Too young to remember

Dear Walter and Sally,

We had quite an adventure this weekend! It was the 4th of July, but it was also the 40th anniversary celebration of A Prairie Home Companion, a radio show that has been very special to both Mommy and Daddy since we were little kids.  We knew we wanted to get there, if we could, and share it with the two of you.

On Thursday night, after you went to bed, Daddy and I packed and got ready for the trip.  We were pretty tired and wondering what we'd gotten ourselves into.  Traveling isn't easy--there are lots of things to remember, lots of things to figure out and take care of.  We would not have even attempted this particular trip if it weren't for the help we had from our amazing friends. (Friends make life so good, so good indeed.)

We got up early on Friday--got bagels, got breakfast to eat in the car, got everyone in the van and headed to John and Karen's house to drop off Hank. Hank was elated to spend time with John and Karen, their cats, and his best doggie pal, Sammie. From there we turned around and headed north and west.  We took many stops along the way for potty breaks and nursing.  Sally, you did some good sleeping. Walter, you did not, but you were very sweet and managed to have a good day even without a nap.  We did lots of snacking in the car (cheese curds from a dairy store we stopped at on the way ... yum) but held off on lunch until we arrived in St. Paul.

This is how we roll!

After 5 hours of driving we arrived: hungry and a little worse for wear but also very excited and so glad, so relieved to see our dear friends Uncle Ben, Aunt Arden and Greta again!  Walter, you were especially excited to see Greta, who you'd met when she was a little baby, and who is now walking.  Sally, you were excited to get out of your carseat and immediately got to work playing with Greta's toys.  She shared them very graciously with both of you.  We walked from their house to Macalester College, where the anniversary party was well underway.  After a delicious lunch (pasties and tacos from food trucks) we walked around the booths and settled in to play some more at the children's museum area.

The children's museum had set up a fence around a patch of grass and set out large blue foam blocks of various shapes and sizes.  There were colorful plastic balls, too--Sally, you and Greta played with those. Walter, you befriended two seven-year-old boys and engaged in some really fabulous imaginative building with them.  I was very impressed with you for keeping up with the older boys (and very impressed with the older boys for including you so beautifully.)

Soon it was time for the concert--40 Songs, 40 Years.  It was an outdoor concert; we weren't sure how long it was going to be, and we weren't sure how we were going to make it work.  You kids love music, but we weren't sure you'd be able to sit through a whole concert.  Again, our friends made it possible.  Ben and Arden packed an amazing picnic dinner for us, which we enjoyed while we sat on our picnic blanket as the concert got started. We feasted on chicken, hummus, carrots, pita chips, turkey sausage sticks, cheese sticks and graham crackers. As we ate, I sang along a bit with Garrison and his friends--musicians who had been with the show when it first started, and others who became regular favorites along the way.  We got to hear Robin and Linda Williams, Old Crow Medicine Show, Gillian Welch, Jearlyn and Jevetta Steele and Iris Dement. When Garrison joined Robin and Linda Williams to sing "Calling My Children Home" I held dancing Sally in my arms and cried happy tears.

There were a few times when all four of us were on the blanket together, but most of the time Daddy walked with one of you while the other one snuggled on the blanket with me.  Those one-on-one times with each of you were very special for and precious to me.  Sally, you climbed all over me, snacking happily on graham crackers and hummus and charming the bejeebus out of everyone sitting around us.  I sang to you and you smiled and smiled and smiled.  We nursed; we love nursing outside, with the wind in your hair and the warm sun setting all around us, surrounded by music and people and also entirely in our own world, too.

Walter, you spent most of the show walking with Daddy, mostly to check out the super duper fancy porta-potties. They were airconditioned, with wood floors, running water and artwork on the walls.  You and Daddy were both mystified and super impressed and made several trips. That probably would have been your favorite part of the concert ... if it weren't for the Wailin' Jennys.

Three beautiful young women (about my age ... I still call that young) took the stage and giggled with Garrison for awhile. And then they started to sing. Now, everything up to that point had been wonderful, truly.  But something changed when they sang.  They sang without musical accompaniment, they sang in close, perfect harmony.  The harmony hit the air and vibrated and hung there and then spread across the crowd like electricity.  Walter, you'd been snuggling, almost sleeping in my lap.  When they hit their first note, you stood straight up, electrified. You shot up and stood and leaned toward the stage, "What are they singing, Mama?" you asked.  You felt the difference in the air--you knew this was something special.

Kids, you are too young to remember any of this on your own.  That's part of the reason I try to write things down, so we're sure to share our memories of these times and give you a sense of who you were and what your life was like before you started collecting memories. Sometimes it's tempting to use your age as a reason not to do things, especially things that involve 5 hours of car travel! "They won't even remember it," I think to myself sometimes.  But seeing the two of you at this concert, the way you enjoyed yourselves so completely, the way you danced and sang along (even you, Sally) and basked in the glow of the moment and in our collective family happiness ... there is no reason to wait for this until you are older. Sharing the joy of our lives is something Daddy and I can do (and do, do) with you right now. We get to enjoy it with you in the moment, and add those moments to our own collection of memories. And we will help you remember it, for sure.

Right about the time the two of you started getting antsy and sleepy and needing to head out, Garrison announced an intermission.  Intermission!  The show had already gone on for two hours.  We decided to leave while everyone was happy and the leaving was good.   We walked around the booths one more time and did some very joyful dancing.  Sally, you almost levitated with happiness when you saw Walter dancing. The two of you brought so much joy to everyone around us. With the help of a security guard, we took a family picture and headed back to the house.

We stayed overnight at Uncle Ben's parents' house--you both woke up too early! Sally, you and I did some wonderful snuggling, while Walter and Daddy watched videos until it was time to get up, play and eat some delicious breakfast. One of my hopes for the two of you is that you have friends like Ben and Arden, friends

Sally and Greta: Babies who Brunch

who are so dear they are family. We had a wonderful, relaxing morning together. Walter, you did NOT want to leave. You wanted to stay forever. We all agreed with you, but got back on the road anyway and headed home. We stopped for lunch at a truckstop diner called Norske Kitchen which specializes in popovers. It was very yummy. We picked up Hank, who had been very happy where he was but was also happy to see us again (Walter, you said, "My puppy!! There's my puppy coming back to my house!") We ate some dinner and slept well.

This weekend was particularly adventurous, but every day things happen that make me think, "I should write that down, I want to remember that forever."  Sally, you are learning how to throw a ball, and the look on your face when we play catch together is so intensely beautiful I can barely stand it. Walter, you are in love with two songs right now, "Take Up Your Spade" by Sara Watkins and "Let it Go" from the movie Frozen. There's a line in "Let it Go" that you've rewritten ... the original goes "I'm never going back/the past is in the past," but you sing it, very earnestly, "I'm never going back/the past is in the bear!"  I don't know what it means, but it strikes me as very profound. And very funny.
The past is in the bear, kids.  The past is in the bear.

I love you,
Mama

Remembering Great Aunt Sally

My Great Aunt Sally, baby Sally's namesake, died on Friday, January 24, at the age of 84. Her pastor very graciously allowed me to share some memories and even co-officiate on some of the prayers at her funeral. In the regular print below is the text of the stories I shared. I know baby Sally won't remember her namesake directly, but she will surely know her through the stories we'll keep telling. 

My name is Annie Edison-Albright, I’m a Lutheran pastor and one of Sally’s great nieces. At John's funeral last year Sally asked me to speak at her funeral.  I wish I'd thought to ask her what she wanted me to say. Mostly, I just wish I could ask her, now, and listen to her stories one more time. But, if we all go to lunch after this and share our stories about Sally, I believe we will all have done right by her. She would like that.

As Pastor Lee mentioned, Sally had two siblings: a sister 10 years older than her, Norma, and a brother 7 years younger, Charlie. Norma was my grandma, my Umma. She died in 1992 at the age of 72, and Sally arranged for a basket of 72 daffodils to brighten up the funeral home on that snowy March day, a day just like this one.  You can see that there are 84 daffodils next to Sally's casket; those are given by Sally's nieces and nephews, but really, they come from her sister. The story behind the daffodils is a beautiful one, and it’s a very Sally kind of story.

When Norma turned 25, Sally wanted to do something really special for her big sister’s birthday. The process of “wiring” flowers to someone was new, then, and Sally used her own money to wire a dozen daffodils to Norma at her office. Norma was delighted. Spring flowers in February. What could be more wonderful? Their frugal mother, however, was not delighted. Sally caught the dickens from her mom, who was shocked by the waste and extravagance of the flowers. She said it showed a terrible lack of common sense to spend so much money on cut flowers that were just going to die in a couple of days.  

The next time Norma came home, she met Sally at the door and said “that was the best birthday gift, ever.” Sally said, “I’m glad you liked them, but I’m not sending you flowers again until you’re 50!”

On Norma’s fiftieth birthday she received daffodils from Sally with a note: “that was a fast 25 years.”

Arrangement of 72 daffodils at Umma's funeral

At Norma’s visitation, Sister Rosemary Rombalski saw the basket of 72 daffodils and knew there was a story. She sat and talked to Sally and then gave a devotion connecting Sally’s extravagant gift with the extravagant love of Jesus Christ, connecting Sally’s best birthday gift ever and the gift of eternal life. I was 11 years old and I'll never forget it: "This is Norma's best birthday, ever," she said. There’s a daffodil etched on Norma’s tombstone as a reminder both of her little sister’s love and the love of God. Now, Sally has joined Norma, and Charlie, and Blitz and John, in receiving the gift of eternal life. The love of God is like daffodils in winter, like the joy we have when we talk about Sally today, even though we miss her.

When I think of Sally, I think of the bright beauty of daffodils, and I think of joy. My first impressions of her were very much formed by my grandma, who was completely smitten with her little sister. “Sally was the most beautiful child any of us had ever seen,” she’d say. “She looked like Shirley Temple.”

One of the stories Norma liked to tell was about Sally’s first day at the one room schoolhouse. Norma worked with Sally to get her ready for the big day and taught her how to spell her name. S-A-L-L-Y. When Sally got to school, the teacher had everyone’s name written on the blackboard. “Can anyone come up and show me their name?” asked the teacher. One by one each student went up to the board and pointed. Sally stayed in her seat. “Don’t you see your name?” asked the teacher. Sally said, confidently, “No. My name is not up there.” “Yes it is!” said the teacher, pointing.

Sally came home for lunch and was very upset. “What’s wrong?” asked her sister. “I don’t think I’m going to learn anything from that teacher,” said Sally. “She thinks my name is Eleanor.”

That moment was the source of Sally’s often-quoted advice: Name your children what you intend to call them!

Me, Mom, Sally and Baby Sally

Sally has two great great nieces named after her: my cousin Craig’s daughter, Eleanor, and my five month old daughter, Sally. Her response and advice to us was the same that she gave everyone else. “That’s nice, but you promise me you’re going to call that baby by the name you gave her!”

The name Sally means “princess,” but to me it’s always meant “beloved little sister.” When my husband and I found out our second child would be a girl there was no question what her name would be. We named her Sally, hoping that our little girl would take after my smart, funny, loving Aunt Sally, and also that our baby Sally would be as loved by her big brother as Aunt Sally was by her big sister.

To us, “Sally” means beloved sister, beloved aunt. It means beloved wife, mom, grandma, great grandma. It means beloved colleague, classmate and friend. But Sally’s real name was this: Beloved Child of God. She received that name at her baptism. She lived out that name every day of her life, in all the ways she cared for others and embodied God’s love. And when she died, that’s the name God used to welcome her into eternal life. It’s a name she shares with all of us, a name that connects us as God’s big family, both on earth and in heaven. 

The prophet Isaiah writes: Do not fear, for I have redeemed you. I have called you by name, you are mine.

Sally was named and claimed a beloved child of God. Thanks be to God for a life lived in love. Amen.

Some memories of the day: just like when my Umma died in 1992, there was a snowstorm. The snow came down sideways outside the church windows and people were nervous about getting home. Even though the worst of the weather came right at the time for us to gather for the service, the church was full of family and friends, including many members of Sally's high school class who she'd kept in touch with over the years. Baby Sally was still struggling with her first real illness, a bug we think was RSV, and had trouble nursing but was very good and sweet through the long day. Umma Sue sang "In The Garden." Baba Paul took care of baby Sally and walked and played with her during the service.  Sally's children and grandchildren were glad to meet baby Sally, and took turns holding her and telling her to be entirely and unapologetically herself, just like her namesake. To be just as feisty and funny and independent as she could be. It was hard to be there without Sally's son, John, who died last April. The Edisons were there, including baby Sally's godfather, Craig. It was good to be together. 

Sally holding me.