Memories of Marilyn
It wasn't until I read Marilyn's obituary that I learned she had a formal education as a teacher. As I read, a light bulb went on. No wonder I feel like most of the things I need to know, I learned from Marilyn—BEFORE kindergarten!
With the right personality, you can make friends with anyone, even a rock.
I can always find Marilyn by going deep into the recesses of my memory, to the foggy rooms of the 1970s. Gary and Jeri were 4 months apart, and Jon and I were 3 weeks apart, so we were ideal playmates and together all the time out at their farm. We helped in the barn, taking care to avoid Alice, the crabby cow who only liked Marilyn. Our special job was to feed the calves. We went for walks in the woods to find wild strawberries, and if we got itchy from the weeds Marilyn would help us put mud on our legs. Who cared what it looked like, or the mess it would make. It worked, and it was fun! We could pick gigantic wood ticks off Nelson and pop them on the sidewalk to see how much blood would squirt out, and Marilyn would admire our handiwork.
One day, Marilyn took us to the field and had us each pick out a rock, telling us that we would put the rock by our beds and in the morning when we woke we would have a surprise. And so we did. We each chose a rock and went to bed, filled with anticipation. In the morning, those rocks had hair and eyes and teeth! It wasn't until years later when we were snooping in the basement that Jeri showed me Marilyn's little workshop and told me she had made our pet rocks. I honestly didn't have a clue. That was Marilyn's magic.
Kids care a lot less about dust and laundry than they do about fun time with an adult who really enjoys them. Everyone should have a babysitter—or better yet, an aunt--like Marilyn. After a busy morning on the farm, she would have Jon and I lay down for a nap. Jon was usually asleep in about 2 minutes and I'd be nearing death from boredom. Marilyn would come in and ask me if I wanted to come out and be with her. She had my corn chips ready for me in a little bowl and we would sit and visit about all sorts of important things while Jon slept. I didn't realize until I became a parent myself how many other things she could have been doing besides talking to a 3 year old. Years later, the 4 luckiest kids in the world got to have Marilyn as a Grandma. The Russians could be invading, tarantulas could be building webs in the corner, dishes could be stacked like little skyscrapers, a cow could be peeking in the window, but nurturing the little minds of children was always more important. That was Marilyn's magic.
Everybody is special. I admit to a little jealousy. I thought I was special. As I think back to what I know of Marilyn, I realize that there are hundreds of people out there who think the same thing—that they were a special kid and that sparkle in her big brown eyes was just for them. Last time I saw her was 10 days before she died. I hadn't seen her since her diagnosis and when I walked into her room I wasn't even sure it was her, her physical being had changed so much. She looked up and saw me and flashed that big open-mouthed smile and said "Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii, Teeeeeeeeeee!". Here she was, in the final weeks of her life, making ME feel special.
You can find humor in most situations. On that same visit, Marilyn had a stack of unopened mail at her bedside. She agreed that I could open them and read them to her. Included was a card from one of her brothers and sister in law. In that card was a very dirty joke that made me blush. Here she was, so full of pain medication she could barely talk, and she laughed out loud, the breathless little laugh like a car engine turning over in the cold, her eyes twinkled, and she said, half asking/half stating "That was from Joel?" That was Marilyn's magic.
It's the little adventures that make up life. When Jon and I were young, before they moved to Idaho, we were at Grandma and Grandpa's one day and decided we wanted to walk on the back roads, probably about a mile, to Gary and Marilyn's house. We were probably only 8 at the time, and Grandma thought both of us, if not her would have strokes if we did, but Marilyn said she'd go with us. So we set out that hot summer day, Jon, Marilyn, and I, to walk down the dusty country road just because, with Marilyn sharing her little wisdoms along the way. "Did you know" she said, "a dog's mouth is cleaner than a person's mouth". To me, that's a good example of the type of thing kids are interested in learning that nobody would think to tell them—except Marilyn.
The birds and the bees. Marilyn was our personal Dear Abby, our own private "Ask Marilyn". Anything parents didn't want to answer, which in my case meant most of my questions, met with "Go ask your aunt Marilyn". Her answers were what nowadays would be called "too much information". One day we were playing around the farm and the vet came and put a plastic bag on his arm and proceeded to insert his arm into the wrong end of the cow. Naturally, I was curious and I asked Marilyn what he was doing. I remember her stopping her chores to talk to me. She had a pitcher of raw milk in her hand, that red bandana on her head over her dark hair up in a bun with a stick through it, big honkin' barn boots on her feet, a skimpy little tube top, and cut offs. That day I learned about artificial insemination. I also learned why the bull was in a separate pen, and where that baby brother had just come from. Some things you just don't forget.
Fun is good, but respect is required. On one of my visits out to Idaho when I was probably about 12, Marilyn took Jon, Jeri, and I to see an Eddie Murphy movie. I don't remember which one, but I do remember on the way back Jon and I were in the back seat and Jon was still laughing about Eddie's filthy mouth. I looked up and saw Marilyn's steely glare in the rear view mirror just as she said, "Jon, if I ever hear you talk like that, I'll take your tongue out and stick it in your ear!"
Most of all, love and acceptance are unconditional. Marilyn was fiercely protective and loyal. She was always, always, able to see beyond our imperfections. She was unbelievably tolerant. She saw the good in all of us, and bright potential in every child. Now, we've lost our gentle brown eyed lady much too soon. In her honor, our job now is to cherish and nourish the children, feed their imaginations, and teach them things they need to know but that their parents are embarrassed to explain. We need to make pet rocks! We need to be tolerant of each other, forgiving of each other, and perhaps most of us, remember to find humor and adventure in every day we have the gift of living.
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