May Daze -- Sally's Amador Reunion

*Warning* If you find talk of poor health, death, funerals, and eulogies morbid or inappropriate, read no further!

A Moser favorite movie from the late 90’s is Waking Ned Devine. It’s a comedy about a small Irish community coming together to claim and share the lottery winnings of a friend and neighbor who died from the shock of his good fortune. An assumed identity results in Michael O’Sullivan attending his own funeral and basking in the glowing eulogy given by his best friend, Jackie O’Shea. Earlier this year Sally told me she was planning her funeral and memorial service (including the menu). Having known Sally for the past twenty years, I wasn’t sure if she was just trying to spare her three children this unwanted task or, more likely, just making sure it was done right and to her satisfaction. Sally loves to cook and entertain and since she moved to Santa Barbara over a decade ago has been heavily involved with her local temple and become the go-to person for all large events involving food. It was during this conversation that a particular line from the movie Waking Ned Devine (“What a wonderful thing it would be to visit your own funeral.”) came up and I rather think that this may have prompted her recent visit to see her old friends in Amador County and host a Pizza Party at her favorite pizza parlor in Pine Grove.

Verne and I first met Sally Simms when we were invited to join (actually, audition) for a local dinner group comprised of four or five couples in the area, including Sally and her friend Neil McElroy. While we were on our best behavior that first night, she had already been warned about Verne (if you know the man, you know why a “warning” was in order) and she took him by the arm as we walked towards her dining room and said, “You are seated next to me where I can keep an eye on you.” From that moment they’ve had a special relationship. Our dinner group, eventually becoming known as the Grub Club, was the impetus for Verne and I spending every Saturday for six months at Home Chef in Sacramento attending their culinary program, subscribing to a half dozen cooking magazines, and accumulating an extensive library of cookbooks. Now that I think about it, even the name of this blog was indirectly influenced by those early attempts at entertaining the Grub Club and Sally Simms. My close friendship with Sally was a slow bloom that began with our monthly (later on bi-monthly and eventually quarterly) Grub Club dinners, my weekly visits to drop off eggs at her home in Sutter Creek (she became my “egg broker”), and later our mutual interest in quilting and creation of Stix Chix (a quilting group of family and friends). From the beginning it has been an easy relationship, with no expectations and no demands on each other’s time. We sometimes talk every few days. Other times, we’re busy and a week or two may go by between calls. When we do connect, it’s always as if no time has passed and we just pick up where we left off. We are interested in each other and find each other interesting. We are both bossy, but somehow have managed over the years to take turns being “the boss”.  If we get a bit peeved with each other (which is rare, but then no relationship is without its challenges), we just manage to laugh and move on. After all, we are best friends.

Back to Sally’s visit in May. As Verne often says, Sally has every ailment known to man. That’s no exaggeration. She lives with constant pain, spends part of every week at doctors’ appointments, takes pills throughout the day that a normal person would require a spreadsheet to manage. Does she sit at home and ask God why? Never. Does she whine, withdraw, and feel sorry for herself? Never. She lives. Sally told me once that her days are not spent waiting to die; instead, she chooses to live each day and do those things that bring her joy. She quilts, even when she has to rely on friends to do her cutting and ironing. As long as she can guide a piece of fabric through her sewing machine, she will quilt. She cooks, even when she has to rely on friends to cut the food because the pain in her hands is so severe that she can’t hold a knife. She plays bridge and mahjong and trivial pursuit. There’s certainly nothing wrong with her mind. She comforts and is comforted by her dog, Elliot, although she can no longer walk him and must rely on greedy little kids down the street to exercise him each afternoon (I say greedy, because the little brats wanted $5 a day to walk him to the end of the block and back!) She always has time for her best friend when she calls and is always more interested in what that best friend (me) has to say than to complain about her own circumstances. Have I told you that Sally laughs a lot? I love her laugh. I sometimes call to just hear her laugh. Sally is a remarkable person and one that I truly admire. She is intelligent and kind and loving and she is my best friend forever.

As for Sally’s visit, which was going to happen with or without her doctors’ approval, it was successful in that she didn’t die on our watch. (I told you earlier not to continue reading if you’re touchy about this kind of talk.) All of Sally’s doctors advised her against making the 400 mile trip. None of us thought it was a good idea. But, she was coming, come hell or high water (what does that saying mean? My mom used to always say it…). Her friend (actually, Sandy is more of a daughter than most daughters are to their mothers) drove her, stopping several times both coming and going, and tended to her needs. They arrived on a Thursday evening around 7 p.m. and by 9 p.m. Sally was in emergency (the first of two trips to our local hospital). They patched her up, gave her some antibiotics and sent her home. The next day we quilted. Yes, Sally has her priorities. We spent that evening partying at Pine Grove Pizza with about 20 of her friends and family in the area. I’ve included a few of the pictures below. It was back to the emergency ward after the party as the infection in her leg had spread. With a few hours of sleep, she was ready to spend another day in the cabin quilting. Amazing (or crazy?)! 

Here is the full quote from Waking Ned Divine that we should all remember. It goes like this, “The words that are spoken at a funeral are spoken too late for the man who is dead. What a wonderful thing it would be to visit your own funeral. To sit at the front and hear what was said, maybe say a few things yourself. Michael and I grew old together. But at times, when we laughed, we grew young. If he was here now, if he could hear what I say, I'd congratulate him on being a great man, and thank him for being a friend.”

Thank you for being my friend, Sally. I love you.