My first memory of Nancy is first grade. We may have known each other before that because we each have older siblings the same ages who went to school together. We were raised in the same neighborhood, so I assume that we at least had met before going to school. But, my first real memories of Nancy are in Ida Mae McPherson's first grade class. Nancy was the one who helped me out the day that Mrs. McPherson asked, "Marilyn, do you want to go to the cloakroom?" I was not sure what I had done to be banished, but being six years old, and not well-versed in the nuances of rhetorical questions, I thought Mrs. McPherson was telling me to go to the cloakroom. I was mortified as I left the classroom, went to the cloakroom and forlornly sat on a bench awaiting further punishment. It seemed that I sat back there for hours, although it was probably only a few minutes. As class progressed, and Mrs. McPherson called on me to answer a question, she realized that I was not in class. She asked, "where is Marilyn?" I heard a little voice answer, "she's in the cloakroom." Nancy to the rescue! Mrs. McPherson came to the cloakroom, full of remorse, and apologizing for the misunderstanding. I have loved Nancy ever since. She has rescued me on more than one occasion.
I remember an occasion in elementary school when someone wrote a nasty word on the acquarium in the library. I sensed that Nancy knew what it meant, but I did not. I went home and asked my dad. He explained that it meant a female dog. I remained puzzled as to all the hoopla surrounding that scrawled word ~ why would someone write the word for a female dog on the acquarium, and why was everyone so upset? I learned a few days later when I, in a moment of insane ignorance, said to my brother Mike, "Mom is a (insert actual word for female dog), do you get it?" He replied, "I get it. Do you get it?" Well, I got in all manner of trouble for what I thought was a witty remark, and I still did not know why. So, I went to Nancy. She explained. We were sitting in the ditch by the road in front of her house. I remember it like yesterday. I was appalled that I had called my mother such a name. I wasn't even upset with her when I said it. I do not remember if I apologized, but I do remember being grateful to Nancy for explaining things. I still suffered confusion as to why someone called the acquarium a female dog until Nancy told me it was directed at the librarian. Well, duh.
I learned things from Nancy sitting in my mother's car in the parking lot of Smart's Grocery. There were about 6 parking spaces at the store. They kept their feminine products in the front window...on a shelf above the produce, I think. I do not know why, but it was a source of great conversations in the car.
For a while, we had a secret word. If we did not like something, we would say we "denised" it. Sadly, a new girl moved into the neighborhood named Denise. We did not care for her, but our mothers felt it would be a lovely thing for us to spend time with and befriend her. We tried. Really, we did. We found her very unlikeable, so we turned her name into a term of derision. Nancy sincerely denised lots of foods, but she would eat raw hot dogs right out of the refrigerator. She introduced me to Welsh Rarebit, cookies called Rocks, and how to use food coloring to paint cookies. She is the first person I remember knowing who put salt on everything...lots of it.
She once had a wallet that she threw up on, and in one of the plastic picture holders, there was forever a piece of vomit. We thought that hilarious. She was a song-writer extraordinaire. Once in the cafetorium (yep, cafeteria and auditorium in one) at Dalewood Elementary School she made up a song about beans, and their effect on one's digestive system. I will not be so crude as to share the lyrics here, but again, we would become weak with laughter whenever she sang it. And, you always, always, want to hear Nancy laugh. She has the most infectious laugh ever.
We lived within walking distance. Nancy and I spent many, many days of our childhood together. We played dolls...all the time. We would take doll furniture into the yard and play for hours. Once, when we had all manner of things out in her front yard...ladder, chairs, tables, blankets, pots and pans...her brother came home and was just furious saying something about it looking like gypsies lived there. We just giggled and continued on with our play. She had a dog named Bozo. I think he must have been some kind of chow mix. His name fascinated me because our dogs had names like George and Charlie and Susie. Her mother was the one who had to tell me that our old dog, George, sweetest black lab mix, had been hit by a car and killed. He was the dog that ate moonshine mash from the still down the street, and spent part of one summer intoxicated. But, then that's a story for another day.
We did grow up. We exchanged our baby dolls for real babies. When we were pregnant with these two, we spent many days together, and each of those days involved a trip to Becker's Bakery. Nancy bought the pastel cookies, and I bought almond macaroons. No wonder I gained 40 pounds. As these babies grew, they spent lots of time together. Maybe that is one of the reasons they are both such unique adults.
Nancy and I might be the epitome of the old adage, "opposites attract." She is organized. I am not. Once when I complained about never knowing where my keys are, she said, "why don't you put them in the same place every time." Well, I don't know why I don't. I just don't. She likes practical things. She told me one time that the best gift she had ever gotten for her birthday was a carpet cleaner. Seriously? I am often telling Mr. Lincoln that a blender, a vacuum, anything practical is NOT a gift. Nancy has what I call a "big girl" job. She is an executive assistant to two vice presidents at her company. I would have no idea what to do in that job. I do walking tours with 4th graders. Trust me, it is not a "big girl" job. It is more like what a college student might do in the summers. She does not yell at people with accents. She does not mind asking me why I do. I wonder how she refrains. She waits hand and foot on her family. Me, not so much.
Nancy is everything good about being raised in the mid 20th century in a middle class family in East Nashville. She is kind, and smart, and dependable and responsible and punctual. She can be counted on. She is fiercely loyal to her friends and her family. She adores her husband and her sons.
She goes the extra mile. When she has had it with you, she has had it with you, but it takes a lot to get her there. She is compassionate and kind. She loves babies and children and old people. After her mother died, she still visited her aunts on a regular basis, one of them every Saturday. She loves God. She can sing. I learned that at a congregational singing at a mutual friend's funeral. I teased her and told her she could be church of Christ, but she'd miss being in the choir. She is broad-minded and old fashioned. She is not a big fan of large screens on church walls or new songs. She has opinions. She is conscientious. She makes a choice to be happy. When she works for you, you get a day and a half for a day's pay.
Is she perfect? Probably not. It's like what they tell you not to say in a job interview, "my only fault is I work too hard." Well, Nancy's only fault is she gives too much of herself to everyone. My life is richly blessed by that friend who walked into my life some 54 years ago. I am most grateful that in her life of giving I have been the recipient of her love and her laughter. I look forward to many more years being friends.
I love this Winnie the Pooh quote, “If you live to be a hundred, I want to live to be a hundred minus one day so I never have to live without you." It is a quote about friendship. It sums up my feelings for Nancy.
So for today, I wish you extravagant friendships, a lifetime of memories, and
blessings
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