Random Photos

Mom and Peter, circa 1957:

Peter, circa 1967:

and in Vernon, British Colombia, circa 1982: Photo courtesy of Heather Haley

Mom: January 7, 1929 - October 22, 2010

Photo: Ann Haskell, about 1976. Photo courtesy the estate of Ann Haskell.

Here's the obit for our mother; her husband, Dick, included the photo, which I had forgotten about.

Ann S. Haskell, 81, died peacefully in her sleep at home on 10/22/10. Survived by her husband, Richard Koepsell, her mother, Elizabeth Sullivan, and her three siblings, Paul (Blake) Sullivan (Fredericksburg, VA), Margaretta Smith (Ashburn, VA), and Glen Sullivan (Fredericksburg, VA). She is also survived by three of her four children: Constantine (Dean) Rasmussen (Ipswich, MA), Mark Haskell (Washington, DC) and Gretl Rasmussen (Brooklyn, NY), by two loving daughters-in-law, and by six grandchildren.

Ann was born in Washington, DC, in 1929 and grew up in Arlington, VA. While raising three children on her own, she was among the first women to graduate from Clemson University and was awarded a Woodrow Wilson Graduate Fellowship. She received her Doctorate with honors from the University of Pennsylvania in 1964. She went on to teach at the English Department of the State University of New York at Buffalo, specializing in Chaucer and Medieval Life and Literature and in Children's Literature, for thirty-seven years. She was a mentor and advisor to hundreds of students whose lives and careers she enriched with her generosity and scholarship. Her many academic publications include the books, "Essays on Chaucer's Saints" and "A Middle English Anthology," which has been in print since 1969.

Ann wrote Op-Ed columns, personal essays, and articles on food and numerous other subjects for publications such as the Smithsonian, the Washington Post, Baltimore Sun and New York Times. She maintained a home in Provence in Southern France for forty years and she and her husband taught a program abroad on the Culture of Provence. Ann leaves friends in Western New York, Charlottesville, VA, and Provence, France. She thanks the Gynecological Cancer staff at the University of Virginia.

In lieu of flowers, donations may be made to Caring for Creatures, or the Fluvanna SPCA.

Peter and Picasso

From our cousin Michael:

"When I went to Paris in August, I made a pilgrimage to the Picasso Museum. I've recently watched several documentaries about Picasso's life and have become more interested in his art. I watched one such documentary a couple days ago. That night, I had a dream in which I was visiting Picasso's studio.

"In the dream, Picasso was in his 90s, but absolutely electric with creativity. At one point, he fashioned a gay carnival sculpture and dressed it in in long, flowing purple robes. When he had finished it, he handed it to me. The wooden sculpture seemed vibrant with joy. 'It's for Peter," Picasso told me. "He's an artist. He will understand what it means.'

"When I awoke from that dream, I really felt Peter to be alive."

Plane ride with snake

There are a number of good Peter stories: "the time Peter tried to make elderberry wine and it blew up and tie-dyed everything," "time he fell asleep under a sun lamp," "time he couldn't figure out how to turn the lights & sirens on the police car off again," "time he & Mark tried to start the pot plantation in the third-floor bathroom."

An excellent new (to me) Peter anecdote from my mom: 'the time Peter told me, in the middle of a commercial air flight, "Mom, there's an emergency: I've lost my snake!"'

The details from The Momzo:

Dearest Gretl,
It was your first plane ride--you were four months old [1967]--and everyone was behaving nicely during the flight from WNY back to Swarthmore, where we
would live once more. Than came the urgent, whispered (thank heavens!) message. He wanted the attendant to help and I wanted her to live in absolute
ignorance! I'm pleased to report that he found the snake and it exited the plane with us, stowed safely out of sight in Peter's pocket.
Love,
Mom


Peter and baby Bella; photo by Liza Walsh.

Loud Women

Friday is the first anniversary of Peter's death, and I've spent a lot of time thinking about what I learned from him, which I know he'd think was important too. He'd probably say he taught me about good music, which he did; Liza recently told me that Peter took "a kind of big brother pride in the fact that he turned you on to David Bowie" - and X, and the Blasters, and on and on.
But actually the most important thing he taught me about, accidentally maybe, was women.
When I was a kid I knew that it was crucially important for a woman to be "pretty," and was very concerned about how I'd ever end up attaining that state myself. Now I realize it was always a losing battle for me, as pretty is about smallness, fragility, quietness, and blending in - all fine qualities for lace doilies and baby bunnies, but not so good for adults.
My brother didn't hang out with women like that, and because of him, while I was still a teenager I met or saw performances by Exene, Lydia, Heather and Pat Oleszko - who were, to a woman, loud, weird, abrasive, fascinating, kind, and feared no one. They were completely mind-altering, especially in the bland hell that was Buffalo in the Reagan 80s.
I remember being 17 and hearing Lydia, then all of 25 herself, remark that if a man tried to rape her she'd just laugh in his face. Had I been more self-aware at the time, I would have proposed to her on the spot.
They were - and are - so powerful. But they also tended to be amazingly nice to me, maybe just because I was Peter's little sister, but I hoped that they also saw that I was a little bit like them.
So thank you, Peter: I am loud, often irritating, and somewhat strange, and extremely proud of it.
I love you.
Gretl



Pat Oleszko, Roamin' Holiday: A View from A Broad (www.patoleszko.com)

Poem by Uncle Blake

Family reunion 2004; photo by Richard Koepsell.


By Blake (Paul B. Sullivan) 8/09

I am the savage, I suppose.
For I cannot get past the
deed, the passionate, brilliant
man we were deprived of.

It's what? The something or
other stage, I'm told, but
there is something about
vengeance that seems,
well, not just right but
vital, needed, essential even.

The world has far too few
Peter Haskells; far too many
of his dubious killer.

And we have the touted
"Justice System" that
parses fleas on elephants
to find the outcome sought.



With Mom, early 80s, in Buffalo; photo by Heather Haley.

An essay by Uncle Blake:

Published December 6 in the "Free Lance-Star" (Fredericksburg, VA), with one of Liza's photos:
http://www.fredericksburg.com/News/FLS/2008/122008/12062008/429558/index_html

Fripp Island, South Carolina, Summer 2002

With Mark and Mark's daughter Annelise:

Photo by Eliza Walsh


Photo by Eliza Walsh

Family 1971

About to embark on a family trip to Europe, spring 1971.
L to R: Peter, our mom, me, my dad, Mark (Dean was smart enough to be elsewhere). The various facial expressions suggest how well the whole "blended family" thing was going.