I've lost touch with Michael and Judith. I know where they are; I just have stopped corresponding over time. Colleen and I visited a couple of years ago (we saw Judith), and all the memories of our time in College Park, Maryland, came spinning back into my head: Halloween, when their house was very creatively haunted; watching the Blue Sky Puppet Theater making sophisticated points with even young children; seeing our kids at play together. And chatting. That chatting was supremely important in my life. It was usually me chatting, and their listening.
They listened. They cared. They honestly cared.
They made a great difference in my life because of that listening. Don't misunderstand; they were also quite intelligent people who offered good thoughts themselves, and were quite valuable in the advice they offered to the community, the church, and to people. But they made a difference in my life, and I'm sure in the lives of many others, because they listened.
I think (and hope!) that I listen more intently and more honestly because of Michael and Judith Cayo-Cotter.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Mary
Mary Fox is the oldest friend of our family.
My first memory of her is of her coming to our home for a visit after a trip downtown, when she brought me the most delicious coconut macaroons. It seems like every time she came to visit us when I was very small, she brought something from a bakery. My sister and I really looked forward to her visits.
In 1956, when I was nine, she accompanied our family on a trip to Niagra Falls. We drove from Charleston, SC, to NY in a new 1955 Buick Century. (I thought it was the most beautiful car in the world. So did my dad.) Mary helped take care of us as we toured the City, and when we went to the Falls, she held my hand as we went down that wet elevator and into the caves under the falls.
She's always been there. When people were sick, she was there. When people died, she was there. When there were parties or special dinners, she was there. She offered stability to my life just because of her presence. And she taught me that being faithful is one of the most important things we can offer to others in our lives. Even when we don't know what we can do, or when we are full of joy at a wedding and can't express how happy we are, or when we are completely lost in another's grief, we can be there. We can be present. We can be faithful.
Mary is a "difference person."
My first memory of her is of her coming to our home for a visit after a trip downtown, when she brought me the most delicious coconut macaroons. It seems like every time she came to visit us when I was very small, she brought something from a bakery. My sister and I really looked forward to her visits.
In 1956, when I was nine, she accompanied our family on a trip to Niagra Falls. We drove from Charleston, SC, to NY in a new 1955 Buick Century. (I thought it was the most beautiful car in the world. So did my dad.) Mary helped take care of us as we toured the City, and when we went to the Falls, she held my hand as we went down that wet elevator and into the caves under the falls.
She's always been there. When people were sick, she was there. When people died, she was there. When there were parties or special dinners, she was there. She offered stability to my life just because of her presence. And she taught me that being faithful is one of the most important things we can offer to others in our lives. Even when we don't know what we can do, or when we are full of joy at a wedding and can't express how happy we are, or when we are completely lost in another's grief, we can be there. We can be present. We can be faithful.
Mary is a "difference person."
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