Miss Joan

Yesterday, my three year old daughter and I went to Daily Fresh Donuts for our weekly treat. While I was paying Miss V. and my daughter was carefully carrying her doughnut to our table, I noticed a smiling woman seated at the neighboring table. She appeared to be in her early 50's and had kind eyes.

Apparently my daughter thought so too, because she greeted the woman very brightly. The woman raised her eyes to me and said, "I love little ones. They're so precious, I could just eat them up with a spoon! They know, too. They know when an adult is kind, otherwise they won't have anything to do with them and they'll cringe. They always seem to know I'm a grandmother, that's for sure! A little one in the grocery store waved at me the other day sayin', 'Hi, MeeMaw!' over and over!" I nodded knowingly and agreed that small children are amazing judges of character.

Miss V. came over and introduced us properly. So it was that I made the acquaintance of Miss Joan. Since there were no other customers at the time, Miss V. drew up a chair and we all began chatting. It's amazing how, in small communities, one's life story comes pouring out so quickly and so easily. It feels safe, though. People tend to respond in a way that says, "What can I do for you?" rather than "Oooh, I can't wait to dish the dirt on this one!" Telling our stories creates a sense of solidarity; it strengthens the bonds of community.

Miss Joan's story is an inspiring one. She may have been born in upstate New York, but she is the most quintessentially Southern lady I have ever met. She was a nurse for "22 years, nine months, and six days" as she tells it. That's how she met her husband. He was wounded in the Vietnam war, shrapnel to the chest, and she nursed him back to health. He was a career military man and they lived in many places before retiring in South Mississippi.

Together they had ten children and 23 grandchildren, and she has loved every minute of it. "Ten children?" my mouth gaped momentarily. "I can't imagine how it didn't wear you out." A defiant sparkle lit Miss Joan's eye as she threw back her shoulders and retorted, "It was fun! And I'm no superwoman. But if one of the kids was up sick all night, I'd be right there with them. I could stay up for three days straight if I had to. They're my babies. That's just what you do."

She spent the last five years of her nursing career caring for her terminally ill husband. It seemed fitting to lay nursing to rest along with him as she moved into the uncharted waters of the next chapter of her life. "We did everything together", she said. "We had all kinds of adventures. Now, I'm having to find new things to do on my own." One of her sons owns the Beatrice Sawmill & Construction Company, and built her a cabin behind his own on their 42 acres. She now feeds the crew at the mill for both breakfast and lunch. Sometimes there is only one man; at other times there are close to 30. Whatever Miss Joan feeds them it is always made from scratch, including the bread. "It's so easy!", she said. "It makes me sick that the most baking these girls nowadays do is pop open one of those biscuit tubes. I won't even touch one of them. A tube!", she scoffed.

As our lively conversation went back and forth, Miss Joan talked about all the activities that help her to keep fit and strong. She let it slip that she is in her 70's--though like a true Southern lady, she declined to say at which end of that decade. Her indefatiguable nature has served her well. She is an amazing asset not only to her community in Beatrice, but to the greater community in Wiggins and as a model to younger generations.

Back and forth our banter went for over an hour. When I told the story of having to perform CPR on my third child when she was ten days old, Miss Joan and Miss V. choked up with tears alongside me. We laughed together at tales of the antics of our children. We talked about the state of the community and the economy. We shared tidbits from the rich founts of knowledge each one of us has amassed over the years. We encouraged each other, not only for what lay ahead the remainder of that day, but as women--in all of the roles we fulfill with our lives.

As Miss Joan and I rose to leave, there were hugs all around. "Come see me in Beatrice sometime", she said. Miss V. had found her second wind and returned to the kitchen with renewed energy. I went on my way feeling blessed by the love of new friends.

I wonder how many other lives Miss Joan and Miss V. have touched. They may seem like ordinary women with unremarkable lives; on closer examination, they prove to be quite extraordinary. I am certain that there are too many people to count who would testify to that.

Each one of us who lives and breathes is truly extraordinary, whether or not we realize it. What we choose to do with our life can and does make a difference in the lives of others--a difference for better or for worse, depending on how we have chosen. May we all live as mindfully, as purposefully, as kindly, as indefatiguably, as compassionately as Miss Joan and Miss V.