Liz Thayer (1935-2018)
This is a memorial blog for Liz Thayer (b. Nov 22, 1935 - d. Oct 13, 2018) . We (Nick & Tim) would love to hear the remembrances of her friends and family. Send stories and/or photos to Tim at tt@eyebuzz.com
Posts
Happy Birthday to Liz!
Happy Birthday to our Mom! A few photos and a couple poems to celebrate this wonderful and wise woman. Let's raise our Martini glasses! 🍸
Hope you all are well. Happy Thanksgiving!
Much love, Tim and Nick ♥️
Liz's 60th birthday part at Barbara Schatan's. Liz, "Well, these two boys......"
At the Washington Street house in Santa Cruz. 1974? Tim, what do you think?
Such dear friends! Boundless love to our Godmother Barbara.
'Reconstruction' - undated, 1980 perhaps?
'Baseball' - 1999. Written in Brooklyn.
Poem by Donna Becker
Dying in California
for Liz
I knock, peer through the bent Venetian blinds,
hear your melodic call
and step in to visit, settling on the low yellow chair.
You wear your cotton flowered nightgown
naked underneath.
You get up to go to the john;
you are so thin now and weak.
We can’t go out for a martini because the doctors won’t let you.
When we have a martini again it will be
because it is too late to matter.
You take out your teeth
as if to tell me
death is amongst us,
we need not pretend.
The new doctor said it might not be cancer.
We know it is,
but his kindness that offers
another week of denial
is kindness beyond value.
You say how lucky to be an existentialist
to have thought about death before -
if only for 5 minutes.
You talk of the love lives of your sons.
Their crying time is over, you say.
We don’t say their crying time to come will be different.
It’s a comfort you say to be with someone
who knows why I love New York.
Rocking along on the subway to the Metropolitan
Museum, theater in the park, the MOMA, the Frick.
I visited you in Red Hook
upstairs from the Chinese restaurant
garlic and fried rice the aroma on your asphalt roof patio,
sirens the soundtrack.
You tell me how great to be in charge
of how you will be remembered-
You will bequeath a lunch to your New York friends
at the Oyster Bar in Grand Central Station.
We laugh and talk,
trudge the sparkling,
dirty sidewalks in our minds.
I tell you that the last time I was in DUMBO,
I saw the apartment window
you pointed out years before
where you lived in the early 60’s
with the man you loved in those days.
I pictured you laughing, smoking a cigarette
walking naked past the window
now curtained.
You tire, and I go.
Sadness trails me down the dusty path -
it catches and inhabits me.
The dark centered orange flowered clockvine,
is gaudy outside your door.
Donna Becker
October 2018
for Liz
I knock, peer through the bent Venetian blinds,
hear your melodic call
and step in to visit, settling on the low yellow chair.
You wear your cotton flowered nightgown
naked underneath.
You get up to go to the john;
you are so thin now and weak.
We can’t go out for a martini because the doctors won’t let you.
When we have a martini again it will be
because it is too late to matter.
You take out your teeth
as if to tell me
death is amongst us,
we need not pretend.
The new doctor said it might not be cancer.
We know it is,
but his kindness that offers
another week of denial
is kindness beyond value.
You say how lucky to be an existentialist
to have thought about death before -
if only for 5 minutes.
You talk of the love lives of your sons.
Their crying time is over, you say.
We don’t say their crying time to come will be different.
It’s a comfort you say to be with someone
who knows why I love New York.
Rocking along on the subway to the Metropolitan
Museum, theater in the park, the MOMA, the Frick.
I visited you in Red Hook
upstairs from the Chinese restaurant
garlic and fried rice the aroma on your asphalt roof patio,
sirens the soundtrack.
You tell me how great to be in charge
of how you will be remembered-
You will bequeath a lunch to your New York friends
at the Oyster Bar in Grand Central Station.
We laugh and talk,
trudge the sparkling,
dirty sidewalks in our minds.
I tell you that the last time I was in DUMBO,
I saw the apartment window
you pointed out years before
where you lived in the early 60’s
with the man you loved in those days.
I pictured you laughing, smoking a cigarette
walking naked past the window
now curtained.
You tire, and I go.
Sadness trails me down the dusty path -
it catches and inhabits me.
The dark centered orange flowered clockvine,
is gaudy outside your door.
Donna Becker
October 2018
From Mercedes Miranda
I decided to go to see her home in Red Hook where I had
spent so many evenings and hours with her.
But what about Mrs.Lee, the owner of the convenience store
across the street that Liz visited almost daily? I had never met her but I knew
she was important for Liz, and probably vice-versa. Tim and Nick agreed she had to know.
I met Mrs.Lee and shared the sad news. We, strangers until then, comforted each other by holding
hands for several minutes. And of course, we couldn't hold back the
tears.
Liz would have approved.
-Mercedes
From Sue Becker
I first met Liz in a supervision class for
psychotherapists. Besides her insightful comments and questions, I was struck
by her unconventional dress--colorful stockings
and shoes, unusual pants, compared to my very conventional attire. She
dressed in style, often with accessories she found at the Goodwill store. I
saw her as avant guard in her dress and demeanor. She expressed herself in a
very unique way, which reflected her independence and sense of freedom. She was not concerned
about what others would think of her, as evidenced in her relationship with
Sam, her alcoholic friend and lover.
As a clinician she always saw her clients in the context
of their family and community--not as separate persons but part of a whole
context of people.
She was fun too, before she got so tired and worn out.
She laughed a lot, was cool, and loved the dinner parties with the dinner gang who staged an elaborate party
every month. She was a social animal , enjoying dining in style with this
special group of friends. She knew how to relax and enjoy life.
From Sue Becker, fellow friend and therapist
Liz's Apartment - photo by Mercedes
The Full Obituary
Elizabeth Ann Thayer (nee Ruse) - November 22nd, 1935 - October 13th, 2018
Liz Thayer; feminist, psychotherapist, mother, imperfectionist, folkie, poet, friend, New Yorker (at heart), and a great appreciator of irony and paradox.
It is with the heaviest of hearts and much grief that we share that Liz passed Saturday the 13th of October. She died at home with little struggle. She entered into hospice care roughly a month before her death having been diagnosed with colon cancer in mid-August. There is some comfort in knowing that she was never in any great amount of pain. She was also not alone when she passed (her greatest fear). She will be so greatly and so sorely missed.
Born in Lansing, Michigan in 1935 at the height of the depression. Lizzy, her parents nick-name for her, was the only child of David and Grace Ruse. Her parents clearly provided for her well being, buying her enough cashmere sweaters to be voted “best dressed” in high school and sending her to MSU to pursue a degree in early-childhood eduction. But by her own account, her formative years were marked by an acceptance that you should not ask a lot of questions. This over-aching theme propelled her to forever ask “why” and to be curious firstly about the world, art, and culture, and then about herself in the latter half of her life.
After a stint teaching at an Army base in Germany, Liz returned to the States to New York City. She found the energy of that city enthralling and its allure never ending, an unrequited lover she’d later call it. She taught briefly in New Jersey but realized that, in the end, she was not fond of small children! She went on to management positions with Macy’s and Brentano’s and enjoyed her life exploring the city, it’s people and all it’s cultural expressions.
In the early sixties after President Kennedy was assassinated she packed up and moved to the Bay Area. After a brief courtship she married George Thayer, a school mate from MSU. They were married for ten years, living in San Francisco and Los Gatos, and had two sons together, Timothy and Nicholas. Recognizing her deep unhappiness in their marriage she gathered up her sons and moved to the Santa Cruz beach house purchased with funds from her parents estate. Before her divorce she had entered into psychotherapy with existential-humanistic practitioner Liz Bugental. There she found great support to explore her own history and emotions, and finally found voice and acceptance to openly say, “I don’t know!” That small statement seemed to open an entirely new and authentic way of relating to the world.
Through her own therapy work she realized that that might be a suitable career to apply her talents and intelligence. Liz enrolled in grad school at Santa Clara University and received her MFCC Masters in 1974. After receiving her license she went on to become executive director for Family Services Agency, helping to manage and grow the agency, and then to private practice in the early eighties to the late nineties. Her favorite clients were always individuals with interesting life stories, and families with clear and addressable issues she could assist in helping them navigate.
Upon retiring she sold her Santa Cruz home and returned to NYC, Brooklyn specifically, very near where she had lived in the ‘50s. She helped son Tim care for his young family and reconnect with the life she’d left so many years before. Once settled she rekindled old, and made numerous new, friendships. She had a great love of the arts, be it MOMA, the Neue Galerie, or Broadway theater. She lovingly saved each ticket stub and museum button from those years as a memento of her experiences.
Realizing that she could no longer keep pace with city life, she returned to Santa Cruz, reconnecting with her community of friends and spending more time with younger son Nick. Her life certainly narrowed once she could not drive, because of poor eye sight, but she made the best of it. She remained intellectually curious about politics and culture.
Liz was enormously self-made with enviable wit and optimism. She was a great friend to her friends, keeping strong ties to those near and far. She maintained a friendship with her sorority sisters from Chi Omega, with Santa Cruz friends, and with East Coast friends even to her last days. She loved a good story, something to “dine out on” as she’d say. Her sense of humor was always off center, thankfully. She was quick to laugh at the folly of being human and her own peculiarities. A fierce, supportive, and loving mother to her sons, she allowed a lot of room for them to grow and discover the world at their own pace. She was also always there to help pick up the pieces if things didn't go quite as planned.
A prolific writer of poems and journals, mostly for herself, she understood the value of self-reflection and recording one’s experiences. She was also protective of her written self, she carefully read through and then threw away all of her journals in the last years of her life!
We are enormously thankful to her primary care physician Dr. Ware, oncologist Dr. Wang, the Sutter Health palliate care team, and especially to Hospice of Santa Cruz County for their support and responsiveness. A heart-felt thanks also to our families for their support, and to Liz’s dear friends, who helped care for her during her last weeks. You all made her exit as gracious and comfortable as anyone might ask for.
A memorial service will be held in Santa Cruz in the afternoon on Sunday December 16th, 2018 at the Westside home of a dear family friend. If you would like to attend please RSVP to nick@lateafternoon.com. A NYC memorial at the Grand Central Oyster Bar will also be held this Winter. A web site for family and friends remembrances can be found here:
Liz Thayer; feminist, psychotherapist, mother, imperfectionist, folkie, poet, friend, New Yorker (at heart), and a great appreciator of irony and paradox.
It is with the heaviest of hearts and much grief that we share that Liz passed Saturday the 13th of October. She died at home with little struggle. She entered into hospice care roughly a month before her death having been diagnosed with colon cancer in mid-August. There is some comfort in knowing that she was never in any great amount of pain. She was also not alone when she passed (her greatest fear). She will be so greatly and so sorely missed.
Born in Lansing, Michigan in 1935 at the height of the depression. Lizzy, her parents nick-name for her, was the only child of David and Grace Ruse. Her parents clearly provided for her well being, buying her enough cashmere sweaters to be voted “best dressed” in high school and sending her to MSU to pursue a degree in early-childhood eduction. But by her own account, her formative years were marked by an acceptance that you should not ask a lot of questions. This over-aching theme propelled her to forever ask “why” and to be curious firstly about the world, art, and culture, and then about herself in the latter half of her life.
After a stint teaching at an Army base in Germany, Liz returned to the States to New York City. She found the energy of that city enthralling and its allure never ending, an unrequited lover she’d later call it. She taught briefly in New Jersey but realized that, in the end, she was not fond of small children! She went on to management positions with Macy’s and Brentano’s and enjoyed her life exploring the city, it’s people and all it’s cultural expressions.
In the early sixties after President Kennedy was assassinated she packed up and moved to the Bay Area. After a brief courtship she married George Thayer, a school mate from MSU. They were married for ten years, living in San Francisco and Los Gatos, and had two sons together, Timothy and Nicholas. Recognizing her deep unhappiness in their marriage she gathered up her sons and moved to the Santa Cruz beach house purchased with funds from her parents estate. Before her divorce she had entered into psychotherapy with existential-humanistic practitioner Liz Bugental. There she found great support to explore her own history and emotions, and finally found voice and acceptance to openly say, “I don’t know!” That small statement seemed to open an entirely new and authentic way of relating to the world.
Through her own therapy work she realized that that might be a suitable career to apply her talents and intelligence. Liz enrolled in grad school at Santa Clara University and received her MFCC Masters in 1974. After receiving her license she went on to become executive director for Family Services Agency, helping to manage and grow the agency, and then to private practice in the early eighties to the late nineties. Her favorite clients were always individuals with interesting life stories, and families with clear and addressable issues she could assist in helping them navigate.
Upon retiring she sold her Santa Cruz home and returned to NYC, Brooklyn specifically, very near where she had lived in the ‘50s. She helped son Tim care for his young family and reconnect with the life she’d left so many years before. Once settled she rekindled old, and made numerous new, friendships. She had a great love of the arts, be it MOMA, the Neue Galerie, or Broadway theater. She lovingly saved each ticket stub and museum button from those years as a memento of her experiences.
Realizing that she could no longer keep pace with city life, she returned to Santa Cruz, reconnecting with her community of friends and spending more time with younger son Nick. Her life certainly narrowed once she could not drive, because of poor eye sight, but she made the best of it. She remained intellectually curious about politics and culture.
Liz was enormously self-made with enviable wit and optimism. She was a great friend to her friends, keeping strong ties to those near and far. She maintained a friendship with her sorority sisters from Chi Omega, with Santa Cruz friends, and with East Coast friends even to her last days. She loved a good story, something to “dine out on” as she’d say. Her sense of humor was always off center, thankfully. She was quick to laugh at the folly of being human and her own peculiarities. A fierce, supportive, and loving mother to her sons, she allowed a lot of room for them to grow and discover the world at their own pace. She was also always there to help pick up the pieces if things didn't go quite as planned.
A prolific writer of poems and journals, mostly for herself, she understood the value of self-reflection and recording one’s experiences. She was also protective of her written self, she carefully read through and then threw away all of her journals in the last years of her life!
We are enormously thankful to her primary care physician Dr. Ware, oncologist Dr. Wang, the Sutter Health palliate care team, and especially to Hospice of Santa Cruz County for their support and responsiveness. A heart-felt thanks also to our families for their support, and to Liz’s dear friends, who helped care for her during her last weeks. You all made her exit as gracious and comfortable as anyone might ask for.
A memorial service will be held in Santa Cruz in the afternoon on Sunday December 16th, 2018 at the Westside home of a dear family friend. If you would like to attend please RSVP to nick@lateafternoon.com. A NYC memorial at the Grand Central Oyster Bar will also be held this Winter. A web site for family and friends remembrances can be found here:
https://thayerliz.blogspot.com
In lieu of flowers please consider an in-memoriam donation to Planned Parenthood’s Westside Health Center or to Family Service Agency of the Central Coast, both organizations dear to Liz’s heart and values:
www.weareplannedparenthood.org
www.fsa-cc.org/donate
Liz is survived by her two sons, Timothy and Nicholas, as well as grandkids Joe, KT, Emily and Anna.
With Love, Timothy and Nicholas Thayer
In lieu of flowers please consider an in-memoriam donation to Planned Parenthood’s Westside Health Center or to Family Service Agency of the Central Coast, both organizations dear to Liz’s heart and values:
www.weareplannedparenthood.org
www.fsa-cc.org/donate
Liz is survived by her two sons, Timothy and Nicholas, as well as grandkids Joe, KT, Emily and Anna.
With Love, Timothy and Nicholas Thayer
The News
When my mom, Nick and I lived on Washington Street in Santa Cruz we would often talk about politics and society in general at the dinner table. I don't remember the specific conversations but it often had to do with corporate greed or corrupt political systems. These weren't lectures or her telling us "how it was," but rather actually discussions. I remember voicing many opinions and her listening and furthering the discussion. I felt a certain amount of respect granted to me and enjoyed these conversations.
Over the years we certainly talked about many of the same issues. But "real" life also needed tending to and there were many periods of our lives where we didn't discuss such global issues. However, in the last few years we had been talking more on the subject of politics and society. Many of our phone conversation were to talk about what had just happened in our county and the World.
Now that those conversations have stopped but as the World continues to create more news I find myself in a strange place of not having that other person to reflect with. I miss those conversations and the fact that they took place over most of my life only makes me miss them more and, of course, miss her.
-Tim Thayer
Over the years we certainly talked about many of the same issues. But "real" life also needed tending to and there were many periods of our lives where we didn't discuss such global issues. However, in the last few years we had been talking more on the subject of politics and society. Many of our phone conversation were to talk about what had just happened in our county and the World.
Now that those conversations have stopped but as the World continues to create more news I find myself in a strange place of not having that other person to reflect with. I miss those conversations and the fact that they took place over most of my life only makes me miss them more and, of course, miss her.
-Tim Thayer