IT’S ALL CONNECTED

 

Remember the rides we used to take, Mom?  I’d arrive from Colorado and you and I would “go drivin’” somewhere.  We’d go south, almost to Pittsburg, turn and go east to eat at Chicken Annie’s, and then carry home the leftovers.  You said if we got lost, we wouldn’t starve.

Another favorite drive was east to Nevada, Missouri, to visit the beautiful red brick and white trimmed buildings on the campus of Cottey College.  We’d have tea and talk about the projects of our PEO chapters that contributed to many of Cottey’s programs.

On other drives we visited local nurseries, and you walked among the rows of flowers and plants, identifying most of them by name.  One day, as we returned via back roads after an outing, you pointed toward a grove of pecan trees and reminded me of the times we carried sack lunches and went pecan gathering with friends.

That was years ago.  Now, if we take a ride, we stay in Ft. Scott.  A few months ago, when the weather was nice, we drove by Ft. Scott Community College. You remembered when the college was much smaller, and for awhile your writing group met in the lobby of one of the dorms.  Later, we took our usual drive to the cemetery, stopping by Dad’s gravesite and headstone.  When we drove away, just around the bend was a large polished marker, and you asked if we knew who was buried there.

I reminded you that it was not a grave, but a life marker for Gordon Parks, author of THE LEARNING TREE, the book (and movie) based on his life growing up in Ft. Scott.  As I read aloud his message of “Homecoming,” you listened.  Then you surprised me by remembering our drive around the community college, saying, “Didn’t we see something else about him?”

As I reminded you of our drive that day, I realized the many connections.  The message in the marker was connected to the art and writing and photography on display at the Gordon Parks Center for Culture and Diversity, which showed how his influence connected with people and places well beyond his Kansas roots. Parks inspired many people all over the world, including CNNs Anderson Cooper, who called Parks his hero, the man responsible for his spark about reporting.  You smiled when I told you that, asking if that Cooper was related to our neighbors.  I said I didn’t think so, but you did know the executive director of the Gordon Parks Center,Jill Warford, the daughter of your dear friend from church, Beth Warford Robinson.  And the Gordon Parks Center is housed in the Danny and Willa Ellis Fine Arts Center, and Danny and Willa were close friends with you and Dad.  Their daughter, my friend in junior high and high school, died in 1997 of breast cancer, and in her memory the Kathy Ellis Academic Hall was built.

Mom, you always said that our lives connect with everyone else’s lives, so what we did…or didn’t do, made a difference.  Like throwing rocks in a pond, we had to be careful of how hard and where we threw them, because they wouldn’t just sink to the bottom.  They made ripples, which made more ripples…

Thanks, Mom, for leaving a lifetime of ripples that make the world a better place.

Love, Marylin

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Buried Treasures

Dear Mom,

Last week when I was with you, when we got ready to take a ride I took your jacket from the back of the closet.  Hidden in a pocket were very old cookie crumbs wrapped in a piece of plastic, along with what might have once been apple or peach slices.  You squeezed one and shrugged, saying, “Hmm, well I think we can throw that away.”

Thinking about that still makes me smile, Mom.  It also reminds me of the surprises we found five years ago when I moved you and Dad to Presbyterian Village.  It had been hard deciding what to leave behind at the big house and what to take to the two-bedroom apartment.

It was only a few miles, and the movers had carefully transported the bureaus and display cabinets and chests of drawers in tact so we wouldn’t have to pack and then unpack the contents.  The next morning as we settled into the apartment, you and I discovered some unexpected items.  A moldy partial sandwich hidden at the back of Dad’s sock drawer; your missing driver’s license tucked beneath a chair cushion; your gold PEO pin stuck in the toe of a shoe.

We were amazed at some of the things we found, shocked by others.  Remember the leftover fabric you once stored in the bottom drawers of the big green cabinets, planning to someday make baby quilts for friends.  As you and I  emptied the colorful squares and scraps of ribbons, at the back of the drawer we found mouse droppings that lead us to a little skeletal carcass.  You wrinkled your nose and said, “Well I think we can throw this away now, unless you want it for something.”  Cringing, but also laughing, we emptied the drawer into a garbage bag and I hurried it out to the dumpster.  Then we scrubbed everything with strong cleaner.  When one of the staff came to see how you were settling into your apartment, you and I were drying the drawers with a hand-held hair dryer, and Dad was sitting in his chair, shaking his head.

One of things I carefully saved from the drawer, Mom, was a piece of linen rolled in tissue paper.  The pattern was partially completed with your careful, colorful stitching.  Flowers and cross-stitch borders surrounded little children’s happy faces, and in the middle was this verse:  “My Day Is Complete…I Heard A Child Laugh.”  I took it home and carefully washed it, Mom, and then I matched the thread and finished the handwork.

The framed sampler now hangs in the hallway near your great-grandchildren’s rooms.  On the back I’ve written information about when you started the handwork, when I finished it, and how this reflects your love for children and your philosophy that a happy child is one of the great joys in life.

Your mother had the same dedication to children, and for years she was the Sunday school teacher at their Brethren Church in Plattsburg, Mo.  You were a kindergarten teacher in Kansas City, and a Sunday School teacher and a CASA volunteer in Fort Scott.  Your daughter, son-in-law, and numerous nieces and nephews and great-nieces and nephews have been teachers.  Your granddaughter has been a Head Start and Reading Recovery teacher and is now devoted to teaching adult GED students to achieve their dreams.  And your youngest grandchild has continued the tradition in China, where he teaches English to young children of all ages.

The framed stitchery piece is a reminder of your devotion to children, and the wonderful continuing values of your family.  It also reminds me that sometimes you have to be willing to dig through the messes in life if you’re going to find the buried treasures.

You’ve been a great teacher, Mom, in many ways.  Thank you.

Love, Marylin