Nancy Price

is honored with a Brick from Jay M. Price

Nancy Jane Marsh Price
Mother, Quiltess, Friend.

The longer I live, the more I realize that what a special person I have had, and fortunately have, in the person of my mother: Nancy Jane Marsh Price.

So often , we say these things when a person is gone. Or sick. I wanted to do this now, when you are alive and healthy. Why not simply say thank you now?

I will always remember you being awake and up well before me, working hard in the garden
In the kitchen, at the sewing machine.

I will always remember how you said you could never stay mad at me for more than fifteen minutes. Thanks.

You showed me that there was nothing wrong with working hard. With doing a job well.
And balancing hard work with play and leisure. Balance. You taught me balance in life.

You were there when I came home from school. You asked about my day.
You took an interest in what I was doing
Well before it was trendy to do that.

But never nosy. Never prying. Always trusting that I would do the right thing.

As a teenager, I found you and dad always to be sensible. Reasonable.
I didn't need to rebel. You gave me structure but enough freedom to pursue my dreams and my lives.

Whatever I wanted to do, you supported me. Even if you weren't sure what it was I wanted to do-or even if I wasn't sure what I wanted to do.

You were a confidant, someone I could talk to.

Perhaps my favorite times with you have been those great discussions of culture,
Philosophy, art, religion. So many things.
Those discussions when anything else in the world seemed to be an annoying distraction.

You (and dad) were really ahead of your time on a lot of things.
You gardened before it became popular, growing our own fruits and vegetables-which you
Made sure we all ate-well before it became fashionable to do so.

You quilted. You saw beauty in the old quilts, the unfinished pieces, the unloved scraps.
And transformed them into things with new life. And inspired others to do that as well.

You were an artist, with fabric and thread you made pictures of your life. Not caring whether they would be judged in a contest or for sale but for the deepest, most pure form of art that there is: of making it because it brought the artist pleasure and to the people who slept under them.

I wish I could count all the eyes that lit up, amazed, impressed, when I said my mother quilted.

You were an artist, one who saw the beauty, the art in a well-cooked meal. In all the creative ethnic dinners we did for Christmas. In how you for so many years did the hosting for gatherings and quietly, by yourself, did the dishes afterwards.

And for how many years did we sort out the problems of the world talking over the kitchen counter getting ready for dinner?

You say there is nothing special in these things. Yet so few mothers do these things anymore. I now realize what a unique, and rare person you are as a mother.

You showed that one can be strong, an equal, even when supporting someone else, as you have done for years and years for dad. You put dad through school. You taught to support your marriage, a marriage I proudly can say was one of love, support, respect. No need for one to be head of the other because each contributed equally. You and dad have always been partners, a team. And perhaps most of all, friends.

You put up with a lot. With moving around so much as a child. With family issues that so many families had growing up. The challenge of coming to a new state with a new way of doing things.

Of a husband who had to be on call night after night to get settled.

Of a son, who always marched to the beat of his own drum.

Of caring for parents who once cared for you.

Who honestly, passionately wondered who she was and what the role God intended for her was.

Heroine. It sounds grand. Sounds big. And then, sometimes it is quiet. Sometimes, just something beautiful, graceful, worth recognizing.

Thanks.

October 1, 2001