Reflecting on Nancy, 2 years after her death

A million years ago I worked with Nancy. Old enough to be my mother, I was her supervisor. She was the first person I ever supervised. 

A gently bred Virginian, she followed her academic husband up north. She was a pianist, a classical music aficionado, a music teacher. Like many women of her generation, she eschewed career goals to be a stay at home mother. 

When her husband left for another woman, he assumed Nancy wouldn't be able to keep the large family home or care for their 5 children. He offered to take them instead, him and his new wife. Well, that did it! Nancy found a job. She worked to keep her children and the family home. She took in borders to supplement her income. She kept the kids and that big, aging, elegant house. When she related this story to me, years after the fact, her eyes were on fire.

When she died, I sent sympathy cards to each of her children. I didn't hear back from her only son. On the 2nd anniversary of her death, he replied. He'd refused to open the card out of deep grief, waiting until he was emotionally prepared to read it. Two years he waited! 

This is what I sent back to him:

Your mother was a wonder to me. Her passion for music, her children, and THAT HOUSE was remarkable. She was like that at work, too. She didn't just work with someone, she got to know them. She paid attention. She drew conclusions. She cared, often deeply. The faculty, staff, and students loved her.  

She could be stubborn, of course. I'll never forget how I bought her a new computer and she let it sit for a year until I worked up the courage to force her to learn how to use it. Yes, you get that from her.  

She would have understood and been a bit in awe of your decision to postpone reading that sympathy card/note for two years. A love, a loss, a pain so deep - well, she knew all that only too well. I'm actually consulting a thesaurus for the right word to use to describe her passion for the things and people she loved. It's a struggle to come up with the right word. Maybe intensity with a splash of rage? At her best, she was stunning.  

She surrounded her desk with postcards she received
from students and faculty over the years.

 

Getting creative with technology during a global pandemic

We FaceTimed our great-granddaughter, Sweet C, in Kentucky the other day. She was SO cute, and seemed interested in the two old folks yammering at her on the screen. I sang to her, and played pattacake.

Grandson N received his first cell phone so he can interact with the outside world. (When he is allowed to use the phone) he has been texting us with hilarious messages containing no periods or commas. 

I sent a New York State friend photos of our current Florida flowers. She sent me back photos of old friends like blood root, bleeding hearts, and daffodils poking their heads out of the cold, dark NYS soil. Spring is coming!

Great Grandpa, pulling out all the stops to entertain Sweet C
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My correspondence with N.  My comments are in blue.  I'm trying to figure out if he is being a smart aleck when he says "That's fascinating"
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Bleeding Hearts, lifting our spirits as life returns to the frozen northlands

Putting away Christmas

The older I get, the more Christmas becomes a life gauge. Each year I touch and consider my past.

• Owl ornament my ornery friend Maggie gifted in 1983. She died in 2006. I'm still a bit afraid of her.
• Cardboard box to store ornaments. We originally received the box in 1996 when we ordered a printer. The printer is long gone. The box remains.
• Needlepoint bell niece K made when she was a child. She'll never know how touched I was to get it.
• 1970's/80's salt dough ornaments daughter M made. She's forever my baby, my child, my cranky teen.
• Every ornament our grandchildren made/painted/bought for us. Especially when we can't figure out what it is. They go front and center.
• The salt dough ornaments husband T made that are so hideous, so utterly ridiculous that we laugh and hide 'em in the back of the tree. He's a good sport.
• New ornaments from R, the daughter who is my husband's oldest, and a daughter of my heart.
• Yellow cat ornament Chilly Hollow gave us millions of years ago. She's still a friend, a reader of this blog, and an irreverent smart alack.
• Ornaments Syracuse friends bought and pretended were from their son, Coop. Ha, we never fell for it.
• Vacation souvenirs, baubles and tchotchkes.
•  The glass Santa from Sharon, who died in 2015. Each year I hold it and try to believe she's still alive.
• I really must stop, this is getting too long. I could go on for pages.  Suffice it to say that every ornament has a story to tell and circumstances to describe. 

  

  Santa ball from DebbieK, Tibetan ball from Choklay and Nyima, Icon BVM from Oldest Sister

  
  
  

The Cold, Hard Truth

It is a comfort to have friends who will always support me, always be on my side. I have only had a couple of friends like that in my life; they have been few and far between. I treasure them, those rare souls who are willing to love me without pause. We all need friends like that.  However, I also like having a few friends in my life who will tell me the cold, hard truth.

Sugarcoating the truth does not count. I am not subtle. You must be direct with me. In fact, you kind of have to hit me over the head with a fully realized idea otherwise I will probably not see through the coating. Just don't hit me too hard or I might hit back. Sorry! It is an involuntary reflex.

Like Aretha I need some respect. A little respect goes a long way. Consequently, I prefer the cold hard truth served up with a dollop or two of pure intentions. Truth is a tricky business and is best delivered without hidden agendas or axes to grind. I wish I was better at both delivering and receiving the truth, because sometimes it can be such a gift.

I think the trick might be in leaving one's ego aside. I am not only talking about the person who is receiving the truth (that is a given), I am also talking about the person who is attempting to deliver it. Sometimes our egos get in the way of our effectiveness. 

Which brings me to George Jones singing The Cold Hard Truth. I do not usually listen to country music, but I definitely have some country favorites. When it comes to music I try to keep an open mind. Good thing, too, because otherwise I might have missed this old man singing his damn heart out: