Rememberances from Nancy McElmurry

Margot and I first met in January of 1979. Here are some of my lifetime memories of her as I collected my thoughts the Saturday before she passed away. I put them down as a letter to her. Perhaps you will be able to pick up some of her wonderful qualities through my memories:

My dearest friend, Margot,

I remember.

When you and I first met. I gathered up the courage to cross the backyard, little girl in hand, to knock on the door of another young mother with a little girl who looked to be of close age to mine.
You met me at the door in your robe. That didn;t matter; you invited me in and we talked for over two hours while our little girls, just 4 days apart in age, played. After parting, both of us could hardly wait until we could get together again.

I remember watching for window shades to go up in the morning so that wed know whether or not everything was on target for the day. Wed get our housework done so we could take the girls for a walk oh say, around 11:00. To keep them moving we gave them the goal of going to touch the next fire hydrant.

I remember your taking Katie for a while when I was sick. Before you left you asked if there was anything I wanted. Yes, I
said, some peaches, which you cut up for me out of habit as we did for the little girls. We both laughed.

Thank you, my friend.

I remember two little girls on the playground in the backyard. Althea would climb and Katie would tell us about it. They would take turns on the slide, and once they wanted to trade jackets, which just confused us both a great deal.

I remember hanging diapers on the line at the same time.

I remember measuring cups holding raisins or cheese cubes, and the Nancy McElmurry approved method of making grilled cheese sandwiches.

I remember walks to Warner Park where the children could swing on the swings.

I remember two little girls receiving tricycles for their 2^nd birthdays. Sometimes it was just more fun to ride each others. You gave a birthday party for three two-year olds — Althea,
Katie and Kermie. When addressing the card I couldn’t quite figure out how to spell Aufea — was that with an f or a ph? As thats how Katie said her name. Baby Tommy was just 3 weeks old at the time and I was still a bit out of it. We have laughed over that more than once.

I remember trips to the fabric store and little girls playing amongst the bolts of fabric. Shopping was so much easier together as the girls could entertain each other.

I remember shopping for saddle shoes for little chubby feet and red shoes for Althea.

I remember going to Bible studies together and leaving the children with Grandpa and Grandma McElmurry, where they played with teacups and monkeys. Your family has called Brian’s mother Grandma ever since then. (And for a long time that’s where Joe thought I lived.)

I remember little smocked dresses and piping around collars and discussing the best way to make a facing. We grew together in our sewing. Thank you, my friend.

I remember.

Little girls in large T-shirts decorating Christmas sugar cookies at my kitchen table; and I remember trips to the library and story books for the children.

I remember two little girls getting burns on their hands within just a couple of weeks of each other — Katie on a hot stove and Althea on a hot iron. They learned the meaning of hot. We were saddened by the little bit of sweet baby innocence that was lost at that.

I remember feeding ducks at Tenney Park and the pastry cloth you gave me as you felt I needed that. I still use it today.

I remember a snowman you and Terry made in the backyard in late April of 1980. Just a week later we had 3 little kids in a
wading pool on a 90 degree day. That was the day my wedding ring fell in the crack by the front step.

I remember knowing we would move away. So you moved first. So hard even then to have to part.

I remember matching sundresses in different shades of blue gingham. And 3 children all in blue gingham at Vilas Park zoo.
(We had tuna for lunch that day.)

Thank you, my friend.

Once, you shared with me that all you wanted to do was get married, have children and raise them well. One of your favorite poems was:

Sweeping and dusting can wait ’til tomorrow,

for children grow up much to our sorrow.

So settle down cobwebs and dust go to sleep,

for I’m rocking my baby and babies don’t keep.

Your children (and mine) have all grown up to be fine adults, but when did that happen? Margot, you’ve done well.

I remember many visits to Madison and spending time with you. We decorated Easter eggs before Easter, spent several
Fridays after Thanksgiving together, and worked jigsaw puzzles the day after Christmas. I remember many visits in your car as we drove to various places in Madison for various reasons — mostly as you provided mothers taxi service for
your children. We shared philosophies on raising children, education, political situations, and family life among other
things.

I remember coming over to your house and just hanging out together — macaroni and cheese or tuna sandwiches come to mind.

I remember many trips to Terry’s house and the pool with all the kids. What a great winter activity that made.

I remember your bringing Althea and Michael up to our home in the Twin Cities when Michael was just a baby. I believe that
is when jet canaries were invented.
(Think yellow kleenex on a tooth pick run through the air by 4-year old girls.)

I remember countless trips to yarn stores — sometimes we just looked and sometimes we bought. Thank you, my friend, for always taking an interest in my knitting and for getting it.

I remember specifically our field trip to Mt. Horeb on Valentines Day where we visited the woolen mill. We watched the spinning and plying machines at work, and I had a heyday in their shop. Then on into Mt. Horeb where we found a charming little café for lunch where they served us tea in individual pots sitting atop the teacups. We poked through the shops in town, including a cross stitch shop, on that beautiful warm Valentine’s Day. It was a “just a sweater” day. Then it was on to Verona where we visited — guess what — another yarn shop. What a truly fine day that was. Thank you my friend.

“Chance made us neighbors, hearts made us friends.” Your cross-stitched sampler will forever hang in my kitchen. Thank you, my dear friend.

I remember going out to lunch many times to celebrate one or the other of our birthdays.

I remember when you and Maretta visited my in the hospital after my back surgery. You brought the softest, cuddliest white bear you could fine. Then, when I talked with you just a couple weeks later, you first wanted to know how I was doing. It was only after that that you shared with me that just the weekend before you had been diagnosed with pancreatic change. We cried together. And for several days following I hugged that soft, white bear and wept and prayed for you as I healed.

I remember being so happy to see you at the end of the summer when you and Althea and baby Andrew brought Maretta up to school. You were on radiation and constant chemo, but seeing you there was a blessing I hadn’t expect at the beginning of the summer.

Then just a few weeks later, I was able to travel to Madison. Even though your treatment was taking quite a toll on you, you wanted to visit the yarn shop. What a pair we made as neither of us could walk all that well. Just a few days later you back in the hospital.

I remember celebrating New Year’s Eve with you at Terry’s condo. You put on a beautiful spread, you showed me the baby blanket you were making (it was still a secret that it was for Heather), and we watched the fireworks. Yet another fun time together. Thank you, my friend.

The next time we saw each other was when I visited you in the hospital in Rochester following your surgery. We visited and knit. Maretta and I left you to rest while we had lunch, and — guess what — visited a yarn shop, as Maretta had been bitten with the knitting bug. I remember purple tulips in your window against a backdrop of lightly falling snow. And I remember Maretta sitting on the floor tending your large, green plant when a frog jumped out on her. Oh my!

Carpe Diem! We all rejoiced that the treatment and surgery had extended your life that Memorial Day weekend a year after your diagnosis.

I remember numerous phone calls just to keep in touch. Thank you, my dear friend, for always caring.

And just last Thanksgiving I remember spending yet another Friday after together. Maretta joined us as we went to the U and saw the knitting exhibit honoring Elizabeth Zimmermann. What a fun thing to share together. I wish I still had time to make that sweater for you.

Most recently I realized how sick you were, and I had to come swiftly to see you. This time I cut up your peaches and brought you a cuddly lamby — I know how special lambies are to you. We talked knitting once again, and enjoyed sharing about our daughters’ upcoming weddings and their dresses. We laughed some, we cried some, we held hands and hugged and looked forward to visits down the road, which both of us knew would never come to be. Thank you, my dear friend. Somehow, we had come full circle.

I will see you again, dear friend. And I haven’t forgotten that special request for Andrew’s 3^rd birthday that made us both cry.

And as you said as we last parted, “Don’t leave.” So I say to you, friend, don’t leave. Don’t leave.

“I’ll love you forever; I’ll like you for always. As long as I’m living, your friend I will be.”

Thanks, dear friend, for a lifetime of wonderful memories. I will never stop being your friend.

Love,

Nancy