Remembering Ruth's Imprint

    Nine times out of ten, in my house at least, if you see a properly frosted cake or a pan of bars, it’s probably not for family consumption.  It is “going” somewhere—a bake sale, church event, or more often than I care to recognize as of late, a grieving family.  My boys will ask—“Can we eat this?” and while I should be embarrassed, it’s a fair question.  I do not bake that much—Now, I can whip up a mean casserole, but cakes, cookies, and bars—that’s not my gig so the boys know it’s serious if they see a frosted anything on the counter.  Do not touch. 

   I  remember my mom telling me once (as she headed out the door with  a cake, card and Kleenex in tote) that you get to a point in your life and you realize that many of the people you met when you were younger were now dying and how difficult this time in your life can be.    She told me how tough it was saying goodbye to the friends and family who so warmly welcomed her to Winner when she and dad moved back in 1963.  Mom was a rare transplant to Tripp County--  a  Seattle- native, United Airlines stewardess who fell in love with a USD coed after a random meeting in Deadwood one July weekend.  A whirlwind romance, Justice of Peace wedding in November 1962 followed by a small apartment in Denver comprised their early days as a couple, but the draw of raising a family in South Dakota found them relocating to Winner with my dad’s family business.   Talk about culture shock….talk about true love…talk about the buzz in town when the news that “Bobby Daughters married a stewardess and is moving home” hit the coffee shop and the sale barn circles (you small town folk will get what I mean by “buzz”) ….but my mom openly embraced the Winner community and was affectionately welcomed by my amazing Aunt Birdie and her friends.  She even lived in her mother-in-law’s basement for 10 months….if that doesn’t define true love, well, I don’t know what does.

    Sadly, I’m currently at that point in my life that Mom spoke about.  Many of the wonderful people I met as youngster or younger version of me, aren’t here anymore.  I’m not sure if it’s been a difficult year or that I’m just more aware of this now, but we have been saying goodbye to too many as of late…. family friends, former coaches,  classmate’s parents, co-workers, and acquaintances have been on our minds and their loved ones in our hearts these past months.  And you’re right, Mom, it’s tough. 

    But recalling these folk  has brought back many fond memories….

    I seem to know a lot of people. It’s rare I go somewhere without running into someone I know.  I’m teased about this often and friends will comment, “My gosh, do you know everyone?”  I like to think I come by this naturally as I watched my dear mom strike up conversations with strangers in line at stores and ball games.  And some I can attribute to our career path.   We have taught and coached in some amazing places.  In each of those places you meet the families and friends that are the fabric of that community.  And I would challenge anyone to find better people to hang out with than cheering fans.  This doesn’t mean they’ve always loved the “coach” or his “decisions”, because I can write an entirely different post on that subject…J   But on the whole, fans are a pretty good bunch to hang with….especially grandmas.  Especially Grandma Ruth Taggart…Ruth was a Gregory/Winner/Springview, NE fan extraordinaire with a posse of grandkids  she dutifully followed over the river and through the woods to their many events. And I was lucky enough to be in the stands with her for many of these events.

      Now Ruth had a smile and laugh that could ignite a power plant.  Truly one of the most sincere, funny people I’ve had the pleasure to cross paths with…and most of our travels involved sports and the Gorillas.  Her posse was talented and amazing—both her kids and grandkids alike.  They worked hard, competed, and made you glad to have them on your side.  And with Ruth cheering for you, you were never going to be on the short end no matter what the scoreboard said. 

We were young and childless when we arrived in Gregory and between me teaching in Winner and Mark with the Gorillas, we had plenty of options for games to attend, and we did, often going to events five nights a week.   Mark worked at the Hansen-Andersen camps in the summer and that would leave me solo to wander over to the baseball diamond to watch the local Teener team.  They were good—really good.  And the families and fans were as much fun as you could have in the summer. And did we have fun!

     One steamy, hot, Saturday afternoon in July the Gregory Teener faithful traveled south to Herrick for a regional baseball game.  Like all small town “stadiums”, the seating was limited.  The Herrick folk had staked out the good spots with their vehicles (rightfully so!) and the rest of us filled the bleachers and hauled folding chairs towards the diamond. Remember there were no canvas, fold-up in a bag, cup holder included, lawn chairs at this time.  These were the old nylon-webbed, aluminum framed, folding lawn chairs.   Or if you were really fancy, the plastic webbed, colorful, tri-fold chaise chair we all used when we hit the river in the summer.  These are the chairs I happened to have in the car that warm July day.  And Ruth and I decided to stretch out and watch the game on these yellow and orange chairs. 

The temps continued to rise and water was a hot commodity.  The blistering heat that day ensured that the plastic chairs were sweating right along with the Gregory faithful.   The usual sunflower seed- Diet Coke- bathroom routine was in full force and soon it was my turn to find the bathroom.  As I stood up from the chair, I could hear Ruth giggling so I looked back and soon I was laughing right along with her. (You had to join in as her smile and giggle were infectious!)  There in the yellow and orange woven lawn chair was the imprint of my backside…..now if you’ve never seen that sagging view, consider yourself lucky.  In the middle of our laughter Ruth states, “God, I am going to stop drinking water.  I don’t want to have to get up and look at the imprint I will leave.”  We were howling….the combination of the soft, sagging colorful chair with my backside imprint, a bag of seeds, a Diet Coke, and a baseball game and we were laughing like we were seated at a comedy show in Vegas.  We claimed we would be the last two to leave the park so no one but us would see the sagging chairs.     I never look at one of those lawn chairs that I don’t think of Ruth and smile and laugh.  She was a beautiful soul inside and out.

     On Saturday, the amazing Irish-Catholic, fun-loving gang Ruth and Paul brought to this earth will be gathering to say goodbye.  It will be a glorious collection of grand people who will miss the matriarch of Taggart gatherings.  As for me, I hope the weather holds…because I’m going to sit outside in a lawn chair and think back to all those hours in the bleachers and on the sidelines with Ruth.  And when I arise from the chair---and look back at the “imprint” my generous backside made, I’m going to remember the imprint her generous spirit and laugh left with me.  And then I’m going to laugh.    Because I know Ruth would want me to….. Bless you Taggarts.  You are in my prayers.