• Paul’s Son­net
• Raise a Toast

Paul’s Son­net

Julia Child’s hus­band, Paul, wrote many poems to her, includ­ing this son­net in honor of her 49th birthday.

Birth­day 1961

O Julia, Julia, cook and nifty wench,
Whose unsur­passed quenelles and hot souf­fles,
Whose Eng­lish, Norse and Ger­man, and whose French,
Are all beyond my piteous pow­ers to praise –
Whose sweetly rounded bot­tom and whose legs,
Whose gra­cious face, whose nature tem­per­ate,
Are only equalled by her scram­bled eggs:
Accept from me, your ever-loving mate,
This accla­ma­tion shaped in four­teen lines
Whose inner truth belies its outer sight;
For never were there foods, nor were there wines
Whose fla­vor equals yours for sheer delight.
O lus­cious dish! O gus­ta­tory plea­sure!
You sat­isfy my taste buds beyond measure.

PAUL CHILD

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Raise a Toast

This was sent to me via e-mail by Stephanie Her­sch, Julia’s per­sonal assis­tant for 15 years, when Julia died in Santa Bar­bara on August 13, 2004, two days before her 92nd birthday.

Julia has brought plea­sure to so many peo­ple, and she will cer­tainly be sorely missed.  Please join me in send­ing a wave of love to her by rais­ing a glass to salute the beau­ti­ful life of Julia McWilliams Child on Sat­ur­day, August 14th at 8PM.  Wher­ever you are, stop and take moment to remem­ber the happy and won­der­ful things about Julia, and know that you are sur­rounded by a huge sup­port group of fel­low admirers.

She wasn’t sen­ti­men­tal, and her thoughts never dwelled in the past.  But mine do, and I still remem­ber the screech and snap as rolls of tape were dragged across a moun­tain of card­board to cre­ate the army of boxes used to pack up 103 Irv­ing Street.  She left that house with­out even a glance back­ward.  She took one full suit­case, and smiled as she headed home to Cal­i­for­nia after 40 years on the “other” coast.  It didn’t mat­ter to her that some­one else would be liv­ing there because she was ready to take on her new adven­ture. And so, in Novem­ber of 2000, Julia left Mass­a­chu­setts with the opti­mism and infec­tious enthu­si­asm that were her trademark.

It was inter­est­ing to feel a sense of loss for a place that wasn’t mine.  And, as each of the rel­a­tives came to take away their stash of good­ies, I felt the house’s sense of won­der­ment for the changes about to take place.  It wasn’t sad, but it was poignant.  Yet, it all was over­shad­owed by the glory of know­ing two things.  One, that I had a hand in direct­ing all of the “Julia Junk” from the kitchen (actu­ally the whole kitchen includ­ing the floor, cab­i­nets, and every appli­ance!) to the Smith­son­ian Museum of Amer­i­can His­tory so that every­one every­where could have the chance to visit and glean a sense of the love that emanated from that room.  And two, that I was about to embark on a new path as Julia entered a new phase of her won­drous life.

She was wor­ried that I might be giv­ing up an oppor­tu­nity to launch my career if I stayed with her.  She was like that – always inter­ested in what peo­ple were going to do next.  I didn’t know what would be next, and I was not ready to make those kinds of deci­sions.  I couldn’t pic­ture her slow­ing down; it wasn’t an image that I could com­pre­hend.  So, off I went to the Sun­shine State, know­ing what I was leav­ing behind me, and appre­hen­sive and excited about what lie ahead.  But after being with her for 13 years, I wasn’t ready to give up my place by her side.  I fig­ured that what­ever career I launched could wait.  I’m glad that I thought that way, and I think she was too.

There were many changes for both of us.  She set­tled nicely into her “digs” as she called them.  And, all seemed right with the world for her.  But even­tu­ally, in spite of her vivid, active, curi­ous mind, her body didn’t have the abil­ity to keep up the pace.  It was mean, and unfair, and ago­niz­ing for me to watch.  Yet, at the same time it was inspi­ra­tional to be with her as she hero­ically bat­tled and over­came each and every obsta­cle with her trade­mark opti­mism and joie de vivre.

Through­out the last 16 years, I often heard peo­ple say that they loved Julia, but my affec­tion goes well beyond a casual sense of endear­ment.  Respect and admi­ra­tion for her are only the start­ing point, and my sense of loss is immea­sur­able.  As I endeavor to move on past the pain, I shall try to carry with me her over­whelm­ing desire to do more, to seek adven­ture, and to pas­sion­ately go for­ward with a song in my heat.  I shall trea­sure the joy of know­ing that I was so very lucky to catch a glimpse into the life of a legend.

Julia said that “When you die, you’re dead; and that’s the end.  There isn’t any­thing else.”  But I know in my heart that she was hap­pily sur­prised to be wrong.  And, I am sure she is eat­ing an In-N-Out burger with Paul on the beach, sur­rounded by old friends and fam­ily and Escoffier, who is undoubt­edly intrigued with the burger!

Julia has brought plea­sure to so many peo­ple, and she will cer­tainly be sorely missed.  Please join me in send­ing a wave of love to her by rais­ing a glass to salute the beau­ti­ful life of Julia McWilliams Child on Sat­ur­day, August 14th at 8PM. Wher­ever you are, stop and take moment to remem­ber the happy and won­der­ful things about Julia, and know that you are sur­rounded by a huge sup­port group of fel­low admirers.

With fond thoughts, much love, and my heart­felt con­do­lences,
Stephanie Hersh

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