This picnic, mind you, was no ordinary picnic in any sense of the word; it was an adventure. We dressed up in ridiculous hats, sketchbooks and picnic baskets in hand and set off to discover the entrance to Whangdoodle land, a mythical place that existed in the pages of a Julie Andrews novel and in the heart's of any child who ever took the time to read it. We walked along the trails of Belmar Park and sat on the bridges and docks surrounding the lake, keeping our eyes peeled for a field of flowers or a bush that could potentially be the portal to this world that seemed all to real in our imaginations.
Our lunch that day consisted of lemon-gingers, cucumber and butter sandwiches and petite lemon cakes, some of Nana's very favorite things. We found a stone dock with a grand staircase to host our picnic on, and we sat sketching and chatting excitedly about our day while dragonflies hummed across the water and curious geese swam ever closer, hoping for a bite or two of our delicious lunch.
My Nana was equal parts Mary Poppins, Amelia Earhart and Martha Stewart, but more importantly, she was something else entirely. She was a woman with the limitless imagination of a child and the strength and courage of one hundred men. She seemed to possess an almost magical quality about her; there was no recipe she couldn't make, no project she couldn't create by hand, no song she couldn't sing and no adventure that didn't appeal to her. As children, my cousins' and I always prayed that we would fall ill enough to require a week at Nana's for recovery, as her cooking, her laughter and her love of life were always the very best medicine. Even her handwriting, filled with careful loops and her trademarks "ands" written diagonally seemed mystical. She always seemed to be something more than human; the epitome of everything that was pure and wonderful in this world. She was a humble woman who's greatest pleasures came from pleasing others. Her bright blue eyes and long eyelashes would light up when you told her about a small achievement, as she viewed overcoming even the smallest of obstacles to be the largest of accomplishments.
My Nana and I took to writing letters back and forth though we lived only a few miles apart. In one letter she wrote to me, dated June 21, 2000, she wrote me a list of her favorite things, asking in return for a list of mine so that we could compare how alike or different we were. Amongst her favorite things were lavender, Santas, ships, history, adventures, books and ironing clothes. She wrote me a detailed list of 45 things (in no particular order of preference, she noted) that seemed so random and unrelated. Her personality was an eclectic fusion of things my family and I could only categorize as being "totally Nana." Her heart and mind had room for a little bit of everything, and her favorite things were an assortment of the little things in life that so many never stop to appreciate.
My Nana was a woman who knew no shame or embarrassment, a woman who did exactly what she wanted and could not be bothered by the looks and thoughts of others. Whether she was tap dancing on the cobblestones in her backyard or jumping in mud puddles, singing in the rain, she did it with pride and pure unadulterated joy. My best memories with my Nana are the most ridiculous ones, the ones where people would stare at us and point and wonder why on Earth we were behaving so silly. She always understood that life was too short to bother with pretending to be someone you weren't, and that in the grand scheme of things it was better for strangers to laugh at you for having fun then to pass you without so much as a second glance.
No matter how sick my Nana got or how large the obstacle life threw in her way, she faced it with a smile and persevered through. She overcame things doctors said she couldn't, and proved time and time again that nothing was impossible. There was no bridge too long to travel for my Nana and no fence too high to jump. She fought hard, and was always determined to go through hell and back for one more day with her family. Her courage and strength were unrivaled, she was like something out of a fairy tale. In sickness or in health, she lived everyday to the absolute fullest, taking time to appreciate the smallest things and find solace and love in the world around her.
Judith Jayne Pettry Timmons, my Nana, my guiding light and my cheerleader. The foundation or our family and the best friend of everyone fortunate enough to meet her. The woman with the bright blue eyes, the warm smile and the softest hands. The reader, the writer, the dreamer and the adventurer. Though she is gone now, she is still everywhere. She is in the thistles that grow along the water's edge and the weeping willow trees that surround them. She is in the soft breeze that blows across a hot summer day, in the pages of her favorite books and in the memories and hearts of the many lives she touched.
Nana, though I cannot hear you anymore, I know you can still hear me. I know you have finally found Whangdoodle land, and that you are busy making your first impression on the Prock with hopes that he will soon let you cross the bridge that only we could see to meet the Whangdoodle himself. I know you are wearing one of your many ridiculous hats with a string of pearls and a smile, and that one day I will see you again. Though you are not physically with me, you will be at every picnic and adventure I have in the future. You will be spying over my shoulder as I re read our favorite books, and I will always hear your distinct laughter when I giggle at the silly parts. When I tell stories about you, you will always be there to correct me when I get the story wrong, for you filled my mind with so many stories it is impossible to keep them all in order.
When the Prock finally gets tired of seeing you waiting at the far side of the bridge, sipping a lemon-ginger with a picnic basket in hand, and he lets you make your way to the castle to meet the Whangdoodle with his multi-colored house slippers, will you please say "hello" for me?
by Bronwyn Timmons
Our lunch that day consisted of lemon-gingers, cucumber and butter sandwiches and petite lemon cakes, some of Nana's very favorite things. We found a stone dock with a grand staircase to host our picnic on, and we sat sketching and chatting excitedly about our day while dragonflies hummed across the water and curious geese swam ever closer, hoping for a bite or two of our delicious lunch.
My Nana was equal parts Mary Poppins, Amelia Earhart and Martha Stewart, but more importantly, she was something else entirely. She was a woman with the limitless imagination of a child and the strength and courage of one hundred men. She seemed to possess an almost magical quality about her; there was no recipe she couldn't make, no project she couldn't create by hand, no song she couldn't sing and no adventure that didn't appeal to her. As children, my cousins' and I always prayed that we would fall ill enough to require a week at Nana's for recovery, as her cooking, her laughter and her love of life were always the very best medicine. Even her handwriting, filled with careful loops and her trademarks "ands" written diagonally seemed mystical. She always seemed to be something more than human; the epitome of everything that was pure and wonderful in this world. She was a humble woman who's greatest pleasures came from pleasing others. Her bright blue eyes and long eyelashes would light up when you told her about a small achievement, as she viewed overcoming even the smallest of obstacles to be the largest of accomplishments.
My Nana and I took to writing letters back and forth though we lived only a few miles apart. In one letter she wrote to me, dated June 21, 2000, she wrote me a list of her favorite things, asking in return for a list of mine so that we could compare how alike or different we were. Amongst her favorite things were lavender, Santas, ships, history, adventures, books and ironing clothes. She wrote me a detailed list of 45 things (in no particular order of preference, she noted) that seemed so random and unrelated. Her personality was an eclectic fusion of things my family and I could only categorize as being "totally Nana." Her heart and mind had room for a little bit of everything, and her favorite things were an assortment of the little things in life that so many never stop to appreciate.
My Nana was a woman who knew no shame or embarrassment, a woman who did exactly what she wanted and could not be bothered by the looks and thoughts of others. Whether she was tap dancing on the cobblestones in her backyard or jumping in mud puddles, singing in the rain, she did it with pride and pure unadulterated joy. My best memories with my Nana are the most ridiculous ones, the ones where people would stare at us and point and wonder why on Earth we were behaving so silly. She always understood that life was too short to bother with pretending to be someone you weren't, and that in the grand scheme of things it was better for strangers to laugh at you for having fun then to pass you without so much as a second glance.
No matter how sick my Nana got or how large the obstacle life threw in her way, she faced it with a smile and persevered through. She overcame things doctors said she couldn't, and proved time and time again that nothing was impossible. There was no bridge too long to travel for my Nana and no fence too high to jump. She fought hard, and was always determined to go through hell and back for one more day with her family. Her courage and strength were unrivaled, she was like something out of a fairy tale. In sickness or in health, she lived everyday to the absolute fullest, taking time to appreciate the smallest things and find solace and love in the world around her.
Judith Jayne Pettry Timmons, my Nana, my guiding light and my cheerleader. The foundation or our family and the best friend of everyone fortunate enough to meet her. The woman with the bright blue eyes, the warm smile and the softest hands. The reader, the writer, the dreamer and the adventurer. Though she is gone now, she is still everywhere. She is in the thistles that grow along the water's edge and the weeping willow trees that surround them. She is in the soft breeze that blows across a hot summer day, in the pages of her favorite books and in the memories and hearts of the many lives she touched.
Nana, though I cannot hear you anymore, I know you can still hear me. I know you have finally found Whangdoodle land, and that you are busy making your first impression on the Prock with hopes that he will soon let you cross the bridge that only we could see to meet the Whangdoodle himself. I know you are wearing one of your many ridiculous hats with a string of pearls and a smile, and that one day I will see you again. Though you are not physically with me, you will be at every picnic and adventure I have in the future. You will be spying over my shoulder as I re read our favorite books, and I will always hear your distinct laughter when I giggle at the silly parts. When I tell stories about you, you will always be there to correct me when I get the story wrong, for you filled my mind with so many stories it is impossible to keep them all in order.
When the Prock finally gets tired of seeing you waiting at the far side of the bridge, sipping a lemon-ginger with a picnic basket in hand, and he lets you make your way to the castle to meet the Whangdoodle with his multi-colored house slippers, will you please say "hello" for me?
by Bronwyn Timmons
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