*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.
Through the years, I have heard you talk of Sally often enough that I feel like I know her, but am sad to say I have never actually met her. But I know I would love her!!
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