Remembering Nancy VIII: Easy Charm

Easy Charm: that comes close to describing Nancy.

But that was only part of how we experienced her. Four years ago, when I wrote her eulogy, I listed and elaborated upon her

unique, wholesome and unified identity,
tirelessly creative work ethic,
striking beauty,
intellectual and artistic talents, and
her extraordinary power to make all things beautiful.

Briefly put, Nancy knew exactly who she was, liked being herself, and never stopped growing. I loved being her teammate, and we often worked together around the clock. When we were young, our habit was to plan a project and work enthusiastically until it was complete. She had a fresh-faced, country-girl beauty. . .a beaming smile atop a slender-strong athlete's body. She had wonderful piano hands and sang beautifully. She could sketch and catch a likeness like magic. And she was a wonderful seamstress. She made striking quilts. She was a wonderful interior designer and made beautiful things.

But I come back to charm. . .because of all the things she was able to do extremely well, what won so many hearts among her loved-ones, friends, and colleagues was that she had a marvelous facility to make things beautiful. As I've said, Nancy could make beautiful things. Yet, there is something more, something elusive and magical about making things beautiful, about creating a beautiful atmosphere for others.

Here's a story that I hope clarifies what I mean.

It was late summer. Early that morning an angry thunderstorm had swept through quickly, leaving every surface damp. The rest of the morning, the sun barely showed behind a darkish grey, somber sky. The stiff breeze was damp and chilly. The first real chill of coming autumn was upon us.

Our first two granddaughters were visiting. Marisa was not quite four: a tiny-slender slip of a thing, perfectly formed, with shiny bright-whitish hair, deep-blue eyes, a beguiling smile, and a sweet manner that rarely varied. Jocelyn, not quite two, was also tiny, but a bit more sturdily built. Long-brownish hair, heart-seizing caramel eyes, and a quick-happy smile. The more aggressive of the two, she tumbled about like a dancer and was rarely still.

Both the kids were bright. Young though they were, they liked books, their tricycles, and messy cut-and-paste, painting-and-coloring, kindergarten-type learning activities. It was clear already they both were going to think school was the most fun-thing in their days. Bright lovely kids are a special blessing. Beware: most grandparents will tell you this sort of thing -- especially about their own grandchildren -- and tell you. . .and tell you. . .and tell you. . . .

But I'm trying to get to this story.

It was still dark out. Still sprinkling, wind all blustery.

School for Nancy and me was not yet in session. Marisa and Jocie had been visiting the past ten days.

Here's something about our child-rearing practices and the effect of these practices upon our home. After ten days of a visit by our granddaughters, the house was. . .rumpled, I guess I'll have to say. We were child-centered people, school-teachers. After a week or so, the long living room of our home was a magnificent array of scattered paint easels (over carefully-spread newspapers), mixed board games, plates of unfinished snacks, discarded clothing and sandals. . .and tents.

YES! Tents. You may not be aware that bed sheets, light-summer blankets, and tattered-old -- but too-dear-to-bediscarded -- bed spreads are only incidentally related to beds. Mostly they're tent-stock. For instance, you clamp one end of a large bedspread beneath the key-cover of a spinet piano, push the piano bench out three feet (completely blocking the traffic path), let the sides drop down to the rug, scatter some couch-pillows, and you have Sinbad's Cave. In fact, add a flashlight to the mix, and you have the perfect place to hide-away two seeming adults and two delighted children -- the perfect place to read any number of Sinbad picture books.

That narrow table behind the couch, with the bookshelves just beyond? Drop a blanket there, add more throw-pillows, invite-in a kitty or two. . .a perfect hideaway for reading Where the Wild Things Are -- or long passages from The Wind in the Willows. You might jam the corner of a large bedspread between two tight books high up on a shelf, blossom the far ends outward in a half-circle, secure the bottom ends with more books, thereby creating a (nearly) perfect teepee. Flavor well with two old wooden spoons, an old pan and a tom-tom, and whatever feathers you can dig out of Gramma's sewing drawers.

That long, high-armed-cozy couch across from the fireplace? Ask Grampa to push it back a few more feet from the fireplace, cover the whole of it with a double-bed comforter, throw in two large pillows and two summer blankets, and two sisters may even talk Gramma into letting them spend the night there. . .not a sure thing -- but maybe: at least for an afternoon nap.

And there are rules about such tents. Once erected and perfected, they stay up for the duration of a visit. Such refuges are limited only by the amount of spare bedding available. As I said: "The house was rumpled." The perfect child habitat. . .especially if the children are imaginative and like to act-out the books you read to them. . .and especially if you have collected Children's Books most of your life.

Look around your house. If you are of a certain age and your children have young children. If you have high-toleration for clutter. If you like books and story-telling. And if you are lucky: then, your grandchildren may come visit several times a year for two-weeks -- or more -- and clutter your life. You may also visit them and test their parents' toleration for loving clutter.

But I digress. The story. . . .

I awoke before light. The fireplace had burned down, the bedroom was chilly. I made a quick trip to the thermostat, clicked the lever from COOL to HEAT, pulled a quilt up from blanket-stool, jumped back into bed, and gathered Nancy in my arms.

A few minutes later I heard M&J's feet thumping as they crossed the hallway from their bedroom. Here they came tromping up between Gramma and me and slid down between us, all shivery and tooth-chattery. I pulled them close and pressed all three of us up against Gramma's warm body.

Soon we were warm. Conversation:

Marisa (prying one of Gramma's eyes open with light fingers): "We gonna go shopping today, Gramma?"

Gramma (head disappearing beneath her pillow): "Hhhhhhmmmmmph!"

Marisa (now full of life, sitting crossed legged, bending over Gramma, bubbling along smoothly): "To the Meijers? Groceries. We need cocoa and marshmallows. . .pretzels all gone. . . ." She ran through her fingers, sing-songing a lengthy list of her favorite snacks. This was not a meat&vegetable kid. Yet, for some reason, she always said THE Meijers, as if it were her favorite place to go.

Gramma (surfacing with sleepy-eyed interest. Smoothing Marisa's hair, pulling her close in a vain attempt to entice her back to sleep): "Maybe to the Stride-Right store for new shoes."

Both girls had tiny, narrow feet. We had discovered Stride-Right was the only store where we could find shoes that fit them.

Jocie (rearranging herself to place her little face beside Marisa's): "Oh Goooody! I need new sandals. . . ."

Gramma (now yawning, coming to life, tweeking Jocie's nose playfully, lightly snatching up Jocie's foot and nibbling at a toe): "Yer sandals're fine. Yer toes're pokin' through the endsa yer sneakers, you Silly Goose!"

A long conversation ensued: about buckle-shoes-just-like-Marisa's-PLEEEEZ. . . and some wide-eyed chatter about how-we-might-all-sleep-together-in-the-couch-tent-by-the-fireplace-and-stay-warm-tonight. . .and stuff like that.

The furnace had kicked on immediately. Pretty soon it had driven-out the chill. It was breakfast time. A long menu discussion filled with conspiratorial eye-rolling led to strawberry jam on toast, orange juice, milky cocoa, and one chewy vitamin each. Picky eaters, these kids. But Gramma was a Health-Educator. She understood nutritional requirements. There were no upsets over meals. And the kids were always energetic and always gained weight when they visited. In fact, our meals were always fun.

Breakfast complete, we bundled the girls best we could in their out-of-season clothing, added their light jackets, secured them in their car-seats, wrapped them in blankets, and headed for the mall.

First thing, we bought the girls some warmer clothing. But that turned out to be a long sojourn. The clothing they needed was still out of season. We tromped around from store-to-store until we finally found at Penney's some long-legged OshKosh corduroy jumpers and knee-length stockings -- just for good measure. Then on to StrideRight, where we had to order their shoes. A disappointment, though both found shoes that excited them.

By the time we finished those two projects, the kids were worn out, and we had to carry them . That wasn't the bad part. The bad part was they'd missed their short morning nap and were getting progressively tired and grumpy.

(Something like that never happened in my generation. . . .)


OKAY! Here's the short tail on this long dog. At last.

By the time we hooked the girls into their car-seats, they'd begun snapping at each other. Jocie declared in her best high-pitched, tearful whine: "Marisa's foot's on MY SIDE." That led to a series of ghastly charges and counter-charges which Gramma and I largely ignored. I tried vainly to redirect their attention with some dried-out Twizzlers I'd found in my jacket pocket. Kinda worked for awhile.

Gramma was somewhat disappointed as she navigated thick traffic north toward the closest entrance to the highway. I was disappointed too. The morning had started out so well. Now the girls were out of sorts. First time this visit. But we knew a nap would help.

At the last possible moment before the ramp, Gramma turned into MickeyD's, and bought two small hot chocolates at the drive-in window. She back-tracked about a quarter-mile, and pulled into a small park where there were swings and teeter-totters and some clean picnic tables.

A stiff North Wind blew up out of a creek bed behind the tables. But she and I were wearing long hooded wind-breakers with snaps and zippers. I took Jocie. Gramma took Marisa. We tucked them inside our windbreakers, zipped and snapped them in tight against us. Our hoods up, we sat squeezed tightly together on one of the tables, our backs to the wind.

It was chilly. But for about ten minutes Gramma and I sat hunched warmly together, our backs to the wind, the warm bodies of our grandchildren pressed tightly into our laps against our chests, their two tiny faces poking out just far enough to drink their warm cocoa through straws. They fell into blissful sleep before they could finish their cocoa.

We strapped them lovingly into their car-seats. They snoozed quietly all the way home and slept in our arms as we tucked them into their couch-tent by the fireplace.


I guess this story is about Nancy's even temperament and easy charm. I guess it's about her astonishing facility to remain calm and quiet, sensitive and resourceful, no matter what disturbing activity might be going on around her. She was so empathetic. She understood the children were worn out. She could feel their distress. She didn't get frustrated and angry with them.

Instead of thinking: "I'm gonna give them such a smack," she was thinking "What can I do to calm them down, to make them more comfortable?" She suspected that if we held them close, if we got them a small snack, then they would calm down. . .maybe even catch the nap they'd missed. And they did.

Now that I think of it,
she often worked the
same magic on me!

Happy Anniversary, Nancy!
Forty years. . .and counting.