Mary Ann Boyd was a consummate exemplar of karma yoga. One school of thought teaches that there are three ways to God: devotion, thought and action (karma yoga). She simply did not harbor negative thoughts about anyone and wished the best for everyone. She could get pissy about abstractions (Las Vegas drivers, Big Pharma), but it was never personal. She was always interested in bringing people together to watch movies, play games, act, sing, dance. Any extra money went to charity.

Mary Ann's giving nature led to a decision in her fifties to train to work as a physical therapist assistant. She had helped care for brother Tom after he was diagnosed with MS. When her parents began experiencing health issues in their late eighties, Mary Ann moved back home to help them. After they passed, she decided to become, literally, more hands on in her engagement with others. She worked in hospitals, outpatient clinics and in people's homes. She regularly began her encounters with patients by saying "We're going to work to help you feel better." She meant it.

Balancing Mary Ann's natural kindness was her puckish nature. She would never prank anyone, but she would engage in mischievous activity. After a show at the Paramount theater in Seattle, Mary Ann elected to defy the "Do Not Enter" sign in order to walk up the mysterious steps that rose behind the sign. The stairs narrowed until she reached a door at the very top of the building. Hoping to find the Wizard of Oz, she tried to open it, but it was locked.

Sitting in the back row of a AAA baseball stadium, Mary Ann suddenly turned and climbed up a ladder that led to the roof of the stadium. After disappearing through the door she opened to get to the roof, she returned bearing the gift of two baseballs.

At karaoke bars Mary Ann would sport an impish grin heading to the microphone in anticipation of bringing the house down with her over-the-top rendition of "White Rabbit."

Then there was the art car. As a prop for one of her one-woman shows, Mary Ann had mock business cards made up. The printers put the cards on stock that was too thin. They let her keep the now useless cards. Except they weren't. A chronic recycler and a reader of a book on art cars, she bought a jar of modge podge. The Toyota Tercel never saw it coming. Going forward it would be covered in fake business cards.

Mary Ann was a performer the majority of her life. In childhood, it began with dramatic recitations and singing for family and friends. She would be the lead in musicals in high school and community theater shows.

Based in San Francisco, Mary Ann performed with an a capella quintet who named themselves The Screaming Divas. More avant garde than barbershop, The Divas confused and delighted Bay Area audiences for years. She'll always have my gratitude for allowing me to experience every cool venue in The City.

Next was Chicago. Someone told Mary Ann that in a year she had made more progress in the theater scene than most made in ten. I can still hear the awed silence followed by rapturous applause after she performed her solo number in "The 1940's Radio Hour." She also performed in a sketch music comedy troupe named Gag Reflex. More groovy venues for me to enjoy. Her work with this group included the creation of one of her greatest characters - a pretentious eurotrash film director, a satire of Lina Wertmuller.

Mary Ann performed in Seattle and vicinity (Everett, Tacoma, Portland) for twenty years. The Seattle theater scene was cliquish. Performers tended to work with the same people at one venue. Not Mary Ann. She worked with everybody. The closest she came to being a company regular was at Second Story Repertory in Redmond where, having performed in the requisite five shows, she was awarded with a caricature portrait in the lobby.

Alongside "Menopause: The Musical" and "The Vagina Monologues" there was Mary Ann's self-created work. "Fifty-One and Counting," a show about her work history, went through several iterations - improving each time. A show about body image (not really, but she performed partially nude) won an award at the Mae West Fest. "Dear Diary" had her setting her childhood diaries to music. She wowed the gay Capital Hill crowd with her piano-backed performance of the entirety of Janis Ian's "At Seventeen" album.

She could do anything except a German accent. She could never pull that off.

During lock downs Mary Ann wrote a Covid song on her ukulele. She'd sing it in her room everyday. I wish I could remember some of the lines, but my memory fails during those times. Her singing gave me something to look forward to in the afternoons. She also used the time to paint the cards in her tarot deck. After all the years, I didn't realize that she was such a good artist. They adorned the wall of the office in our last apartment.

Potpourri. The first time that I saw Mary Ann perform was in a ska band. I was feeling the love as she shuffled back and forth across the stage. At that time she drove a metal 1960's VW Bug. She loved that car and when it broke down, she'd fix it. She was a beautiful swimmer and my equal at ping pong, pool and air hockey. If we hadn't stopped playing tennis, she would have beaten me in that too, even though I'd been playing my entire life. A factor in our moving back to Tacoma was her wanting our cats to die in the house they knew best.

Love never dies.

Mary Ann's last words were her questioning whether she'd put away an apple juice bottle in the living room. She hadn't put it away. I finished it.

Boyd Gregory

(husband's pen name)

Send to someone

Share this obituary with others

https://everloved.com/life-of/mary-ann-boyd/obituary/

Copy