DEBBIE STARR NOVEMBER 14, 1956 - AUGUST 25, 2013 Daughter, sister, aunt, wife and beloved friend - Deborah Ann Starr died peacefully on August 25, 2013, at her sister Ellen's home in Poway, California, after a brief fight with cancer. Born in Middletown, Connecticut on Nov. 14, 1956, Debbie grew up in East Hampton, CT, where she attended East Hampton High School and Choate/Rosemary Hall School. After graduation from Bucknell University, she worked at Boston's Museum of Science and later served as managing editor at Horticulture magazine. Following her move to Santa Fe, Debbie became Stereophile magazine's managing editor, a position she held from 1996 to 2000. She relocated to Austin, Texas, to work as an editor at A stint in textbook publishing followed, but in 2006 she began studies at the University of Santa Monica in Southern California to embark upon a new career as a counselor and healer, fulfilling her master's degree in spiritual psychology in 2008. She married Jerry Christopher in 2009. The couple resided in Austin until moving to Santa Fe in 2011. Debbie was the oldest of four children born to John F. Starr and Beverly S. Starr of Charlestown, Rhode Island and Venice, Florida. She is survived by her husband, Jerry; by her parents; by her sisters, Ellen E. Starr of Poway, California and Jennifer A. Starr of Bloomington, Indiana; her brother, J. Markham Starr of North Stonington, Connecticut; her niece, Sarah Starr-Murphy; and her nephew, Daniel K. Starr. Her niece Emily Starr-Cooke died in 2012. An avid horticulturist and photographer, Debbie was always drawn to the high desert and was happiest living in Santa Fe. As a healer, she brightened many lives with her strong and generous soul. Friends and colleagues felt themselves privileged to know her. She was a comfort and a light to her family and to those close to her, leaving a void in their hearts that can never be filled. Keeping Quiet Pablo Neruda Now we will count to twelve and we will all keep still for once on the face of the earth, let's not speak in any language; let's stop for a second, and not move our arms so much. It would be an exotic moment without rush, without engines; we would all be together in a sudden strangeness. Fishermen in the cold sea would not harm whales and the man gathering salt would not look at his hurt hands. Those who prepare green wars, wars with gas, wars with fire, victories with no survivors, would put on clean clothes and walk about with their brothers in the shade, doing nothing. What I want should not be confused with total inactivity. Life is what it is about... If we were not so single-minded about keeping our lives moving, and for once could do nothing, perhaps a huge silence might interrupt this sadness of never understanding ourselves and of threatening ourselves with death. Now I'll count up to twelve and you keep quiet and I will go.
Published in Santa Fe New Mexican on Jan. 1, 1900