More about Mary
There was very little about Mary that fit into categories, yet her talent was all-embracing. Writer, composer or artist, depending on her mood: she did it all. Note the thumbnails on the main page of this site linking the other pages are her own drawings, selected from different periods of her life.
This website came about as a result of an Instructional Technology course I took at St. Norbert College this semester. Special thanks to professor Krissy Lukens for being open to this as a course assignment and to the English Department for their support for the project.
Thanks also to surviving family members of Mary McHale Wood for the written pieces and photographs included here, with special thanks to Jeremy Shaw for his input and additional contributions. Gracias Especiales tambien to Patrick Wood for his contributions to the project.
Additionally, thank you to Linda Van Beek for the photos and all of those who submitted pieces for inclusion here.
Thanks also to surviving family members of Mary McHale Wood for the written pieces and photographs included here, with special thanks to Jeremy Shaw for his input and additional contributions. Gracias Especiales tambien to Patrick Wood for his contributions to the project.
Additionally, thank you to Linda Van Beek for the photos and all of those who submitted pieces for inclusion here.
-Christopher Wood
About this website...
Mary had fallen in love with Alberto. When Mary fell for someone, she fell hard, body and soul, without reservation, and it left her so raw, so unprotected.
It was summer in the mid ı80s. We were at Tim Hickeyıs apartment on the bay, putting together a meal we would eat at the picnic table outside. We were walking down the narrow steps, carrying utensils and condiments. Halfway down, she looked up at me, and said, "I'm so happy now, and I hope it lasts, I hope it never ends, and Iım so afraid it will." In her face there was euphoria and uncertainty in equal measure, almost a plea, as though I might reassure her that of course it would never end, of course she would be cherished and adored forever.
It did end, eventually. But Mary never lost her nerve, never lost the capacity to fall in love again. Having a more cautious nature, I would often cringe at what seemed like emotional recklessness. Other times I envied her for the courage to risk everything for what mattered most to her.
It was summer in the mid ı80s. We were at Tim Hickeyıs apartment on the bay, putting together a meal we would eat at the picnic table outside. We were walking down the narrow steps, carrying utensils and condiments. Halfway down, she looked up at me, and said, "I'm so happy now, and I hope it lasts, I hope it never ends, and Iım so afraid it will." In her face there was euphoria and uncertainty in equal measure, almost a plea, as though I might reassure her that of course it would never end, of course she would be cherished and adored forever.
It did end, eventually. But Mary never lost her nerve, never lost the capacity to fall in love again. Having a more cautious nature, I would often cringe at what seemed like emotional recklessness. Other times I envied her for the courage to risk everything for what mattered most to her.
-Frances Fitzgerald