Ardis Keefer ’66 P08

An abbreviated, slightly revised version of remarks I made at the Celebration of Ardis Keefer’s life, Mount Auburn Cemetery, Cambridge, June 3, 2015. 

 During the first 10 years of our friendship, Ardis, my husband Michael, and I (and eventually our daughters) were in the same neck of the world’s woods – Carleton College, Japan, Boston and New Haven.  Then we left for the West Coast.  In all the 40-some years since, I don’t think I ever received a letter or card from Ardis and hardly ever an email.   But the miracle of Ardis (one of many) was that this lack of communication had no significance.  When one of us did call, it was as if we had just that moment hung up. When we did get together –  at a Carleton reunion, for an anniversary or graduation, or in the remote Tuscan countryside — it was as though time and distance didn’t exist.   I was always so damn glad to see Ardis (or hear her inimitable voice) because I knew that conversation would sparkle, adventures – driven by curiosity, enthusiasm, and energy — would be joined, that warmth and wit and laughter would suffuse us, and that no fools – or foolishness — would be suffered gladly.    Case in point:  just a year ago, I’m in my kitchen swearing at my ancient aluminum colander (I think we got it as a wedding present) because its worn holes are letting through some of the grains of rice I’m rinsing.  Ardis, bemused, watching:  “Carol, you know they still manufacture those!”  (Ardis was our daughter Adrienne’s godmother.  “Godmother?!?” Adrienne laughs, with hindsight: “Snark Mentor. Everyone should be so lucky!”)

Since January, I’ve had two photos of Ardis on my desktop, both taken by Mike, one in 1965 when he and Ardis were part of a group of Carleton juniors who spent the summer in Japan, the other in October, 2012, in Tuscany.  In the first, Mike caught Ardis, camera in hand, intent not on getting her picture taken but on taking in all that Nagasaki in that moment had to offer.  In the second photo, Mike surprised Ardis with the same light in her eyes, arms full of guidebooks, her entire being defined by eager anticipation as we are just about to take off in spatters of rain for great adventure in Gubbio. 

 Ardis came into my life on my very first day at Carleton College — 53 years ago and two days before I met Mike.  In yet another picture, this time in my mind’s eye, I can still see her that first night in the dorm holding forth with mischievous histrionics, using saltier language than I was accustomed to hearing from anybody. At first we seemed to be utterly different – I an introverted public school Midwesterner from a religiously conservative, politically radical family highly conscious of its recent Italian and Swedish roots.  (Later Mike and Ardis would become convinced that they were cousins by dint of both being related to a Fuller who was the doctor on the Mayflower.)  But even as we laughed about how I said “orange” and “horrid” and “aunt,” she said “ahrange” and “hahrid” and “Ahunt,” we discovered that we had a great deal in common.  And as time, years, decades, passed, we grew to be more alike.  One last picture, this time in my imagination:  if right now Ardis were to appear, we’d size up each other’s outfits and then in mock surprise and real pleasure exclaim, “Flax!!”

 During that first year on Third Myers, as Susan Peaks Steffan has reminded me, Ardis introduced us to Edith Piaf; I contributed Tommy Makem and the Clancy Brothers.  In June, as we prepared to go our separate ways, I played the song that haunts me now:  “Oh, the summer time is coming/ And the trees are sweetly blooming/ And the wild mountain thyme/ Grows around the blooming heather. / Will you go, lassie, go?”  Ardis, fare thee well.

Carol Creanza Freeman ’66

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From Boston Globe, Feb 1, 2015 and from a conversation with her husband

Ardis Keefer died in Arlington, MA, January 29, 2015, of complications following surgery for lung cancer.  She is survived by her husband Mario Rubio-Ospina, a stepson, Mauricio who called her his “Wicked” Stepmother, a term embraced and loved by Ardis.  Ardis and Mario had a son and a daughter.  She left three grandchildren.

Ardis was a stay-at-home mom while raising her family.  From 2000 to 2012, she worked at the Carroll School in Lexington, a school for children suffering from dyslexia.  Ardis was an administrator who, among other tasks, interviewed children to help ascertain they were good candidates for the school.

One of her passions was travel.  She especially loved the planning for their trips, according to Mario.  He knew all would be well organized and that Ardis would be able to provide much information during the trip, a product of her prior research.  Favored trips were to Colombia, Mario’s native land, Italy, and Spain.

Ardis loved to participate in election campaigns.