Remembering a friend
On Palm Sunday this year, a good friend of mine died. I had known her for nearly 30 years. Some people aren’t even married that long.
She was close to her 97th birthday. (She was born the same year as Queen Elizabeth, she liked to tell her friends.) So it wasn’t unexpected. But still. I miss having her on this earth. We all do.
Although she was old enough to be my mother (I know because her youngest of four children was around my age) she was truly just a friend.
We attended the symphony together and experienced excellent food at many a fine dining establishment. We shared a love of Trader Joe’s frozen mini quiches (back when I ate eggs and cheese) good chocolate and fine wine.
We spoke French together too, sometimes spending time sipping tea and just speaking in French.
We also both loved to read. I don’t know if she finished all of the Louise Penny books before she left us, but I know she tried. I sent her a few to help out over the years. In fact her last email to me was in August 2020, just after she had turned 94. She said, “Just wanted you to know that the other Louise Penney book you sent arrived this evening ........in the middle of a family crisis. My A/C has malfunctioned, and at bedtime the house is still quite warm.... I just peeked at the book you sent and was fascinated with the subject ... and the large print, very timely for me.”
But what we shared most was a love of Jesus.
I met her at a Messianic congregation. For several years we danced together in worship and rejoiced. (I picture her doing that now with all the — younger — dancing friends that have gone on before her. I’m thinking of you Rusty, Hideo and Jochanna.)
Early in our relationship she took off for a trek in the mountains. The campers walked with llamas that carried their tents and food. She was older than I am now. Although I now know that such hiking at this age isn’t as big a feat as I had thought, I was duly impressed at the time. It was one of the many things that attracted me to her.
She knew how to live. And she knew how to enjoy life.
Her wisdom was worth the most. The wisdom that came from her relationship with Jesus and her years of living. After all, she came of age during the WWII years.
When the Twin Towers went down in 2001 I remember her telling me how there sometimes are things that seem like a catastrophe but to not fret. It helped peel me away from the news with which I had become obsessed.
What kept her grounded (quite literally) and content was gardening. I think it also kept her young because she didn’t start to go downhill until after she was counseled to stop so she wouldn’t get hurt. I didn’t necessarily agree with that advice (but then I was no longer in Portland and couldn’t see what shape she was in). Twenty years earlier she had been counseled to move out of her house. Thankfully she didn’t listen then or I’m convinced we all would have lost her much earlier.
When she was in her late 70s (or was it early 80s) she fretted about buying her next car. She wanted a manual transmission again but she wondered if that was wise at her age. I suggested she buy the car she wanted. She got the stick shift and drove it until she didn’t feel safe driving anymore. In her 90s.
In the summer of 2010, when Betty was “only” 84, she sent an email to me (something we did regularly). She told me all about the wild life outside her window, noticing it in part because her cat “Nikki” brought it to her attention:
My wildlife has developed a protocol for feeding so to speak. The squirrels have their corn and occasionally peanuts in the shell. The birds have their sunflower chips. If I fail to put out corn every day, the squirrels have found that even with a protective cage covering the feeding ports of the bird feeder, they can tease the seed out with their tongues. So naturally I run them off, and put out the squirrel food. However, as I said there is a protocol for feeding. When the flickers come in to the bird feeder, they are very choosy, flipping out a lot of the seed they don't care for. As it falls to the ground, the squirrels begin to vacuum it up. Lately the crows have decided that seed is good also. There are three crows that come regularly: mama, papa, and “baby.” The baby is nearly full-grown, but still flutters his wings and opens his mouth to have the parents feed him. Needless to say he's the last in the pecking order. So for the birdseed, flickers rule, squirrels and crows dodge each other. Corn is mostly digested by the squirrels, but the crows manage to glean whatever drops to the ground. But peanuts! Wow! The squirrels go crazy trying to guard against jays and crows and other squirrels, because it's a one-squirrel feeder that holds the nuts. Life really gets challenging when a squirrel has filled his tummy with peanuts. He will grab a nut, hop to the ground and run across the yard to bury it in a flower bed. Meantime the jays and crows attack the squirrel food. Oh, but when Mr. Squirrel returns, he chases them all off and the scenario repeats. I never cease to be amazed at how three big crows scatter when the little rodent runs at them ... and how utterly fearless he is when protecting his food.
It is because of Betty that I came to understand how important gardening, or hiking or just being in nature is to the soul. She had the most beautiful yard. (Although she’d always notice the work to be done almost more than the beauty, like any good gardener.)
I treasured the rare times I got to just sit in her backyard and watch the birds or enjoy a bit of warm sunshine, which was only when she wasn’t around (i.e., when I was house sitting). Otherwise any time I was out with Betty she was reminiscing about when she first planted something, or teaching me how to properly trim bushes, or enlisting my help for something she couldn’t reach. (We were nearly a foot apart in height.)
One year she and I painted her living and dining rooms from top to bottom. After we had formed our plan and she had picked the shades of deep pink (one of which was the same color I had painted in a bedroom in my condo) her son decided to help.
The week after we finished the walls, she finished painting all of the cream trim close to the floor. To remember her, I painted a small bedside table in the shade of pink that started it all: Benjamin Moore’s Pink Corsage.
I really said good bye to her 17 years ago when I moved to Colorado, and at the end of every visit since then but here’s one last good bye. Betty you know how much I loved you. I am happy that you are with our Savior but we’ll miss you here on earth.