Remembering Clio

from Liz Downing

2009-08-15T17:32:00.000-07:00

We at Providence Neighborhood Planting Program sincerely thank all of you who are contributing to the Mary Elizabeth Sharpe Street Tree Endowment in memory of Clio. These funds go directly towards matching the Providence Parks Department budget for street tree planting throughout Providence.

These two photos were taken at a planting that was organized by a local scout group to plant trees on 8th Street between North Main and Hilltop streets on April 4th of this year.
This spring we planted over 230 trees in neighborhoods across Providence and we were touched to see some of Clio’s family and friends at a few plantings.
PNPP will be planting again this fall and we welcome family or friends of Clio’s who would like to help plant a few trees or just be present at a planting to please contact me, Liz Downing at 368-5380 or ldowning@pnpp.org in mid September for a schedule of plantings. More photos to follow.

Thanks so much-
Liz

Liz Downing, Director
Providence Neighborhood Planting Program
8 Third Street
Providence, RI 02906
cell (401)368-5380 fax (401)351-0118
www.pnpp.org

from Steve Pavao

2009-06-26T05:37:00.000-07:00

I was trying to catch up with my old friend Clio...first through facebook, then through a web search...and I came upon the Remembering Clio blog...

It stings to know that we don't have Clio with us anymore. I met her while canvassing for RIPIRG in the summer of '89; we were promoting clean water initiatives at the time. We struck up a friendship, and when fall came, she took off for England for Clifton College. In those days I remember Clio with her verrry long dirty-blonde hair, her high forehead, cracked smile, and great sense of wit. She could wear a tartan skirt and kneesocks like no other. I got to visit her here-and-there during the early nineties, and hang out with her on Thayer St.

We exchanged letters over a couple of years. Some of them contained my song lyrics and a tape of my music for her. She encouraged me in my music and felt comfortable enough to share a few of her poems with me. We fell out of touch in the mid-nineties, as each of us moved around and lost valid addresses. I am sending along a couple of photos of some of the correspondence I received from her. I won't share the more private letters, but you can see Clio's artistic side shone through on her correspondence.

I was so looking forward to reconnecting with Clio, to chat about old times at RIPIRG, catch up on our lives, and talk about creative things. It's a sad shock to realize she's not here with us anymore.

- Steve Pavao
Acton, MA

Louisa Chafee's Eulogy

2009-02-03T04:10:00.000-08:00

When I was pregnant with Clementine, our older child, I asked Clio if she would give me a baby shower. In the way she had, her response was a non committal murmer, and so I accepted that she had other matters to tend to. I grew bigger, but stayed hopeful and vigilant alert for signs of a surprise. There were none. One Saturday good friends took me out for a walk on the beach. I came home bedraggled and ready to sleep - knowing that Joe had gone to his work. I opened our apartment door and there was luminous clio, with many heads behind her.

What? She had done it ! She had completely surprised me.

I learned of beautiful invites composed of images from our childhood, snowdome enclosed photos of our families as children (I am a snowdome collector), even a party game of "name that baby". And the guests! Family from far and wide, (Uncle Nat from Atlanta) The food was exquisite (Joe and Clio devised paninis) and drink delightful. It was the perfect party. I was completely happy, and deeply grateful to Clio and her crew - Joe, Mummy and Daddy.

In the last days we have tried to piece Clio’s actions together. Her death was a perfectly executed act, no-one suspected, and she absolutely achieved her goal. She could plan -- and knew just what words or actions would keep others at bay --I wish with all my heart that these words were not true, but in the dark place she was, this was her choice.

Today I ask you to remember with me the essence of Clio, not the person she became as her illness consumed her. Let us think of the Clio of phenominally good taste, perfect attention to detail, understanding every nuance of a beautiful room, and delighting in the joy of others. The Clio who had such noble and strong environmental commitments, political beliefs and devotion to her beloved dog, Chanelle.

Farewell my sister - giddy, beautiful, smart and opiniated - may you be at peace now, dearest Clio.

from Rachel Su

2009-01-23T20:54:00.000-08:00

I’m deeply saddened by the news of Clio’s passing. She and I went to Otis together over a decade ago. Although we were more of acquaintances than close friends, I’ve always had admiration for this well-read, articulate classmate. She was confident and outspoken with her depositions, and very attentive to her work. It’s hard to believe she’s gone. And it’s especially hard to accept the way she chose to leave us. It must be a very painful and dark place she was in and I wish someone, or anyone of us could have been there for her with open arms. Life is beautiful and precious, it's worth every fiber of our being to conquer the distress it throws at us – I wish I had the chance to tell her that. She will be missed. My deepest condolence goes out to her family.

Rachel Su
Otis Alum

An Old Birthday Party Invite

2009-01-23T06:19:00.000-08:00

sent in from Jennifer Scoliard:

Christina Abuelo's Eulogy

2009-01-20T22:23:00.000-08:00

During our friendship of nearly two decades, Clio and I frequently lived across the country from each other. One of the things I always looked forward to was getting one of her postcards. They were handmade and lettered in her distinctive handwriting, which she later told me was one of two unique fonts she created for herself in middle and high school. We used to laugh about the other distinguishing characteristic of the postcards– they were completely laminated in narrow strips of scotch tape. We joked that she was making the stockholders of the 3M corporation very wealthy. When I brought my mail from my curbside mailbox into the house, her postcards would literally shimmer in the sun. Out of all my correspondence, Clio’s was the shiniest and most unforgettable.

I suppose it was for her special sparkle that I adored her so much. But it was also for her loyalty, creativity and thoughtfulness. Clio unleashed all of these qualities helping me plan my dream wedding. In the year I was engaged, we spoke nearly every day. She was indispensable, serving as a sounding board, compiling information from bridal magazines, and making valuable suggestions.

But her most impressive gift was the wedding invitation. My wedding had a vaguely Asian theme. She designed an ingenious "Save the Date" mailing, consisting of a fortune cookie magnet intended for the refrigerator, with the paper fortune reading "You will be invited to a wedding on June 24th." The invitation itself, in celadon green, was a triumph of beauty and design, elegantly unfolding like an origami box. From start to finish, Clio was all over the details, no matter how silly. As I was getting ready to walk down the aisle, she produced a tube of body glitter and applied it to me, my sister and mother.

A couple of years later, when my husband and I started our family, I asked Clio if she would be my child’s Fairy Godmother. "What does it involve?" she asked, skeptically. Well, I told her, you get to wear fabulous clothes, have a glowing aura, materialize in our kid’s life periodically and…you get to have a wand. That last item delighted her, and she signed on immediately. Over the years, she sent my kids many thoughtful and fun gifts, and shared in the joy of their milestones.

During this time, the scotch tape-covered postcards gave way to frequent mass emails with clever eclectic messages that ran the gamut – jokes, interesting articles and websites, some with a political theme, news about environmental issues, information for parents of babies. One of my favorites was a link to a piece at Slate.com where the hapless author attempted with great difficulty to diagram the run-on sentences of Sarah Palin. These and others reflected Clio’s robust, and mischievous sense of humor that made her so fun to hang out with.

As they grow up I will tell my children about their fairy godmother who filled our lives with her magic. She was a pixie with pizzazz, a sprite with sparkle, a sylph with style. A supernatural confluence of grace, humor and wit...with a dash of fairy glitter.

But most of all I will remember Clio as a down-to-earth true friend.

from Kyrie Tinch

2009-01-18T15:50:00.000-08:00

The Search for Signs of Intelligent Life in the Universe was a one woman show by Lilly Tomlin & Jane Wagner that Clio and I both loved as kids. Lilly Tomlin plays many characters. The main character is named Trudy a bag lady Who wears her wig inside out in order to keep the good side clean. She talks to tiny aliens from outer space she calls her little space chums that only she can see.

"Hey, what's this ?" she finds a note in her pocket. "It's a letter from my little space chums. Let me just read it to you."

"Dear Trudy,
Thanks for making our time on earth so
Jam-packed and fun-filled. We have orders now to go to a higher bio-vibrational plane. Just want you to know that the best thing that happened to us on earth was the goose bump experience."

She says to the audience "Did I tell you about that?"
"I took them to see a play. They were in the back of the theater standing there in the dark. All of a sudden one of 'em tugs my sleeve."
"Look, Trudy" he said.
"Yea, goose bumps." I said. "you definitely got goose bumps. You really liked the play that much?"
They said it wasn't the play that gave 'em goose bumps.
It was the audience.
I forgot to tell them to watch the play – they’d been watching the audience!
All those strangers sitting there in the dark - laughing and crying about the same things - that just knocked them out.
They said, “Trudy, the play was soup...the audience...art."

"So, they're taking goose bumps home with 'em - goose bumps!
I like to think of them out there in the dark watching us.
Sometimes we'll do something and they'll laugh.
Sometimes we'll do something and they'll cry.
And maybe one day we'll do something so magnificent, everyone in the world will get goose bumps."

For me in the soup of life Clio was art.

Kyrie Tinch

Carolina Abuelo's Eulogy

2009-01-18T14:24:00.000-08:00

My name is Carolina Abuelo.
Clio and I got to be friends in 1997 when she came to visit San Francisco. Notice I didn't say she came to visit ME. No, she actually went to visit some guy she met at a wedding. Anyhow, she immediately became disgusted with him after discovering that he threw away a perfectly good Williams Sonoma waffle maker after one use because some batter was stuck to it. We retreated to my squalid Haight Ashbury walk-up that I shared with 5 others. We sat on my bed, my only piece of furniture, and spent hours giggling over this guy throwing appliances out the window and all the other wacky people we were meeting in California. She was witty, light hearted, insightful, and so vibrant.

Clio went back to her life in LA and I made my way to medical school and residency. In my professional training, I learned one condition we treat a lot is depression. Only some of you may know that Clio suffered from chronic depression. This is because she was private so she may not have wanted to share this with everyone. In fact, as her close friend and a medical professional, I could not detect the magnitude of her suffering.

For some people chronic depression is a disease where your thoughts are dominated by a pervasive negativity. The natural history of depression varies, but it can lead to guilty feelings, worthlessness and eventually, a person can feel so hopeless that suicide appears to be a plausible alternative.

Clio was one of the most principled and considerate people I knew. She embodied thoughtfulness and was always so kind and protective of her family and friends. So how could she do such a thing to them and to the countless others that this tragedy affected?

Well, the answer is that she really wasn't herself at that moment. Her illness had stolen away the most essential elements of her personality and undermined her judgement. In this altered state, she was unable to anticipate the tremendous pain this action would cause so many of us.

In retrospect, I recognize that Clio was suffering for many years and had been incredibly brave in spite of the pain that she was in. She fought through many episodes of this disease, but ultimately it was like a cancer advancing inexorably. We were all powerless to help her because she never offered us any insight into her struggle over the past months.

On a more personal level, I'd like to reveal one of the many ways that Clio coped with her disease. I’m going to end with an email that she sent my sister January 29th 2008. It reflects the self-effacing style that made Clio so loveable.

Clio's email:

I thought I was having a REALLY bad day yesterday. I was feeling really down so I went to the bathroom to gather my thoughts and decided to make lemonade out of lemons, go out of my way to be up and happy to others even though I was feeling down.

So I decided to get the office coffee. I went around to coworkers' desks asking if they wanted coffee on me. Most of them looked at me funny, uncomfortable at my gesture, like they'd prefer I wasn't at their desk. No one took me up on it.

Whatever, retards, I'll get myself coffee. Walk downstairs to get coffee and notice I've left my fly undone. Smooth. On the downside, I carefully walked around the entire office flashing my shiny clover-green knickers. Oh, the mortification. On the upside. Thank G-d I was not wearing my wonder woman underroos -- I would have never lived down those stars. But at least my idiocy made me laugh.

So yesterday's lesson was, in the john, don't bother thinking about how you can be nice to others, just concentrate on buttoning your fly. Maybe you can benefit from my hard earned knowledge.

Clio

Bruce Chafee's Eulogy

2009-01-18T11:54:00.000-08:00

Clio

The light in Los Angeles is different from the light in Providence. It's brighter, and richer. It contains a fuller spectrum of its component colors. It brings out a more vibrant tone in everything.

This was one way Clio described to me the differences between California and the East Coast.

Clio's own light was special, too. She had a keen eye for the aesthetic, in graphic arts, in architecture, in restaurants, in flowers, in words. She noticed advertisements or hallways or photographs or behaviors or chocolate milk, or practically anything in a different way. She gave me quirky but clever gifts. As one friend said, she was an artist in everything she did.

Clio's light burned brightest, though, in her compassionate and thoughtful friendship. She was always sending e-mails to family and friends, with a witty word, a plea for a candidate, a dinner plan, a funny picture, or just a random thought. Some of my favorite e-mails from her contained only this word: "lunch?" She gathered me for dinner with friends, and she helped gather our whole family for the Sorrento reunion.

Even in her darkest time, it seemed to me, Clio's light shone brightly. On her last evening, we ate ice cream and watched an old family movie, giggling at our elders floundering on skates as boys and girls. The next morning, I cooked breakfast and we shared an engaging and thoroughly enjoyable discussion about movies, air-brushed photos, politics, pop culture highlights of the last year, how I should wash my sweaters, and more. She was energized, witty, interested—the usual Clio that I so enjoyed. As we parted ways mid-day (I for groceries and she for an errand nearby) I felt elevated by her presence. I told her how cheered I was by the unexpected gift of a visit with Cousin Clio. Now I feel humbly lucky to have had that one last day—her last—with Clio. Don't we all feel lucky to have had some of our days with Clio?

The light then was different from the light now. It was brighter, and richer. It contained a fuller spectrum of the passions and perspectives and knowledge and thoughtfulness and all that was Clio. It brought out a more engaged, curious, and compassionate tone in every one of us.

Let us all remember the light that Clio brought to our lives. And, as Clio would urge us, let us not forget to see and appreciate the light that we give to each other.

from Michele Geller

2009-01-15T11:20:00.000-08:00

Clio and I met mid-way through Moses Brown. Suddenly, I had someone to laugh at the absurdities of high school with, a hilariously funny and brilliant co-conspiritor in subverting the dominant paradigm, and a lifelong friend. Over the years, she sustained and nurtured our friendship in a remarkable way, never allowing inattention (on my part) or the distractions of our lives to intervene. She occasionally went through periods of not responding to emails or calls, and I unfortunately came to accept these episodes as a part of her persona, rather than the depressions they must have been. I'm amazingly thankful for the happy times we shared, and grateful to have close friends who shared Clio's friendship to get through this difficult time. It's hard though, when I look at my kids, to realize they won't have the joy of getting to know their 'Auntie Clio' like their Mom did.....
With love to all Clio's family and many friends, Michele

from Elizabeth Kivowitz Boatright-Simon

2009-01-14T20:30:00.000-08:00

I went to sit in on a class at Otis with my sister one day when I was on break during college and sat next to this extremely witty, intelligent, outgoing person named Clio. We made an instant connection, and I was happy to hear throughout the year when I was back at school that she and Leigh were becoming close friends.

I think she was the first very smart person I met who kept up so with popular culture, fashion, and celebrity gossip. Before Clio, I didn’t realize you were allowed to have those interests and refer to classic literature as well.

When I was in a holding pattern in Boston while campaigning for General Clark in 2004, she generously offered me her apartment in Jamaica Plain. We also drove to her home in Providence to pick up the key and say hello to her parents.

I wish I had asked more questions about her depression, taken the opening when I was given it.

She felt like family to me, but I wish I had known her better.

I wish I could see that smile one more time. Get that email. Laugh at something she wrote and say, “That’s so Clio.”

I’m not sure if it was her original idea, but I’ll always remember her telling me about throwing a party where all the women were supposed to wear the bridesmaid dresses they bought and wore only once and that were sitting in closets.

I love remembering Clio.

Elizabeth Kivowitz Boatright-Simon

From Erin Clement

2009-01-14T05:30:00.000-08:00

I recently moved back to Rhode Island, and met Clio through mutual friends.
A Sunday brunch, a walk through RISD Museum, a movie, a political discussion or two ~ and she felt like an old friend. The remembrances posted here are truly remarkable.
There is sense Clio's endearing qualities will continue to resonate among those who knew her... kindness, compassion, spirit, empathy and ability to really listen and be connected to others. I'm blessed to have met Clio, if but for a short time.

She obviously made an indelible mark on the lives of many.
I wish her family and friends peace through this difficult time.

Erin Clement
Providence, RI

from Michelle Downey

2009-01-13T23:45:00.001-08:00

from Douglas Morrison

2009-01-13T05:32:00.000-08:00

Clio and I frequently went to lunch in Boston together. One hour seemed like five minutes as we talked about stories from high school, why the fruit vendor sold apples for 50 cents each or two for a dollar, her dog, and Trinity Church. I remember one day she picked me up in Back Bay and we drove down Beacon Street. I don’t remember where we were going but I told her to stay in the middle lane of the three lane street since people double park and I did not want to get stuck behind a car. One block we were in the left lane, the next block the right lane , never in the middle and eventually we got stuck behind a car. With Boston drivers being so polite it took about five minutes to get around the car and get moving again. I don’t know if she did that to amuse me but I think it was so “Clio”.

I’ll miss her charm, her wit, but most of all her friendship.

Peace be with you.

Doug

Douglas Morrison

from Leigh Spencer

2009-01-12T14:30:00.000-08:00

I met Clio my first day at Otis College in 1996 in a class about the internet. What was this thing and what did it do? I was pretty sure it would never be a big deal. I'd never depend on it.

Clio and I shared hours obsessing over design projects, computer applications, xacto blades, and our teachers' cool factors, including colored socks and Prada briefcases. We ventured about LA in our (very) spare time: Abbott's Pizza, Baja Cantina for a mid-afternoon marg, Korea town for BBQ, African dance class.

We did a project together to raise awareness about global warming. Clio wrote a research essay worthy of a PhD. I often asked her to stop and define the $20 words she effortlessly weaved into casual conversation.

In 2004, she drove across the country to attend my wedding in Los Angeles, posting emails from the small towns she visited along the way. I hadn't seen her since, only spirited cyber-critiques of design, her invaluable advice about PR, and a welcome stream of emails just for fun. They seemed like little things.

Just Monday, a friend emailed me a quote by David Carson "Don't confuse legibility with communication. Just because something is legible doesn't mean it communicates and, more importantly, doesn't mean it communicates the right thing."

A week ago, I would have forwarded that directly to Clio. She would have replied right back with something clever, made me laugh out loud. Sadly, I missed something in between the lines of those legible communications. I'll miss her so much.

See you on Saturday.

All best,
Leigh Spencer

from Joanna Curtis

2009-01-12T12:53:00.000-08:00

I got to know and love Clio right after I moved to Los Angeles in the early 1990's. She had been here for a year or so, and was close friends with my new boyfriend (now husband) Brent and his best friend Chris. I was instantly won over by her intelligence, fun-loving spirit and of course her artistic flair. I think Clio was largely responsible for an aesthetic transformation that Brent went through right before we started dating, in which he miraculously went from scruffy college boy to slicked-back L.A. hipster. I had known Brent for a few years, but hadn't really looked at him twice before we met up in Los Angeles. On some level, I think Brent and I may have Clio to thank for our marriage! I really wish I could tell her that right now.

I always admired Clio and was even a bit jealous of her for her ability to stay "in the know" with regard to the Hollywood night-life, which the rest of us didn't really understand. We lived vicariously through her crazy adventures and stories, because we knew we'd never be able to get away with half of what she could at that time in her life. She had a whole hour-by-hour club and bar schedule worked out for Saturday nights, based on where to find the hipsters and celebrities. As a result, she was full of interesting stories that TMZ would just eat up nowadays. (Example: "Keanu Reeves was desperate to date my roommate Sage last year, when he was going through his unwashed phase. He kept showing up at our door "au naturale" - in other words, smelling like ass.") She also had a knack for getting out of speeding tickets by pretending to be new in town and generally being adorable. She was the coolest girl we knew in the early and mid 90s. But of course there was so much more to Clio than that cool party girl, even in her early 20's.

Ever since I learned about Clio's death last week, I've been mentally replaying an intense conversation she and I had about religion back in 1994. We debated at length about my congenital atheism vs. her deep belief in a creator and an afterlife. Ironically, Clio seemed very concerned about me, because she didn't see how one could live a life with meaning and purpose without believing that there is a God who created us for a reason and cares about what we do. I wish she'd had a chance to meet my two kids, so I could show her that I did ultimately find my meaning and purpose, even if it was through a different path than the one she envisioned. Even though Clio and I agreed to disagree that day, I told her that I would honestly rather hold her beliefs than mine. I feel that way even more now that she's gone.

I really hope you were right, Clio, because I don't like to think of you as really, truly gone. I much prefer to think of you as having moved on to the next phase of your existance, whether it's sitting at the right hand of your God in heaven or, better yet, reincarnating into the body of my friend's baby who is due any day now. Your spirit was too strong to just be snuffed out like that. I'm sorry I couldn't do more for you in the short time we knew each other. You affected my life more than you ever knew, and I'll never forget you.

Love, Joanna

Gifts in Memory of Clio

2009-01-11T21:31:00.000-08:00

Per her family's wishes, here is the information to make donations to the R.I. Foundation.

1. Click on "Click to Contribute" button
2. Fill in all your personal information
3. Type Clio Chafee into the last text box

from Jennifer McCarthy

2009-01-11T10:46:00.000-08:00

When I met my husband-to-be who was already bad with
names, any friends of mine who weren't instantly
entertaining pretty much became nameless. In fact, I
still often find myself responding to his question,
"John, who?" with the answer, "Your brother, honey."

Needless to say, he has always remembered Clio's name.
In fact, when they met at a dinner party at our
place, she brought the most amazing, lovely, memorable
flower arrangement ever and to this day when I've said
the name "Clio" my husband raises his eyebrows and
says, "Ahhhh, the one with the flowers."

She is so memorable.

Doug, just for the record, you are always remembered
and lovingly referred to as "Tall Doug."

Richard, Inge and Louisa, thank you very much for
making sure I got your message. I am so sorry that I
cannot attend the funeral but am so grateful to have
received yours and everyone else's e-mails. Thank
you.

Niffer

Jennifer McCarthy

from Douglas Davies

2009-01-10T23:55:00.000-08:00

The email from Clio’s family reached me somewhere in Mississippi during a cross-country drive to Los Angeles; you’d think that three more long days of staring at Interstate 10 would give a guy enough time to neatly compose all his thoughts, but almost a week later I’m still wrestling with them, so please accept my apologies in advance for the ramble to follow.

I met Clio right around the turn of this century at All Saints Church in Beverly Hills. A few months later, it somehow came out in conversation that I had an extra bedroom in my Fairfax fourplex apartment and, almost before I knew it, I had a new housemate. We lived together for about a year and a half until she returned to New England and I moved to Brentwood.

From there, I moved again to Amsterdam and then London for my job, and stayed in touch with Clio mostly by email; we would regularly send news, tips, photos, memories, jokes, and glad tidings to each other, and just a few weeks ago corresponded about some of the more intriguing outdoor food markets I’d encountered during my international travels of recent years. In my last email I reminded her that I’d just moved back to the States, and hoped to catch up with her soon.

Appropriately enough for someone who shares a name with the classical muse of history, Clio became my friend just after a few rather dark and forgettable years in my life, and just before a dotcom crash, the 2000 election, and 9/11 ended what must have seemed like a decade-long holiday from history. These events gave us plenty of conversation topics for the long evening walks we’d often take through Hancock Park, or Runyon Canyon, or up Crescent Heights to the Sunset Strip. Not that all our talks were that weighty, of course – we’d also talk about cookie recipes, bad hair days, our lunatic neighbors, and recent hot dates. (Or, rather, the lack thereof: we joked about how each of us had a curious history of being Romance Kryptonite for our housemates.)

Clio once posted on our kitchen wall the “Incomplete Manifesto for Growth” by the influential designer Bruce Mau, one tenet of which was:

“#14. Don’t be cool. Cool is conservative fear dressed in black. Free yourself from limits of this sort.”

I think Clio took this to heart, for despite being witty, droll, urbane, and culturally up-to-the-moment, she made a point of never being too terribly cool. In fact, one of her great charms was her unabashed willingness to act on her corniest impulses. After I accepted a job offer I’d been hoping for, she created a photo montage of me frolicking, Snoopy-like, in a patch of wildflowers. (The three or four of you who know what I look like will probably find this a hilariously incongruent mental picture; as for the rest of you, if you can make it to Clio’s funeral just look for the clumsy 6’7” guy.)

Another time, after letting me know that one of her favorite books was “Two Years Before the Mast”, she asked if I could somehow round up an extra girl’s gym shirt for her from my alma mater: Richard Henry Dana Jr. Junior High School. It’s a pity I didn’t find the shirt, because I don’t think she intended to merely wear it ironically. For although she could arch an eyebrow, roll tongue in cheek, and deliver the slyly sarcastic remark like nobody else I knew, Clio was simply not one of those people so thoroughly pickled in irony that they are incapable of sharing genuine sentiment. I remember times when she was literally bouncing with a giddy glee, and other times when she was physically stricken with sadness for the sufferings of a friend.

She had her own sufferings as well. There was one bout of depression so severe that she rarely left her bedroom for a month, and it pains me to recall how ill-equipped I was to help her at the time. I thought I knew what she was going through, but I didn’t and still don’t. My own previous, and milder, experience of depression had been one of seeking a suitable ray of light, and it seemed to me that Clio’s was instead something more like Milton’s “darkness visible”.

By the time we both moved out, she appeared to be doing much better. She seemed relieved to be returning to family and New England in time for spring, and managed to fit all her possessions into her Toyota with the exception of her beloved (and slightly garish) yellow Formica work table, which she insisted I keep with the promise that I’d return it to her someday. As of this moment, it sits neatly wrapped in a container ship a few days away from the Port of Los Angeles after three years’ service in London (not far from Clio’s old school) as a small dining table disguised by a cool black tablecloth. I’m not quite sure what I’ll do with it now, but I’ll probably try letting it go uncovered, and a bit more un-cool; I think Clio would prefer it that way.

- Douglas Davies

A postscript: Allison’s story of how she met Clio through a KCRW pledge drive got a big smile out of me, because Clio once managed to persuade/trick/hogtie me into doing two consecutive shifts at the KCRW phones despite my utter lack of telephone charm. I had a blast, of course, and even successfully raised some money for the station (probably because I forwarded all the really difficult callers to her line…) Three weeks from now their next annual drive will begin and I think I’ll volunteer again; it should be easier this time, and yet harder.

from Don Jones

2009-01-10T15:30:00.000-08:00

I was Clio's prom date - actually she was my date to my Senior Prom. Clio was the year below me at Moses Brown. She also worked with me when I was the editor of the Mosaic, the MB yearbook - and I was thrilled she took my place when I graduated. We both survived the wrath of Doc Odell - and he became an advocate for both of us.

I went to England for a year on an ESU scholarship before going to college. Clio did the same. We shared so much in common. We both loved England, Europe, and travel.

When my wife and I moved back to Boston 11 years ago, Clio was one of the first people I reconnected with. She came to our first Christmas party at our home in Charlestown, reconnecting with many MB alums, my parents, and friends. She talked about the passion she had for her dog - something both my wife and I had and still have.

I had no idea about Clio's depression. I can't even imagine it! Clearly she never showed that face to me.

I'll miss her emails......I'll miss our lunch at the Good Life with Doug Morrison. I'll miss her connection to people.

I, unfortunately, have known others to suffer depression, and seen the same fate. I wish I had seen this sooner.......

Clio - I will miss you.

Love,

Don Jones
Boston, MA

from Jon Boroshok

2009-01-10T11:20:00.000-08:00

Clio was one of my better students at Emerson several years ago, and we stayed in touch after that. I remember Clio's loving defense of pitbulls, hers in particular! It was always great to hear about her success getting the architecture firm covered, and to receive her always thoughtful and sometimes quirky e-mails.

Every now and then we'd meet for coffee on a day when I was downtown - it was fun to catch up. She was even kind enough to serve on a panel at one of my PR classes in the summer of 2007, which was the last time I saw her in person.

Clio was a caring and kind person, passionate about politics and where the world was going.

JB

from Elizabeth Nemacheck

2009-01-10T11:07:00.000-08:00

I met Clio in Boston Christmas Carolling a little over a year ago. She was charming, lively, bubbly, and a breath of fresh air! As we drove back to Providence together, I thought maybe I would finally fit into an East Coast that seems, at times, so intimidating as a Midwesterner. The warmth and charm again! Anyway, she tracked down my e-mail address the very next day. How lucky for me.

She was my 2008 Valetine's Day Date - of course I had to meet her at the Obama HQ!. Clio was the one that would go to an NPR event with me and love it as much as me, partly due to its cost (free!). She would send interesting funny articles that made me smile throughout the year. She would call when she needed to get out and that's what we would do. She would provide insights and perspectives I would not see... how eye opening!

I will miss Clio for all of these things she has brought to my life even in such a short time. I will miss the funny texts and e-mails that instantly made me smile. And I will treasure the experience of knowing her.

Elizabeth Nemacheck
Providence, RI
liznem@gmail.com

from Beata Nelken

2009-01-10T09:40:00.000-08:00

I'm devastated. There are no words.

Clio was my neighbor in Providence. I met her while on dog walks in 2007, she would be tending to her garden in a big sun hat, for what seemed the entire spring and summer. We initially said our passing hellos, but eventually she reached out and initiated a friendship with me for which I was so grateful. I had recently separated from my then husband. Clio seemed exceptionally aware of how difficult a time it was for me, despite my attempts at keeping a strong front.

Clio became my angel through my divorce, calling me regularly and dragging me out of my house to go kayaking, bird watching, out to dinner, or wherever. It didn't matter. She helped pull me through a very difficult time. She would listen to my grieving with compassion and patience long after I had tired of hearing myself speak. Generous in spirit, compassion, and love. She always seemed to be living correctly--with incredible vibrancy, life, humor, and sparkle in her eyes. I always felt I had much to learn from her. She seemed to care for everyone and everything--something I found impressive. While I have become somewhat jaded in some arenas-- Clio was out volunteering, promoting various causes, being green. She personally was a major force putting Obama into office. She put together an exhibit slide show about Darfur that was shown at the Museum of Fine Arts. She volunteered with the ASPCA, was always well informed, well
read, and a delight to be around. She was a role model to me, even though just two weeks older than I.
We didn't see each other as much when she started dating (her recent boyfriend) Tom. I reconnected with her a few times, but it was clear she was very occupied by the relationship and enjoying herself. I was happy for her. They had regular weekend get-aways to Maine, Cape Cod, Newport. Our weekly dinners and outings became once a month then once every other month over the last year or so. I last had dinner with Clio sometime after her breakup in late October. I know the breakup was hard on her. She seemed to be doing well --or well enough given the circumstances. She spoke of the breakup for a few minutes, tops. The rest of the evening was up-beat and chatty. She didn't let on too much if she was suffering.

She continued in the last months to send her regular news clips, jokes, or personal info pieces. I thought of her often. I was going through my own break up and depressive bout and had only seen friends that have hunted me down--and rarely then even so, and with some resistance. I was not available to Clio as she had been to me. I am so incredibly saddened. I wish I had known she was suffering. What a tremendous loss. I miss her.

from Aysha Somasundaram

2009-01-10T09:04:00.000-08:00

I met Clio my freshman year at Brown and, even then, she had this otherworldly poise, maturity. We were dorm mates and fast friends. Only later did I discover her great taste was dwarfed by her wicked, incisive wit, sense of fun and bone deep kindness. She was a chameleon, an original.

I, like Christina, have hoarded many of the beautiful mementos Clio lovingly crafted - birthday and greeting cards, the 'Burning Man' invitation...they are scattered at my parents with other treasures.

I feel selfishly grateful for the emails Allison, Christina and Andrew wrote because I have - though I know better - been feeling isolated in my grief. Instead, now, I feel part of a tribe of Clio's loved ones or, more accurately, part of a tribe of individuals lucky enough to know, love and miss her.

I never thought I would have to imagine a world without Clio burning brightly...I would happily participate in an web page honoring her though I cannot pretend any technical aptitude...

from Andy Shaindlin

2009-01-09T23:42:00.000-08:00

I am glad Allison spoke up and that David and Christina followed suit. I am not sure I know, know of, or ever met any of the people on this email list. But I knew Clio and have, like all of you, been thinking about and revisiting precious memories non-stop since last weekend.

I met Clio in the mid-'90s here in Los Angeles. I worked for Brown University, and she came to one of our events here in Los Angeles. There was a Friday reception where I met her for the first time and was immediately charmed and amused. The next day was a full-day event which she attended and where we talked more, and after that we stayed in email contact and became friends.

My family and I later moved to L.A. and in the first two days after our arrival here, Clio invited us to dinner at her apartment. She made a point of inviting other guests that night whom she thought we'd get along with, to make us feel like we knew some people here in L.A.

After she moved back east I sometimes visited her in RI. On one memorable occasion Clio and I met for Indian food on Thayer Street in Providence on a bitterly cold February night. Afterwards, she introduced me to Chanel, her (to me) sweet and friendly companion. And on a visit to L.A. a few years back Clio came to dinner at our house in Pasadena and we had a very fun, funny visit and laughed and laughed...

But in reality I guess our friendship over time was built one email at a time. I constantly told her that I no longer use this email account for corresponding with friends – just for buying things online or signing up for web sites. I'd tell her to use a different address and she would write back: "I'll remember next time and I'll change it in my address book," but then the next email would come right back to this address, which always made me laugh.

The important thing was that the emails themselves always connected me to her, with some topic that she knew was relevant to me - to my work, my hobbies, my pets, my family. And often (including a final, thoughtful time in last month) her emails connected me to people she thought I should meet or know. It was one of many small, but as I now realize, important instances in which she made a little mark on my life with her thoughtful friendship. Any one of those little marks was not by itself so noteworthy. But cumulatively, they add up to a treasured friendship that I will always, always remember.

I will miss you Clio.

Andy Shaindlin
Pasadena, CA

from Christina Abuelo

2009-01-09T22:29:00.000-08:00

Clio was like a sister to me, except we never fought.

Since the news of last weekend's tragedy, I think about her 24/7. I have been bursting into tears in public places, feeling guilty for not having somehow detected her angst, and generally ricocheting amongst all the stages of grief (I thought it was supposed to be a progression?).

Today I reached an important, but underdocumented, point in the grieving process: the haircut. I brought my straggly, unruly, salt-and-pepper hippie head of hair to a local salon. As my hair was soaked in stream of hot water, I started to finally relax a bit. Over the next two hours, several types of scissors, various machines and numerous potions were used to transform the rat's nest at the top of my body into a sleek and trendy coiffure. How therapeutic. How Clio would have approved of my aesthetic improvement.

Later tonight, I called Allison (who sent a remembrance earlier) and introduced myself. It was really helpful talking with someone who knew Clio when she lived across the country from me. Allison suggested an idea that I thought had great merit: A memorial webpage for Clio, where friends can post their memories, photos and other files. Clio designed my (and my sister's) wedding invitations. She did a brilliant, beautiful job and I'm so proud of her work.

Is there anyone that could help with this project, particularly the technological aspect of setting it up?

C H R I S T I N A A B U E L O
Somewhere in California

from David Sadinsky

2009-01-09T15:30:00.000-08:00

Clio and I were batista's in Providence the summer of 1992. We went to work at sunrise and gave away cups of coffee at our leisure, we were passionate about pizza, made fun of our boss and would take off in the afternoon to "run errands" and sneak into the movies. It was the summer of the B52's and Annie Lennox, we went to see Bill Clinton make a campaign stop, drove in the country on warm nights to listen to the crickets and all the other things one does the last summer after college. No finer a companion, colleague and confidante to share that with; I look back on that summer as one of the best of my life. We were free.

At the end of the summer, I gave her a hug and my favorite pink club chair and headed out to Seattle. I have not seen her since.

No words seem appropriate, what a sad sad loss.

david

from Allison de Fren

2009-01-08T10:30:00.000-08:00

Clio was one of the first friends that I made after I moved to Los Angeles in 1998. We met in a funny way that seemed to me emblematic of the kind of person that she was: I called the public radio station KCRW to pledge money and Clio, who was volunteering on the phone bank, answered my call. Her assiduous attempts to secure for me the best possible premium made me laugh and sparked a conversation that ended in a date for coffee and what would become a long-term friendship. I loved Clio’s keen intelligence, her passion for design and culture, and her sense of the absurd; I found endearing how thrifty resourceful, and industrious she was despite (or was it because of?) her impressive pedigree. She was one of those rare Angelenos who take public transportation, she often volunteered her free time, she undertook many DIY projects (way before it became hip). I once attended a holiday party thrown by Clio in which everyone received beautifully wrapped gifts, all of which turned out to be wacky things that she had found at the 99-cent store (an idea that I had always planned on, but never got around to stealing). One of Clio’s favorite places in Los Angeles was the hipster Goodwill across the street from my apartment and, whenever she’d take a trip there, she’d stop by. She would often find me harried and in a state of disarray (I was in graduate school at the time) and, without judgment, she’d come in and keep me company, sitting by reading magazines, or setting to work on cleaning whatever seemed messy or disorganized (which most of my apt. invariably was) with a kind of elfin good cheer. Most of all, I was grateful for her indomitable approach to friendship. While I tend to drift in and out of others’ lives depending on how reclusive or social I feel (a tendency that can provoke frustration even in those who know me well), Clio was always consistent, her affections unconditional. Even after she moved back to the east coast, she was diligent in maintaining our connection, sending links to websites or articles that she found noteworthy and occasional packages with books or other objects that she thought I might like. Although I knew that Clio had depressive bouts (which she tended, at least with me, not to discuss until released from their grip), her seemingly indefatigable sense of humor and enthusiasm made it difficult to think of her as anything other than a brightly burning flame. I never imagined that she would experience a despair so great that she would not be able to find her way out, and it breaks my heart to think that she did and that I did not know enough to reach out to her.

-Allison de Fren
Allison.deFren@conncoll.edu

CHAFEE, CLIO, 37, of Providence chose to die on January 3, 2009.

2009-01-04T17:01:00.000-08:00

Born on April 5, 1971, in London, England, and raised in Providence, she was the daughter of Richard S. and Inge (Timm) Chafee.

After Moses Brown School, she studied architectural history at Brown University and graphic design at Otis College of Art & Design.

In her last five years she was in charge of marketing and press relations for the Boston architects Albert, Righter & Tittmann. Her art direction of photo shoots led to beautiful pictures of the partners buildings, pictures that she mailed to a growing list of existing and potential clients (and admirers of the work). The firm won many awards during her time.

She had an extraordinarily wide range of interests, from the local to the global; she was passionate about the future of our green planet. Never passive, she worked voluntarily for what she believed in. She gardened, without chemicals. At phone banks she telephoned for hundreds of hours in two political campaigns. She tried to aid the people of Darfur by coordinating the Providence showing of the Darfur/Darfur traveling exhibit in 2007 and by raising money for Physicians for Human Rights.

She brought joy to her family and her many friends. Keenly intelligent, generous in spirit, with a passion for design and with great personal style, she was clever with words and had an infectious sense of humor. Ever loyal to her friends, by e-mail she stayed in contact with them year after year. She is survived by her parents, her sister Louisa and brother-in-law Joseph Elorriaga, her nieces Clementine and Tallulah, uncles and aunts, many many cousins, and her beloved dog Chanelle.

Her funeral will be on Saturday, January 17, 2009, at 11:00 AM in Grace Episcopal Church, Providence. Instead of sending flowers, please make the world greener by donating to a fund that provides free trees in Providence. Gifts in memory of Clio Chafee will be gratefully received by the Mary Elizabeth Sharpe Street Tree Fund at the R.I. Foundation, One Union Station, Providence, RI, 02903. People will like the looks of Clios trees; dogs will like the smells.

As posted in the Providence Journal