended to stay on the fringe, so I admired her easy way with people. She always seemed to be smiling or laughing and was a sheer delight to be around. She was interested in people's lives and always asked questions about what you were doing.

Stunningly beautiful and elegant beyond words, Ginger was happiest with Bill. He was the love of her life. With him, she traveled the world and lived life to its fullest.

Family was her pride and joy. After Bill passed away in 2009, she could have retreated into herself. But still, there she was at those parties, remaining in the center of everything, giving all her love to her children, grandchildren, great grandchildren, in-laws—even her in-laws' families. I was honored to consider her part of my family, and I mourn her loss as if she were my own mother.

I was fortunate to receive three of her original watercolor paintings as well as two pillows that she needlepointed herself—and whenever I pass by them in my house, I will think of her, with deep affection and respect.

Rest in peace, dear Ginger. Give my love to the Judge.

 

When Bill announced that Nick had been born

First grandchild

Some family pictures—note that Ginger is always in the middle of things.

First great grandchild

Workiversary

My favorite day at work is September 22: my workiversary.

I don't care if people at work celebrate my birthday (I know! I, of the birthday season, don't care if people at work celebrate my birthday!), but I love being feted on my anniversary, and this year was a big one: 15. My manager Slacked me a couple of days before and asked me to attend our regularly scheduled morning team meeting. (I don't normally attend the morning meeting. It's ... in the morning. And he knows this about me, so he also offered a lunchtime option—but I'm not that self-involved that I can't get up early one day, especially if I am going to be the center of attention. OK, that still sounds self-involved. Whatever.)

So I showed up at the meeting and I turned my camera on (which is another thing I don't usually do because: work-at-home hair and clothing), and I was greeted with my peeps at working, singing a song that had been written just for me:

The Patty Bunch (sung to the tune of the theme song to The Brady Bunch) 

It's the story
Of a lady Patty
Who was bringing up a very rowdy team
No one ever placed their files ... on the server
But she was never mean.

It's the story
Of a lady Patty
Who would make her carrot cake and edit, too
All the treats she'd bring each month ... for people's birthdays
Secure permissions, too.

’Til the one day when they had to work remotely
And they knew that it was much more than a hunch
That this crew had long ago become a family
That's the way we all became the Patty Bunch.

The Patty Bunch
The Patty Bunch
That's the way we became the Patty Bunch!

The Patty Bunch, serenading me. I'm the one wearing a leopard-print jacket (because when
I started, my company was called Leopard) with my glasses on my head (because
I can't see the computer with my glasses on my eyes) crying like a baby.

Later, when I was thanking my coworkers, I mentioned to one of them how being “a lady Patty” reminded me of Vic's “... and a lady” photo postings on Facebook. (For those who don't know, he would often post beautiful scenic pictures with me in them, and he would add a caption such as, “Delicate Arch ... and a lady.”) She said that was intentional. (So just let that soak in a minute, the level of knowledge it takes to use an obscure reference to make someone feel loved.)

It worked. I have never felt more loved at work—and I am ordinarily quite beloved. (You bring Rice Krispies treats and carrot cake to work every month, you'll be beloved, too. 😉)

It feels a bit prideful to post this, but I do love my workiversary, and as we've already established, I am self-involved. 🤣

But it also gives me an opportunity to say thank you to all my work peeps, present and past, for all the love and support you've given me through the years, particularly these last few months.

THANK. YOU. 💗

9/11 twenty years ago

This is not the first time I’ve told this story. I’m sure it won’t be the last. And I may get some of the details wrong, but the main thrust of the story is correct. 🙂

Twenty years and three days ago, we were in New York City. We were visiting Vic’s son, Bryan, in Philadelphia, and we wanted to go to the Bronx Zoo, which we had never seen before. We had a great time at the zoo, and then we went out for a late lunch/early dinner before heading back to Philly.

A great shot of a gorilla at the Bronx Zoo

As I recall, we took the New Jersey Turnpike, and on the way to Philly, we drove right by the Twin Towers. Being hicks from the Midwest and the Rocky Mountain West, we were enthralled by the buildings in New York—total tourists. The sun was setting and just glowing on the Towers. Vic (of course) wanted to stop and take a picture, but Bryan knew better—you don’t just stop on the Jersey Turnpike, and you really don’t want to stop to take a picture.

“No worries,” Vic said. “We’ll get ’em next time.”

If Vic’s photographic record is correct, that was a busy trip. In addition to the Bronx Zoo, we went to Longwood Gardens to the west of Philadelphia and the National Aquarium in Baltimore.

Longwood Gardens

 

Inner Harbor in Baltimore

On September 10, the Broncos played the Giants on Monday Night Football. That was the game in which Ed McCaffrey broke his leg, but the Broncos still demolished the Giants. 😉

Almost every 9/11 story starts with, “It was a beautiful fall day.” But it was, so it must be said. The sun was shining; the sky was blue; the air was crisp.

We had a morning flight out of Philadelphia, and Bryan drove us to the airport. We left Bryan’s before 8 a.m., taking time to snap a few shots. It was just a regular day, so as usual, Vic was playing the joker.

 

We talked on the way to the airport, so we weren’t listening to the news. Bryan dropped us off, and we checked in at the counter. Our flight didn’t leave for a few hours (we were notorious for getting to the airport ridiculously early), so we walked around the airport, stopping at a gift shop, a newsstand and the food court.

On the way to get our authentic East Coast airport bagels (which is to say, definitely not authentic East Coast bagels), we saw the TV on in a bar. (Yes, bars in airports are open that early in the morning.) It looked like a building was on fire. We walked on by. It could have been any building in any city. It was just a fire.

We ate our bagels and talked about our trip and getting home to our kitties. Nothing seemed amiss at the airport, so we headed back to our gate. Went by that bar again. Now more people were watching the TV, so we stopped. The caption at the bottom said a plane had hit one of the Twin Towers. We watched for a while, and then we noticed the airport was buzzing. There were announcements over the loudspeakers, but we couldn’t tell what was going on.

At some point, I called Bryan. We didn’t have cell phones yet, so I had to wait in line at a pay phone. When I got through, he sounded panicked. “Stay there!” he shouted. “A plane just went down in Pennsylvania! I’m coming to get you!”

The rest of the day was a blur. We went back to his apartment, and then at some point, we went to the airport to pick up our luggage. There were concerns about family being in the city—but everyone checked in safe. We watched TV day and night as the news continued to pour in and the posters started to appear—has anybody seen ... my dad, my sister, my cousin? It was heartbreaking.

We finally pulled away from the TV a couple of days later and went to Valley Forge National Historical Park. The park rangers were wearing sidearms—no one knew what might happen. We went to a diner for lunch, and everyone was talking in hushed tones.

Valley Forge

We finally made it out on September 14. I’ve never been in quieter places than the planes and airports we were in. When our pilot showed up at our layover in Houston, he received a standing ovation.

We got home to find one of our kitties in distress—he was diabetic and needed his insulin, but it was too late. He passed away at the vet’s. Just another victim of the terrorists, we always said.

We picked up pizza the next night at our regular pizza joint. It was a mom and pop place, and the owners knew we had been to Philly and asked us about it. They took almost an hour out of a busy Friday night to sit at a table outside and listen to our story, and then a few days later, we received a sympathy card in the mail from them for our kitty.

Because that’s how it was in the days after 9/11. We all pulled together. We supported each other. We consoled and hugged and cared. We treasured our first responders.

We have strayed from that spirit of unity in the past two decades, but on this day of remembrance, I choose to believe that we can join together as one, a nation united.

My heart goes out to all those who lost family and friends on this day 20 years ago and those who are fighting physical and mental illness because of the events of that day. My bottomless thanks go to all first responders everywhere—always running in where everyone else is running out. 💗

I’ll leave you as I usually do—with one of Vic’s awesome pictures.