Mom's Bench

Uncle Ival and Aunt Jodi have an orchard they've built in honor of Mom.  They had this bench made to sit at its entry.   It couldn't be more perfect.

The Weeping Willow

The man held a cylinder container toward his granddaughter, “This is for you but it’s not a toy.”  The child’s four year old hands reached for the decorated tin and took possession while listening to her grandfather speak.  “Inside are some of Grandma’s ashes and we’re going to spread them beneath her willow tree.”

   

Although the child was not yet two when the woman passed they had had a strong connection and she remembered more about her grandmother than could be expected of someone so young.   She understood why the object she held was not a toy and she knew how special the willow was because her uncle, who was now holding her hand, had shared the stories before he hung her swing underneath the tree’s protective canopy.

As the child’s aunt and mother led them slowly down the hill, her grandfather explained what she already knew,  “Your grandmother and uncle planted this tree when we built our home, and she watched it every day as it grew.  When she became sick it was fully grown, but she still watched it each morning while the sun came up.  It made your Grandma very happy.”

The family stood above the tree’s roots that were buried deep beneath, unsure of how to begin when the beautiful little girl broke the silence, “Okay, we need to hold hands.”   The four gave each other an amused grin and did as the child instructed before she said a few words that meant nothing in particular yet everything in the world.  When she finished speaking they took their individual tins and, one by one, let a little more of the woman they loved go.  

When the last of the ashes were beneath the tree the child took some of the fallen leaves and placed them in her container.  “This is where we put our heart pieces,” she said.  Her family observed in silence and wonder.  “And now we need to hold hands again, but this time we need to stand in a circle.”  She didn’t form sentences but spoke words of importance with more purpose than before, and as she came to a close a breeze blew in.  The child looked up with satisfaction, “See, that got the leaves going.”  

With astonished laughter and sun filled tears they listened to the tree’s whispers until all was said and carried away with the wind. A moment later the family made their way up the hill with their mystical communion floating in their heads and their heart pieces in beautifully wrapped tin.  

-Kelli Parker, 2014

Jack of all Trades & Queen of Many

Mary sent this note to me a while back.  It made me smile...  Mom was so talented at so many different things... It is likely because she was born with a gift but I also like to think it is because she didn't waste a minute of a single day.

Jim Everrett stopped by my office last week in a panic; he was looking for someone who does calligraphy.  He asked me, “Mary do you do calligraphy?”  I said no and he looked at me and shook his head and said “Pam did calligraphy”.  OF COURSE PAM DID CALLIGRAPHY, WHAT COULDN’T PAM DO?!!! 

It reminded me of how much she is missed even on such a small scale and how much we leaned on her.  And it reminded me of her attitude that if someone thought she could do something she must be able to. 

Thanks Mary!

Make it a Beautiful One

By now, most of you who keep up on Mom’s blog know that she left her journal for us and that I have been gradually making my way through it.  She filled it with regular accounts of her days and, often, drew a sketch or painted a watercolor.  There is a reoccurring theme throughout every page of pure happiness and absolute joy for the little pleasures in life.  Even her rare entry where she describes her hardest moments; the treatments, the pain, the disappointing test results, the side effects, her emotional challenges… she always managed to end on the positive.  Most of what she wrote was about all the wonderful things she felt life gave her, and almost every page speaks of its beauty, wonders and her own personal luck. 

In November, 2010, she opened by describing the splendor of her view; the snow covered foothills that filled her heart from sunrise until sundown.  She moved into writing about all the projects she had going and the joy of keeping her hands busy; she called her studio “a dream.”  And then she shared more about her good fortune to have the things she had, especially after starting with so little as a young couple:

“As teenagers (married and pregnant) we aspired to make ends meet and demonstrate to the nay sayers that we could do a good job.  It was a day to day life, but our determination and hard work, resulted in so much more than one can expect.  Can you tell that I love my life?"

Mom was speaking of what her hard work resulted in for her; a comfortable life with an area where she could create things for others and play with her friends and family in.   But I know first-hand how much more came from it.  And I also know for certain that she never truly grasped what all her hard work did for others. 

Many people benefited from my mother’s ability to see that all things were possible and that by working selflessly and thoughtfully everyone would have a chance to benefit.  The YMCA and a group of incredible individuals recognized what Mom left behind and held a room naming and ribbon cutting in her honor; to remind the community exactly what those things were. 

I was not able to attend, but friends were sending photos and messages to give me the play by play and several sent word afterwards that it was a very nice event and that they definitely want to start having parties in the terrific room!

Mom loved getting people together and creating memories so I can’t think of anything better for that room than making sure it gets used by the community and friends she loved.

My brother-in-law took a set of photos and I have selected a handful to share; making sure to pick some of all those who helped make the day special.  I’ll probably add a few more over time...

Ribbon Cutting & Room Naming

A Class Act

Our friend Greg Warren sent this...

Josh and I were driving to our project site near Carey on a fall morning in 2006. We stopped at the store in Fairfield, and happened to see Pam, who was on the way to her job in Hailey with The Nature Conservancy. The Hemingway House in Ketchum had been donated to TNC, and Pam was staying there in the downstairs apartment. She invited us to stop by that evening for a drink and appetizers and a tour of the historic dwelling. After work Josh and I stopped by the store for provisions and headed over. Pam showed us around the house, which was fascinating in its design and history. Pam showed us the sporting goods closets that still contained some of Hemingway’s outdoor gear. We stood in the very spot in the entryway where Hemingway tragically ended his own life. After the tour, we repaired to the outdoor patio to have a drink and some appetizers. Josh and I had brought relatively simple fare that likely included beer, chips and salsa. As always, Pam had assembled a beautiful array of nice meats, cheeses and wine. We all sat on the patio talking, looking out over the Big Wood River, and listening to the sounds of the rushing water and the breeze blowing through the yellowing cottonwood leaves. As the evening went on and it began to get dark, great storm clouds assembled to the west, the wind began to gust, and the sky began to thunder and lightning. Huge raindrops plastered the patio and grounds. Sitting there on the patio of Hemingway’s House, which to me certainly seemed to contain spirits, the storm only added to the magical and haunting quality of the evening. It was a fine way to spend an evening with a beautiful and classy woman, and I often think of it with fond memories.

Epilogue: A couple of years later, when Pam worked for Bogus Basin, she was charged with bringing appetizers to a company function. Once again, in her elegance and class, she prepared an astounding array of delicious items. Apparently, the more “working-class” employees of Bogus were relatively non-plussed and reticent to eat the nice food that Pam had prepared. These folks inquired on more than one occasion “Ummm….where’s the chips and dip and beanie weenies in barbeque sauce?”. 

Ah Pam. We love you. 

Hair

Several years back I was requested to write a letter to a friend who was about to have a baby.  The instructions to all of her friends was to write their personal advice on how best to raise her daughter. 

This is a tall order for someone who doesn’t have kids of her own, even for someone as opinionated as I am, so I had to give it a lot of thought.  In the end, I decided to go with two of the many things I felt my own mother did right when raising me:

1. allow your children to make their own mistakes and let them fix them on their own.  (I think I made comment that Mom would often help me find my bootstraps but she left it up to me to use them and pick myself back up) 
2.  accept your daughter for exactly who and how she is

Mom was amazing at accepting whatever stage I was going through (I “re-defined” myself a lot) and often she was more than accepting; she was proud. 

I recall only a few times in my life that she questioned my decisions and in all instances she ended up accepting my reasoning.  With a few rare decisions she didn’t necessarily find herself liking the result but she accepted them.  And with a couple other unusual choices she ended up being so ok with it that she quickly followed.

Parents aren’t born with these tools for having an open mind when children do things so completely differently than they had believed they would. Parents have to choose to learn them; they have to see the value and want it. 

I can’t imagine how hard it would be to see my daughter walk through the door and not recognize her.  But Mom felt it was more important to accept it than to get it and so she made it a priority to open her mind to whatever we came at her with. 

It is something I did have the chance to thank her for because I have known for quite some time that a couple of the reasons I am a happy and fulfilled person is because I was allowed to take my own journey in life and because I know what it feels like to have someone believe in me, even if they don’t understand 100% of  my choices. 

Rena Matter recently sent me a paper she wrote back in college, where she had interviewed Mom about fashion and her two teenage daughters.  It was an absolute treat to receive this and it confirmed all that I already knew; Mom was more apt to work on herself then try to change us.  She loved us for exactly who we were.

Thank you, Rena.  This is very special!

On a side note, the same day I received the above from Rena, I had written a friend about my first “beauty salon” experience because she had written that although I have done many things, she didn't believe I had ever had “big hair”.  But the reality was I have had “big hair” more than once in my life.  So, for fun, I wrote her a story about the first time.  The story is silly but it does end with another good lesson in life that both my parents taught us.

*** 

My parents were kids with kids which meant they really didn’t have money.  And like all families who are on a tight budget “do it yourself” for anything and everything instead of hiring out was how things were done.  This included Mom cutting our hair.  After five years though, this proved to be too miserable for her so she started taking us to the “School of Beauty” where students use people’s children as guinea pigs, and their primary goal to ensure that when they are done the child will be the biggest nerd in his or her class.  (Once, they actually burnt my hair by keeping the perm solution on too long.)  The people were masterful at meeting their goal!---

It was shortly after they made me look like a brillo pad that mom caved in and said we could go to a real beautician.  However, Dad had his own terms/conditions (as he always did) and he insisted we use one of his clients.  (he’s an accountant).  It turns out he only had one client who did hair; an elderly Chinese woman out in Star, Idaho.

In the 70s and 80s Star wasn’t the metropolis ;) it is today.  As Mr. Mead might say, “Star was out in the bush…”; it was Farm Country.

But a “Real Beautician” sounded luxurious and far better from the “School of Torture” so we met his compromise with eager anticipation. 

I was just starting to enter my New-Wave/Punk phase and had my photo ready! 

My Dad drove the hour out to Star in his Ford PickUp Truck and pulled into the driveway of a small farm house.  “This can’t be it, Dad.  We’re going to a salon.  Salon’s are not homes unless they are cool mansions like Graeber’s. “ (Graeber’s was the only cool salon Boise had back then and it was on Warm Springs Ave..) 

“This is it,” Dad assured us.  Then with a bit of a smile and sarcastic tone, he said, “She has a very special setup.  Her husband built her salon in her Garage!”  Ab and I looked at one another with fear and a bit of anger; we knew we had been had…

I was 11 or 12 years old then so Ab was 8 or 9.  I am positive that our very small beautician had never worked on anyone as young as us.  In fact, I venture to say her general clientele was in the 65-plus and that she did little around hair cutting and more on hair styling.  –The kind of styles that the women kept for the entire week.  And to keep the manipulated form, they would wrap it in netting and towels at night.  “Hair Day” was a special event because it was the one time that week you got it washed. 

I looked at the garage-salon and did all I could to not tell my father what I thought of him (ok, true, I probably did tell him what I thought of him but I’ve blocked that part out).  We walked in and Dad introduced us then he went to wait in the truck (chicken).  I immediately handed her my photo of the model with short spiky and partly shaved hair and asked if she could cut my hair “just like this”.  She looked at it and smiled and nodded her head in agreement.  I had my doubts.

Ok --  You obviously know what happened next.  There was no cutting… only pulling, yanking and manipulating.  And she used GALLONS of Aqua Net hairspray.

My head had never weighed so much.  It was a workout just to keep it up and it was incredibly tender from the 45 minutes of “teasing”.  I was completely miserable -  emotionally and physically.

Abbie was scared  stiff and I could tell she wanted nothing to do with the woman when her time came up.  But we were taught to be polite to strangers, even if it meant ruining our lives.

We walked out of there with hair as tall as our own head-length and we cried all the way home.  Dad couldn’t stop laughing but it wasn’t at us, it was a nervous laugh and one of fascination.  He kept saying, “how did she do that? ”  (chuckle chuckle) “That’s amazing.”  “You girls do look great though.” (lie) (chuckle chuckle)

My parents were true believers in lessons around humility AND having fun at our expense. 

"Her happiness was bringing joy to us all."

 I am only one of thousands of people touched by Pam Parker’s immense light.  One day, I was invited to the Parker Home of Love one day and told some fun projects were going on and I could just swing by and say hello.  Ok, they also tempted me with the statement, “we’ll have wine, too.”  Parker family company and wine was too tempting of a perfect combination so I parked on the steep hill and descended into the warmth of the house on the hill filled with joyous laughter downstairs in the basement of creativity.  There was material, thread, buttons and buzzing sewing machines going with Pam right in the middle of it all in bliss.  Her happiness was bringing joy to us all.  I reticently explained my lack of sewing skills thus my need to just enjoy the project from a safe distance away over on the couch protecting the wine from any would-be thieves.  J  Pam spun her magical inclusion and before I knew what was happening, I was sort of enjoying this whole seamstress thing picking out material and even matching buttons.  Who was I?  By the time  the material was cut and the pieces were ready we had discussed how everyone was doing, told jokes, Kelli explained how Ray Lamontagne was a good singer but a little gloomy, travel plans had been shared and we shared lovely snacks and wine.  When I realized it was time the rubber hit the road and I was going to be expected to run a Singer, I panicked.  “Um, maybe this whole sewing thing is not for me” I coughed.  Pam took pity and said to just leave it and she’d finish it.  I had hoped whoever ended up wearing the colorful and quite masterfully chosen color choices J would be a happy cook or Julia Child protégé.

Much to my surprise, Kelli presented me with a finished apron with love and affection from Pam for helping pick things out and cutting material.  “What?  You’re thanking me?”  I had a blast and had no idea I was the intended Julia Child wannabe!!  Without waiting for me to profess I’d save it for a very special occasion, I was immediately told to use it all the time.  The more use, the more love put into the food.  I did just that and smile every time I put the work of art on.  It is a collage of memories, laughter, recipes and putting oneself into what you’re doing.  I loved the experience and still love the happy thoughts the apron brings me.  

Lebanese chicken with sautéed garlic, cauliflower and rice topped with cold lemon, garlic, cucumber yogurt sauce.

Fresh arugula salad with Marcona almonds, shaved Sbrinz cheese, fresh squeezed lemon juice and a touch of virgin olive oil.

Bow-tie pasta with sage butter sauce, fresh shaved Gran Pando and basil.

Thank you, Pam for my apron of love.

Laura

Themes, Runs, Hemingway & a Bucking Bull

Marilyn sent this to me yesterday.  I was going to separate them out and share one story at a time but couldn't help but think this would make a great collage.  

Several of many happy memories of time spent with Pam, Bruce and friends………………..

Gatherings

Themes were always a part of the equation with Pam – whether they be hats, scarves and a beautiful old car, or a  mystery dinner when Pam and Bruce dressed as high school sweethearts (go figure) Russ and I were assigned the role ofhooker & nerd.  The best part of any of these gatherings was Pam’s wonderful ability to be so self deprecating and bring a sense of fun to everything she did.  It was impossible to resist that spirit of joy and fun. The result - she made me a better person.

Running

Pam and I were pretty consistent running partners for years. Frequently other runners joined in and on occasion our big lab Chunk came along. We tried to start early, but I think our goal was less about running and more about just talking. Exercise was a secondary goal. We weren’t very fast, we sometimes got lost and we ALWAYS had tissue stops before, during and after a big climb.   It was a fabulous way to start each work day, watching the sun come up over the Boise foothills and talking through the coming challenges of the day.

The ghost of Hemingway

I traveled to Ketchum one weekend to visit Pam when she worked for the Nature Conservancy.  I got in late, we had dinner and a bottle of wine.  She had invited me to stay with her at the old Hemingway house so she “prepped” me for the weekend with tales of the big guy’s ghost.  After a quick tour of the upstairs Pam asked if I wanted to sleep in Hemingway’s bed.  I was pretty sure any sleeping wasn’t part of my night and equally sure I wasn’t going to stay anywhere but in the sleeping quarters downstairs – which I did and which did not include sleep.  How she stayed in that house alone I have no idea – a brave, smart soul

Who else but Pam and Jennifer would send me a card with them on a Bucking bull – fortunately the bull showed little life, but eventually I’m told both rider hit the floor………..

Thanks to both you and Abbie for posting this – it was such a pleasure to think about these times and try to capture the adventures we had.  Take care - Marilyn

"We made it!"

I knew I wanted to start posting some of the stories friends and family were emailing me but just wasn't sure when to get started.  But when Aunt Ruth sent this one, I knew it was time.

Hi Kelli!

I can't imagine how much you miss your mom! I've been missing her lately so I ran Eagle Ridge this morning just for her! I remember how much she hated starting the run with a hill, but heard her voice as I reached the top by the radio towers "we made it"! 


I'll being doing that run more often! 

Have a great day!

Hugs,
Auntie Ruth
~turbotoz~