Missing Sweet Jean

Today is the birthday of my amazing mother-in-law.  We haven't been able to hear her infectious laugh or have long talks with her in her den in over four years, but we think about her every day.  I doubt many people are as lucky as I was when it comes to in-laws.  I hit the jackpot, to be sure!

Tim's mom, Jean, (mostly referred to as Nanny in our house) quit suffering right before Christmas in 2008, but there are little pieces of her everywhere.  I couldn't have loved her more if she were my own Mom, and I thank God for allowing us to be family.

I wrote this just after she died, and it seemed a fitting tribute for her birthday.

My Tribute to Nanny

In December the world changed.  We lost our “Nanny”, and everything seems different now.  There is a welcoming smile and a fun laugh and two twinkling eyes that are no longer present here, and so the world is missing something special. 

It is hard for me to believe that I have only known Tim’s mother for eleven years, for it seems that she has been part of my life always.  I remember the day I met her, but I don’t ever remember a time that I did not feel close to her.  Somehow, upon meeting Jean Graham, you knew that you were known, that you were welcomed and that you were loved.  I am forever changed by that knowledge, and I thank God that my children knew that, too. 

While we begin to figure out life without Nanny, I have spent hours and hours remembering my favorite things about her, my funniest recollections, and my favorite memories.  I remember exact moments – like the sound of her voice when we called to say that we were engaged or her entrance into the hospital room when Molly was born, coming out of her heavy sweater, handing over her purse, running to the bed and saying, “Give me that baby!”  But I remember predictable moments, too, that happened again and again.  I know the wide-eyed look, as she peered  over the back of her chair when we entered the back door, and I hear her saying, “Come in the house.”  I remember the look in her eyes and the feel of her hands as she settled herself, and told me just where to put the baby in her lap.  I remember the laugh, again and again, and I remember so many fun times around the table playing whichever game we happened to be playing at the time.  I remember her patience with my children – that she had as much time as needed to wait for them to figure out a card game or to trample dirt through the living room or to take half of the kitchen ware into the yard to make “pies” and “cakes.”  I will forever remember that everyone in town, it seems, called to check in with her daily, and I hope I can always hear in my mind the way she said, “MmmmmHello” as she answered the phone. 

What I will miss most, though, is harder to describe, and I suspect that many others will miss the same. What I will miss most is the unspoken understanding that I shared with her.  It is not easy to explain, but it was very easy to feel.  From the moment we met, I felt that we shared some special secret, some special way of knowing what the other was thinking.  I treasure the talks we shared, the looks we exchanged and the times we could not stop laughing about things that probably were not even that funny.  So often, I had the sense and the assurance that she knew what was going on with me, what I was thinking, what I was wishing.  I treasure the simple moments we shared in the living room – I was always on the couch and she was always in her  chair – and it was always easy. 

So that, I guess, was one of her greatest gifts to us all.  She made things easy.  It was easy to be known by her, it was easy to be loved by her, it was easy to be comforted by her, and it was easy to feel happy with her.  I am forever changed by her and by the love and the life that she and Granddaddy built together.  It has been easy to be their daughter-in-law and one of the great blessings of my life. There will never be a time that I don’t miss Nanny, but I am thankful for all of the pieces of her that I see in my children and for the times that Tim sounds just like her.   And every now and then I smile, hoping that she is laughing in the middle of the best game of “Hand and Foot” ever.  I love you, Nan

Birthdays, Bocce Balls and Spoiling Grandmas!

Fall is in the air this morning, but I'm still catching up on posting some summer fun!  Enjoy these sweet faces, taken on a stifling hot day.  This awesome gang was celebrating birthdays, having a blast outside and enjoying some down time with family.

It was wonderful to be with them and a reminder to slow down and enjoy one another.  On this day I was thought back to many special times of my childhood.  I remember how it feels to be in the safety of the adult's circle of conversation, where kids can play, laugh, sit and listen, daydream, snack, and play some more.  It doesn't get much better than that!  I wonder if I'm offering my children enough of that, and I appreciated this wake-up call

. 

My dear friend, Evelyn, is often teaching me things, and our photo session was one more lesson!

What she affords her grandchildren is priceless.   

Love.

Laughs.

Crazy times.

Fun.

And . . . bocce ball!  

I'm always thankful to be part of memory making, and I love thinking about these kids looking back on  these photos with their own children.

List 24 - The world's most perfect foods . . .

Maybe it's because I skipped dinner at the swim meet, I'm not sure.  Whatever the reason, I realized late last night that this list must make it to the blog.

As I've said before, we're getting to know each other.  We must share these things.

As usual on the Friday list, this is not exhaustive, nor or the items in any order.  (I'm already excited to get your additions!)

These, friends, are my nominees for the world's most perfect foods:

• 1.  My grandmother's sweet potato biscuits.  

• 2.  Homemade potato chips with blue cheese crumbles from the Buckhead Diner.

• 3.  Bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwiches on soft white bread, with Dukes Mayonnaise, created in Mary Clark's tiny kitchen in Greenville, Georgia.

• 4.  Crab Fritters, with the most incredible sweet and sour sauce (don't think anything you've ever had at an American Chinese restaurant - nothing like it) at Bacchanalia.  I must tell you here that this  entry is how the list got its name.  A few years ago, I was talking with my good friend, Fifi, about these fritters.  Her response was, "without a doubt, the world's most perfect food."  

• 5.  Scrambled egg, bacon, mustard sandwiches on Sunday night.

• 6.  Bbq pork sandwich with cole slaw at Fresh Air Barbecue in Flovilla, Georgia - because, really, who wouldn't want to eat in Flovilla?

• 7.  The Fox Brothers Burger at Fox Brothers BBQ on Dekalb Avenue in Atlanta.  This sandwich has nothing whatsoever to do with a burger and it will change your life as you know it.  Call ahead for an ambulance to meet you outside.

• 8.  A slice of my grandmother's poundcake, toasted with butter.  (I made no claims about the healthiness of this list.)  There's a good chance that we'll be greeted in heaven with a slice of this.

• 9.  Peanut butter and honey sandwiches at Gaines Elementary School in Athens, Georgia.

• 10.  Baked Oysters (or anything else) at Indian Pass Raw Bar.  Be forewarned, you will moan.

I'll take 'learn some manners' for 100, Alex . . .

THIS IS A WARNING.  I AM ABOUT TO RANT.  PLEASE BE ADVISED THAT RANTING IS FORTHCOMING.  YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

Sunday was Mother's Day, a special day.  Many of us had warm experiences, surrounded by loved ones.  We are fortunate, to be sure.  I had a wonderful day.

My kids and I surprised my grandmother (their great grandmother) by showing up at her church just before the service began.  Working to get everyone ready and make our way an hour away was certainly worth it.  When I saw the look on my grandmother's face, it was clear that her Mother's Day had been made!  We were joined by my Dad, my Step-mom and my uncle, and we filled the pew where my grandmother usually sits alone.  It was a special moment.

Our afternoon went along as you might imagine . . . a big dinner, put together with love, more relatives and the following few hours filled with talks and laughs and 'shows' by the children and stories about 'the old days.'  It was the type of afternoon we don't have much anymore; a time I won't forget.  I reveled in the visiting time with the family that filled the oft-quiet living room, and I treasure the giggles on my childrens' faces as they laughed with the family members who used to make me laugh as a child.

My kids presented (they don't give gifts - they present them) our home-made gifts to the delighted Mamas in the room, and we missed the ones that were not with us.  Everyone kicked off shoes, got comfortable and savored our time together.  There were all of the ingredients to the perfect family afternoon.  It was rainy and gray outside, but cozy and satisfying in our circle in my grandmother's den.  We were all happy to give up the Sunday afternoon nap to experience the rare time together.

I loaded our left-overs and my children into our van to leave, and they quieted themselves into car activities for the rainy ride home.  I was left in the front seat with memories and thoughts and thankfulness.  I remembered a lot on the drive home.  I thought back about similar days I lived in my childhood, other times I relished in the love and closeness of family.

I thought about why the day seemed so different than so many days of the present . . . and then it hit me.

To be sure, the day was different because our group doesn't get to assemble often, and we rarely take the time to really visit with each other.  We rarely remember to stop our present to make new memories, to allow our children the safe feeling of sitting amongst a group of loved ones, listening to the stories and the memories and the funny tales.  We rarely do that, but that wasn't what made it different.  That wasn't what made me take such notice.

As I drove home on that rainy Sunday, I realized the present day menace that was missing from the day.  I realized the palm-sized communication tool which was not present.  I realized one more BIG reason that the day was different.

Our warm celebration was different because there was not a cell phone present.  Not one time during our afternoon visit did anyone take their attention away from the important people in the room to give attention to their phone.  No one checked their email.  No one looked down to answer a text.  No one absent-mindedly played a game.  No hand slipped into a pocket to grab their black security blanket.  No one.

Can you believe it?  I am struck by the huge difference that made in our day.  Our attention was actually in the room, on the people with whom we celebrated.  We were really talking to the people in the room with us.  We were a circle of adults and children without anyone sneaking a glance into a lap to attend to someone, something far away.  Nothing was more important than where we were, what we were doing.  Our emails waited.   I missed a text.  Our kids didn't play any games.

We looked at each other.  We laughed.  We snuggled.  We hugged.  We told stories.  We listened to each other.  We were there, in the room.

And that, I realized on the drive back home to the present, was a huge difference in our day.

I don't presume to suggest that I don't count on my phone.  I do.  I check my email over and over during the day.  I text many times.  I end my night, on my phone, playing word games with friends I don't even see!  I take my phone everywhere.  It is my watch, my computer, my calendar.  I'm guilty of looking at it when I shouldn't.  I have snuck it out of my pocket during boring meetings - I have.

But I'm sad, friends, about what we've allowed to happen with these new 'necessities.'  We forgot our manners; we don't remember how to be polite.  More important than that, though, we are missing the people in our presence.

I don't like it.

Sunday I had a taste of what life used to be like, and I remembered how good it felt.

Think back.  It was nice.  Imagine sitting with friends or family and having them there, in the conversation.  Imagine being with people who are actually there with you, looking into your eyes and not sneaking glances downward at their phone.

I'll stop here.  I won't go on and on.  I won't rattle off the stories about the impoliteness (at the very least) that I've witnessed in the last few years.  I want to, but I won't.

But I know one thing - I want to show my children something different.  I want them to be in the midst of adults who see them, who look into their eyes and who do not divert attention to someone more important in another town.  Who is more important?  Why can't it wait?

Sunday was special.  I want more of it.  I want you to get some, too.

I want my kids to have memories like mine.  I don't want them to remember looking at the top of or heads as we look at our phones.





And now, we have a winner to announce!  Yesterday's photo tripped up a lot of folks.  I'm impressed with your guesses!

This was the mystery photo . . .

And this is what it was . . . 

We only had four correct guesses!  Thanks for playing, friends.  The winner, drawn at random from random.org, is Rodrick B.  Way to go!  Let me know when you all are ready for your photo session on me!  

Ohhh, that's how y'all do it?

My grandmother is wonderful and she is very funny.  She has been quite gracious over the years about allowing us to laugh 'with' her.  She laughs a lot and she is perfectly comfortable laughing at herself.  She has taught me about why that is important.

She says funny things.  Often.  She says funny things and we latch onto them, and she has to hear them, repeated with a sarcasm only afforded to family members, for years and years.

A few years ago (I believe it was while playing cards), she said, "Oh, that's how y'all do it?  That's not how we do it.  We . . . . . "

Let me break this down for you.  Here is what it really means.  You poor thing; you do it like that?  Oh, Honey, precious darling, that's not the right way.  Let me tell you the right way to do it and then you'll know.


For instance, 'Oh you play cards like a bunch of morons under water?  Allow me to show how to really play.  There are rules.'

Or 'Sweetie, you actually cook in this kitchen?  I'll bring the correct accoutrement next time, so we can actually cook something.'

Do you get the picture?  She has an understanding of things in a way that little ole us just cannot grasp.  It's that simple.

Well, sometimes a granddaughter must borrow a phrase from her paternal grandmother, and so today I am putting her quip to good use.  Today I will be the one who really gets it and you will be the y'all.  Here goes . . .


Oh, that's how y'all do it?  You put a load of sorted laundry into the washer.  And then you swiftly change them to the dryer, pulling them out just ahead of the finish time to avoid wrinkling.  Then you gently take the fresh, clean clothes and gently place them upon a folding surface, flat and smooth and clear of debris.  And then you immediately set about folding them perfectly, while each clothing item is a morsel of springtime.  Next, of course, you move quickly and efficiently from room to room, lovingly stacking and arranging each loved one's latest cleansed wardrobe items in each photo-worthy closet.  


That's how you do it?  How odd.  How very odd.


That's not how we do it.   We throw a load of clothes into the washer on the way outside to deliver someone to somewhere and the wet laundry in the washer just has to sit at the end of the wash cycle, one moist piece upon the other.  


Next, we remember we need to change over the load to the dryer and we say a word or two that might not be acceptable in mixed company and we dash up the stairs towards the laundry room, barely missing the masses of abandoned items on the stairs.  


Then we transfer the clothes into the dryer, though a few smaller pieces fall out and land on the floor.  (We'll deal with them later, when we decide whether they are dirty and need to go into the washer or if the are clean and need to find their way to the dryer.)  


We forget about the lonely load by then, dismissing the finishing bell as some 'strange noise' we cannot explain.  


The clothes then spend some good, quality time inside the dryer.  The wrinkles set in while everyone in there gets to know each other better.  


Next, some someone, some desperate someone, in search of the one item that will make their outfit complete; pulls open the dryer door with the strength of the Jolly Green Giant and sticks a head into the dryer well to fetch said item.  At this point, a few more pieces from the load take their place in the floor.  Someone will deal with that later, this someone dreams.


Someone else comes along - someone attempting to be helpful - finds the long-left load in the dryer and lovingly wraps both arms around the wrinkled mess and whisks it away to the safety of the big white chair in Mama and Daddy's room.  

While upon the white chair, some of the laundry that is clean falls close to some of the clothes that were dirty, and there is a melding, a joining together, of these two very different animals.  It confuses us and so we walk away.

That's how WE do it!

And now for a word about yesterday's WHAT IS IT? photo contest.

The mystery photo looked like this:

And it was actually part of this:

There was no random drawing this morning between the correct answers - there were many guesses but only one was right!  Amy H. is the winner!  Yay!  Amy, would you like the photo session or  the accordian mini-album?

Thanks for playing, friends!

Monday Morning Mary George

I'm forgoing the usual 'Monday Morning What is it?' because this is a special week - this week I've decided to use the whole week to highlight an incredible person I've known.

On Saturday I woke up and realized that it was my Mother's birthday.  Of course I had known that before that morning, but the busy week had let it slip from my mind.  When it came back to me, I took a few moments to just think about her.  I spent a little more time than usual to consider how old she would be if she were still alive and what she might be doing.  I guess I've done that before, but maybe I've not given myself the time to really let it sink in.  On Saturday I did.  I thought about how it had been twenty one years since I last saw my Mom and I thanked God that most days I can still hear her laugh in my head.  Twenty one years is a long time.  A long time when you consider all that happens in lifetimes in twenty one years.

I did the math and realized that my mother would have been seventy three on Saturday and thought about how different that is from fifty two.  It was a lot to think about.  My sister and I, and all of my Mom's friends and family, have done a lot of things since we've seen her.  A lot has happened.  Of course I've kept her posted and I have a strong sense that she knows the good stuff, the way we all are doing.

I thought about devoting the blog this week to her and I instantly liked the idea.  And then I had a little laugh - my Mom never knew about blogs.   She was such a writer, I'm sure she would have one today if she were still here!  I can just imagine all of the stories she would tell, all of the ways that she would have us all en-rapt and laughing and crying and thinking.

Maybe her story-telling is what I'll tell you most about.  There is lots to say about Mary George Dean Murphy; but if I had to describe her in one word, there is no doubt that the word would be storyteller. 
I have a sense that those of you who knew her are nodding your heads right about now.

This week I want to tell you some of her stories, and let her tell you some.  I want to tell you about how hilarious she was, what a devoted and life-changing teacher she was and I want to tell you about her bravery.  I don't want to make her perfect.   That would not be fair.  I won't tell you that we got along perfectly in all of our twenty seven years together or that my Mom's life was full of bliss.  No one's life is perfect and that wouldn't do justice to the many layers that were her life.  I remember a conversation I had with my good friend and priest, Martha, just after Mom died.  Martha gave me insight about remembering my Mom and she urged me not to do the 'easy thing' and make her perfect in death.  That was good advice.  Lives are too full of too many different things, and sweeping the hard stuff under the table seems too much like erasing part of the life.  My Mom's life was wonderful and hard and complex and interesting and rich and so much more.  I can't tell that story in one week, but it will be fun to try.  Thanks for coming along on the ride.

I've read that blog posts should be short and concise - excuse me, as I ignore that rule.  Today I want to let my Mom tell a story.  I want you to meet her (or reunite with her) with her as narrator.    Narrator was a role she liked!

Like me, my mother had close relationships with both of her grandmothers and they meant a great deal to her.  She often told me about all that she learned from each of them, different things that made her life richer and wiser.  Mama Jones, her mother's mother lived in the country and Mama Dean, her father's mother, lived in the city.  They couldn't have been any more different.

 Mama Dean (the town grandmother) and Mama Jones (the country grandmother)

I knew Mama Dean (the one from the city) and loved her.  If I could do her justice, I would write a book about her.  She was larger than life and left us with boocoos (did you get that flashback to an earlier post?) of stories.  Mom never got to write her story about Mama Dean, and she wanted to.  She told me often that she was attempting to come up with the right story, the one that would paint a picture of Mama Dean.  She had figured out how to illustrate Mama Jones, but she was working on what to say about her other grandmother.

So, this story is about Mama Jones, her country grandmother.  When I came into the picture, Mama Jones was a tiny woman, quiet and very old.  My mother could make me see what she had been in life, but I did not witness it myself.  My mother told me some of her magic, and I've always been grateful to have this story.

It's long, but I hope you'll find time to read it.  I think you'll enjoy it.  I imagine that it can be a fun respite from this world to take a few moments and read about another time.  Maybe you can wonder about some of the folks in your family who lived before.

Enjoy this gift from my Mom . . .