Anniversary

Before Nabby beat me to it, I ought to say that today is my husband's and my fifth anniversary. That seems startling, in one sense, but not so surprising in others. He's missed a few years for deployments or training, so our anniversary isn't that big a deal in truth. I have written small "updates" each year in the section of the book that was our wedding guest book, an idea that I think L. decided she'd adopt too.
That brings me to another point- it's really not needed to have something that's sold as a guest book for that purpose. Any nice book will do, but I think it's important to have that. Unless you have a very small wedding, you won't remember all of the people who were there. Guests often have something special to say. And it's a wonderful way to remember people who are gone. Alas, in only five years gone there are at least four lovely people who have died, including the Epples, whose messages are there in our guest book.

L. also had the Epples' favorite flower, daffodils, on the guest book table at her wedding, in their memory. I think that was very special.

In father's words, I about blew a gasket!

You need to understand several things about Father.

1.He is known for some odd turns of phrase (such as the above.)

2. He can be dramatic.

3. He will tell you unequivocally that Theodore Roosevelt stands as the greatest of our presidents.

4. He does look a little bit like TR.

Now that you know that, the story will make some sense. I have an old copy of Theodore Roosevelt: Man of Action, one of those orange-covered biographies that were available in the 60s. My original copy was library discard from the school where I went for grade school; that one we had gotten rid of but then my uncle got me a new copy as a joke several years later. At any rate it's a very good child's biography of TR.
Bluebonnet pulled that off the shelf today and looked at it. Next thing I knew, she was looking at an illustration of TR playing with his children, and telling me "Opa, Opa"!

Father will laugh fit to kill when I tell him this.

Time travel, of a sort.

My father-in-law (hereinafter, The Historian) and I have a wonderful rapport. As you might surmise, there's a shared interest in history of many kinds, as well as several other shared interests (cars, cooking, etc.) We also get along very well. He loves to tease me, as do most people, and at least with him I can give as good as I take.
The Historian followed his father's example in keeping a diary for many years. His father, whom I'll call The Naturalist, was not a man I had the privilege of knowing. The Naturalist died in early 2006 and had Alzheimer's disease for several years before. While I met him once, it was only once and he was, I was told, only a shadow of his former self.
The Naturalist's diaries are in posession of The Historian, and I have been allowed the privilege of reading some of them. (I'm sure I'll be permitted to read all of them, but have only just begun.) It is a thorough privilege indeed. The Naturalist taught in a rural school in upstate New York, among many other things. I've been reading his diary for 1940 right now. His writing style is wonderful- I can picture just what he's describing, and laugh at the sight that it brings to mind some of the time. (He had work painting a garage, which he described as "sloppy work" for which he was wearing "an old raincoat and boots." I'm picturing this man in one of those wonderful bright yellow Mackintoshes of the 1920s, painting this garage. It's even funnier when you know that he had hair the color of a copper penny.)
This is unusual reading, but very well worth it.

The Epples' Memory

Lawrence was a devoted member of the Rotary Club, and both Nancy and Lawrence loved their gardens. Fittingly, the Woodbury Rotarians are going to dedicate a portion of a garden as an Epples' Memorial Children's Garden.

If only they could have balloons there too!

Anne of the Island- spoiler alert in case you haven't read them!

When my cousins and I got into one of our book discussions about a year ago, we got on to the Anne books. My uncle, overhearing us, commented that he's always rather infuriated with Anne for the length of time it takes her to decide to marry Gilbert. I laughed at the time, nodded and thought my uncle was right.
I'm re-reading my falling-apart copy of Anne of the Island right now, and am even more convinced that he was correct. For the first time in my memory I have found myself crying over one of the Anne books. Gilbert is so incredibly patient, and loves Anne so thoroughly, that my heart breaks for him even though I know what will happen in the end. I think Anne's "relationship" with Royal Gardner is extremely ridiculous- the sort of thing that she would have imagined for herself, and indeed did imagine for herself. In light of Philippa falling in love with someone so utterly unlike anyone she thought she'd marry, it's painful to see Anne insisting that she must have only her ideal herself. How utterly blind she is!
I was reminded, by Gilbert, of R., the man who's about to marry my lifelong best friend L. in a couple months. L. and R. had met while L was involved with someone else, and from all I can tell it was similar. R. didn't push anything- he just waited until L. made up her mind. Same as Gilbert. I have no idea if R. has any knowledge of the Anne books, but I sat down and wrote a note, which I dated the day of their wedding and will put in with the cards at the reception, mentioning Gilbert and more or less telling him to take good care of one of the best girls ever.

P.s.- there's a hilarious chapter that immediately follows Anne's rejection of Gilbert. In that regard LM Montgomery did a very good job of comic relief. The same is missing from after Jo's rejection of Laurie in Little Women.

The Epples' Funeral

I think I can do this now.

Bluebonnet and I took a train from Richmond to Philadelphia on Sunday afternoon (November 23) to be able to be there. My father met us, having left my mother and a friend from the PEO chapter working feverishly on photo collages to use at the reception after the service. Father had done "tech support" in scanning and printing myriad pictures so that the collages could potentially go to Missouri for the subsequent services there. Nancy's mother had sent a number of older photos of a younger and exceedingly gorgeous Nancy, which ended up occupying most of the frames my parents own.
Mother's and Nancy's (and my, formerly) PEO chapter also took on the task of dessert for the service; that was a monumental task! We had no idea how many people to prepare for, but in the end probably served a couple hundred. The funeral itself was moved from the smaller Episcopal church to the much larger Catholic church, and and funeral directors rented the parish hall in the basement for our reception.
I spent part of Monday morning visiting and helping at the pediatrics office. Having worked for the Epples off and on during vacations for several years, I really found I belonged to both the "friends" and "office" category. I felt like I needed to do something there, where they're hit the hardest. I was glad to hear that several other pediatricians in the area have been helping, seeing patients, etc; there will be some legalities that may be complicated since the Epples were the sole owners of the practice. Meanwhile, Mother and Bluebonnet bought paper products and got things lined up for the afternoon.
Thankfully, my father-in-law was able to come to my parents' house mid-afternoon so Mother and I could get to the church to help set up. It was not quite 2:45 when we arrived and already people were streaming through to pay their respects. This was a closed-casket funeral, so it was termed "calling" rather than a viewing. We ran around setting up in an unfamiliar church (with some assistance from members of the parish). Eventually we all found a few rows in the front of the sanctuary, but I'm not sure how many of us PEOs went through the line. That line stretched out the door and down the sidewalk half a block, for over three hours.
Lawrence had a longrunning shtick of making balloon animals; most of the folks who work there have also learned to make them. They made quite a few for the children and young people, Lawrence's patients, to take at the funeral. Some laid them on the caskets, and others took them along. It was seeing that, a little girl of about 8 holding one, that made me fall apart in tears the first time. Otherwise I held it together until we left the church.
Many of the women wore interesting clothes that Nancy would have liked, or in several cases, wore jewelry that she'd given them. Several men paid extra homage to Lawrence by wearing funny ties (Donald Duck, crayons, etc.).
The service was a high Episcopal mass, which felt like a Catholic mass in which it was acceptable for a Presbyterian to take part! There were a few laughs over some of the stories told- you had to know the Epples and the way things just happened with them, and everyone knew some of those stories!
This is never something I would have expected we'd have to do. There's a member of the PEO chapter who turned 103 this year, and I can only imagine how strange she feels about outliving someone like Nancy, fifty years her junior. Tonight the chapter was meeting. The Christmas meeting was always wonderful, but I imagine it was sad tonight, with a gaping hole in the roll call and the room.

We've stopped holding our breath

Lawrence Epple is gone, too.

Who will cook the corn now?

Goodbye. We love you both so much.

No way to say goodbye

First of all: If you live in or are thinking about living in a house more than forty years old, please have an electrician come and take a very thorough look at your wiring.

"Pediatrician loses wife, home in fire"

It sounds so, well, newspaperish, which it is, but...when that wife is among the best friends your parents have, and is one of your own closest friends, it sounds pretty cold. The article can't tell the world how Nancy Epple could leave a group aching with side-splitting laughter when she told a story about her own predicaments, or how they kept Santa Claus hats in their suitcases so they could send Christmas cards with pictures from exotic and frequently incongruous locations. The reporter doesn't know how many thousands of children have been through the practice, or how Lawrence makes room in a schedule already too tight to see kids at the last minute, or what a little family the practice's staff have become over the years. (I did their filing during college, so I know the office from the inside.)

What, oh, what, do you do now?

We love you, Nancy J.

A Charming Book!

Yesterday I read a little book called A Necklace of Raindrops, by Joan Aiken. It's not new, although the copy from the library wasn't very old either. It's a collection of original stories, each separate from each other. I'm hesitant to call them fairy tales because that's somewhat the feel, but not the typical medieval fairy tale setting; they're more latter-day without feeling too "modern". One story concerns a quilt carried off by a thief, and another has the characters in a girl's books coming to life to play at night.

I was blessed enough to learn a little bit about the craft of storytelling from a dear lady who went on to Heaven a few years ago (at age 90). Her name was Sally Gottschling, and everyone who knew her, would tell you that she was the storyteller. (Some of the best stories she told were ones which put herself at the punchline! Ever since she taught me the little that I know about how to tell stories, I've kept my radar out for stories that would be good to tell. I think one of the stories in this book, "The Three Travelers," is one that I'd like to learn for telling. My repetoire is limited right now, with only three that I can truly tell well and without practice- and two of those are for Christmastime!

A Necklace of Raindrops is a definite gem, which I'd have no reservations about any child reading.