A couple of days ago I drove over to East Texas to visit a friend who lives just over an hour away, someone not quite old enough to be my mother, a friend with whom I keep irregular communications, a friend with whom I share great conversations, bread, and wine. Each time we visit, usually in her East Texas home, I remember that here lives treasure…friendship adorned with intelligence, honesty, compassion, and humor. Honesty, yes, for my friend Jane knows much about my family, especially the journey we have traveled for several years, a journey in which our mother’s failing health rode in the seat of honor, a journey that ended officially a year ago. During this time, Jane offered me good counsel. Our friendship goes back much farther than that, though, beginning a couple of years after Jane’s husband, who was 13 years older than she, had died of cancer.
Over these 20 years I’ve met Jane’s four children, but only one of her eight grandchildren, all but one of whom are now grown. This family is made up of interesting people, many interesting stories, and some heartache for sure. I want to remember what Jane told me yesterday about how she and her husband Cliff approached rearing their children. Though I can’t do justice to Cliff’s words, the principles were straightforward. This bunch of four individuals were nurtured and allowed to grow. Jane has been there for them, continues to be there for them, and they have reciprocated. She doesn’t live near any of her children, who are spread from Austin, Texas, practically to Oklahoma, and to the Smokies of North Carolina and northwestern Virginia. Jane tried living near one daughter for five years awhile back, but as it turned out, she missed her adopted East Texas, where she had formed strong friendships after Cliff died.
I know only a little about Jane’s birth family and her roots in southwest Louisiana. There’s some French blood there, and even after spending most of her adult years in Texas, there is a lovely touch of Cajun Louisiana in Jane’s dialect. This heritage comes out in some of her cooking as well. Jane is the youngest of four children—two males and two females—three of whom survive. They are bound by the strong ties typical of southern families. Jane’s sister and her husband must have some serious music genes flowing in their veins because several of the Michot boys/men make music for real and for money, even though most of them have other professional lives as well. When these guys show up to play at a well-regarded venue in Jane’s East Texas town, it’s "Laissez Les Bon Temps Roulez" over at Jane’s house. While I haven’t been there for any of these get-togethers, I understand that the food, wine and good times do indeed roll. Times are bittersweet, though, because both Jane’s older brother and sister, the mother of all these mugicians, have significant health problems.
I missed Jane’s 80th birthday celebration last October. Yesterday was the first opportunity we’ve had for her to tell me about this great celebration, the music, food, flowers, even a documentary produced by her oldest granddaughter, Sarah. Granny Lady is what the grandkids call her. While I don’t get the chance to talk to any of Jane’s offspring, I know that they all know Granny Lady is one fine example of this truth—in life, we are surrounded by goodness. Her children and grandchildren know it, her birth family knows it, and the many folks God has gifted with Jane’s friendship know it.
I was reminded of this yesterday as Jane and I sat talking with a friend. They were recounting the unwarranted rudeness someone who knows Jane well had directed to her earlier in the week. They were much closer to the situation than I, but as I nodded my head in a mixture of understanding and puzzlement, Jane did a very Jane thing. She smiled in resolve, letting her heart and her faith speak for her. Grudges have no room in her heart, and as she offered an explanation, I leaned down, looked her in the eye, and reminded her that she is gracious. Generosity of spirit—that is Jane.
Granny Lady—Normangee, Texas (February 9, 2008)
R. Harold Hollis
Over these 20 years I’ve met Jane’s four children, but only one of her eight grandchildren, all but one of whom are now grown. This family is made up of interesting people, many interesting stories, and some heartache for sure. I want to remember what Jane told me yesterday about how she and her husband Cliff approached rearing their children. Though I can’t do justice to Cliff’s words, the principles were straightforward. This bunch of four individuals were nurtured and allowed to grow. Jane has been there for them, continues to be there for them, and they have reciprocated. She doesn’t live near any of her children, who are spread from Austin, Texas, practically to Oklahoma, and to the Smokies of North Carolina and northwestern Virginia. Jane tried living near one daughter for five years awhile back, but as it turned out, she missed her adopted East Texas, where she had formed strong friendships after Cliff died.
I know only a little about Jane’s birth family and her roots in southwest Louisiana. There’s some French blood there, and even after spending most of her adult years in Texas, there is a lovely touch of Cajun Louisiana in Jane’s dialect. This heritage comes out in some of her cooking as well. Jane is the youngest of four children—two males and two females—three of whom survive. They are bound by the strong ties typical of southern families. Jane’s sister and her husband must have some serious music genes flowing in their veins because several of the Michot boys/men make music for real and for money, even though most of them have other professional lives as well. When these guys show up to play at a well-regarded venue in Jane’s East Texas town, it’s "Laissez Les Bon Temps Roulez" over at Jane’s house. While I haven’t been there for any of these get-togethers, I understand that the food, wine and good times do indeed roll. Times are bittersweet, though, because both Jane’s older brother and sister, the mother of all these mugicians, have significant health problems.
I missed Jane’s 80th birthday celebration last October. Yesterday was the first opportunity we’ve had for her to tell me about this great celebration, the music, food, flowers, even a documentary produced by her oldest granddaughter, Sarah. Granny Lady is what the grandkids call her. While I don’t get the chance to talk to any of Jane’s offspring, I know that they all know Granny Lady is one fine example of this truth—in life, we are surrounded by goodness. Her children and grandchildren know it, her birth family knows it, and the many folks God has gifted with Jane’s friendship know it.
I was reminded of this yesterday as Jane and I sat talking with a friend. They were recounting the unwarranted rudeness someone who knows Jane well had directed to her earlier in the week. They were much closer to the situation than I, but as I nodded my head in a mixture of understanding and puzzlement, Jane did a very Jane thing. She smiled in resolve, letting her heart and her faith speak for her. Grudges have no room in her heart, and as she offered an explanation, I leaned down, looked her in the eye, and reminded her that she is gracious. Generosity of spirit—that is Jane.
Granny Lady—Normangee, Texas (February 9, 2008)
R. Harold Hollis
1 comment:
Harold, my sister Mary Jane sent me the link to this blog you wrote about mom. It is so interesting to view her from your point of view, a real eye-opener. And you are quite an author, I kept reading after she pointed me to this blog!
I was in Texas last month and Dick, mom's friend mentioned the last time he had seen me was when you and I moved stuff out of his place on the square in Crockett. It suddenly seemed so long ago but also just turned around and the time had passed.
If you are in NC, please come to see me. Mom has all my contact information.
Sally Evans Weldon
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