Dear Friends and Family,
As promised, a few more words about the party we hosted last week.
When Nancy graduated from the University of Georgia with a teaching degree, she decided to take a year off to become a flight attendant and see “the world outside of Georgia.” She chose the international carrier Trans World Airlines (TWA) instead of interviewing with Atlanta-based Delta like many of her friends. Not surprisingly, TWA recognized a “quality” individual and immediately hired Nancy, thereby beginning a thirty-three-year career of travel and adventure while based in various cities such as New York, Boston, St. Louis, and Los Angeles. She definitely wasn’t in Georgia anymore (or Kansas for that matter).
During her first extended independent living experience, Nancy secured an apartment in the town of Long Beach on New York City’s Long Island, an easy drive to Kennedy Airport, where most of her flights originated. It wasn’t long before she and her roommate, Julie, made friends and decided to host a dinner party for two male coworkers. Decades later Julie told me an important detail about that night: “Winnie, it was probably the most embarrassing night of my life. Even though we cooked most of the day, we didn’t have enough food.” (Those few sentences still elicit hysterical and prolonged laughter from Julie and Nancy whenever they reminisce.)
On a tight budget, they apparently didn’t realize how much young men (or “boys” as they were deemed) can eat. Both Nancy and Julie kept retreating to the kitchen to find something, anything to add to their dates’ plates, which the boys all but licked clean. Nancy told me many years later that neither girl actually ate a bite so they could secretly switch their food to the boys’ plates.
I believe that one dinner party has easily doubled our family’s grocery bills over the years whenever we entertain. It is not uncommon to have a week’s worth of leftovers every time we have company, even after Nancy sends any remaining desert home with our guests.
You can only imagine, then, what our house looked like when Nancy invited people to visit us during her recent home “vacation.” Every small shelf or corner overflowed with chips, nuts, candy, cheese, crackers, and other snacks. Every coffee and end table accommodated brightly colored fresh flowers. Our dining room table and kitchen counters had countless entrees of fish, meat, potatoes, salads, and vegetables. Our bar was the main drink area, and not one person asked for a drink that I couldn’t provide in a moment’s notice. I know that we had leftovers for all our remaining days home and then some.
Still I had no regrets.
Each step of the planning, cleaning, shopping, setting up, and cooking was enjoyable. This was Nancy’s first face-to-face contact with most of her “local” friends. This was Nancy’s first contact with a “feeling” community.
The most ordinary tasks seemed almost special. Nancy’s declaration, while vacuuming the living room, echoed how Jayna, Jaret, and I felt as we whipped our house into “party” readiness. She declared, “I never thought I’d say this, but vacuuming can be fun.” (On her last visit home, Nancy had been too weak for such a task.)
The night before the party, after trying on most everything in her closet to select the “best” outfit, Nancy and Jayna took up most of our bed while they talked over final plans. “It’s like the night before the prom, Dadder. Mom is nervous.” Jayna kissed her mother’s head as we all twittered like children, alone together sharing intimate thoughts.
When 2 p.m. arrived the next day and her guests arrived at our doorstep, Nancy was glowing. Except for the brightly colored scarf that Jayna fashioned over Nancy’s now fuzzy head, it was difficult to tell that Nancy was just on a “time out” from her deathly illness. Everyone treated her normally, and for three hours she looked and felt that way. The only tears that were shed were by me, when I sneaked away to our bedroom, overcome by watching Nancy be so happy and so alive.
It was a momentous day—both large and small.
Nancy, in talking to my partner Joe Ferriter’s eight-months-pregnant wife, Jenny, inquired about what they were planning for childcare since Jenny was also a physician. Upon finding some uncertainty, she paired Jenny with our dear friend Mona, a retired preschool teacher who was looking for something to do part time.
Problem solved.
Typical Nancy.
Summary: The highlight of our time home has been the chance for Nancy to visit with friends while feeling good. It was a truly extraordinary gathering.
All my love,
Winnie