Kirt wrote this and read it on the day of our mother's memorial:
We gather here to honor the memory of Nancy, a great mother, a caring wife, an admired guidance counselor, a treasured grandmother, a friend to many, and much more. Harry and Mary named their child Nancy Ellen when she started life in Oregon as an Ahlquist in 1926. Prohibition is still in effect, Goddard launches his first liquid-fuel rocket, and route 66 is now established. Her birth marks a time in history that was about opportunity, exploration, growth, and change. Maybe this energy became the raw materials that created my mother's constant optimism, inquisitive mind, and all around love of life. She enjoyed people, enjoyed travel, enjoyed learning, and her face was alight with the joy of her journey. You can look at any picture of her and see her grace, see her energy, and see her spark.
Nancy's family would soon move to the east coast and would ignite her interest in travelling that would constantly bounce her between the two coasts like a yoyo. She would also travel to other countries and cherish those experiences too. You could tell she enjoyed exploring and travelling because her sparkling eyes reflected the memory of all the sights that she saw. Her spirit was fueled by adventure and her memory held onto her experiences like treasured gems. She shared her experiences through her well-worn stories that reflected the lens that she used to view the living world. I grew up with her, in her words, and learned that the world was just a buffet; laid out to be sampled and tried until your plate was filled. Eat some experiences, some memories, and some places and then fill it again. Her journey rarely took a rest, frequently took a detour, and always lifted her spirit.
Excuse me while I borrow a story of hers to let you peer into Nancy as a child. She was a young schoolgirl walking home from the end of the school day. Walking with her friend, she found wild blueberries growing on their journey. Eating their fill, they continued on home. Life was carefree and balancing on a wall was the adventure that made life taste sweeter. But with adventure, there is risk, and she fell and hit her head, which resulted in a concussion. The doctor was called away from the opera to help her and there was no time to change his white tux. When mom told this story, it was important to emphasize the fact she was asked if she ate anything. She would explain that she hid the fact that she had blueberries. When the anesthesia was administered, she threw up and ruined the white tux. I may not have gotten this story completely correct, because it might have changed several times in the numerous telling’s. No matter, I enjoyed this story because it showed me many things about my mother that I think she wanted to tell me. She was adventurous. She was happy. She had a fun childhood. She had friends when she was both very young on until... well she never stopped making friend. She was fallible. She made mistakes, but she learned from them and taught what she learned to others. She liked food. She especially liked blueberries, but this would expand to lobsters, oysters, Clamato, butter, hollandaise sauce, strong coffee, blue cheese, goat cheese, and pretty much anything that contained the flavor of life. She liked spice in all senses of the word. She became a cook that didn't have to measure and she did not learn that talent from her mother. She was inspired by Julia Child and would anointed Julia’s cookbook with many of her culinary creations. Maybe she stopped measuring because she could no longer read the recipes that Julia had so carefully written for her. She met Julia one day in New York and, in my mind, I wonder if they realized how close they were to being twins. Each one staring at a likeness of the other, they must have wondered how fate had brought them together for this one frozen moment in time. Remember: one swig of brandy for the recipe and one for the cook. My mother also had great skill in repairing a recipe. Soon after she would arrive in your house, a meal would start. If an ingredient was missing, she could find a substitute or she would just change the result to fit the raw materials at hand. It was hard to remember to have fried left-handed Asian capers or Austrian goat Béchamel sauce on hand for her latest creation. Nancy also followed special ceremonies according to the food she prepared. For example, when she prepared live lobster, the lobster had to be allowed to wander around on the kitchen floor while the water came to a boil. It would crawl around, get sniffed by the dog, and maybe make it down the hall before the inevitable date with the pot. She loved food as she loved life and her friends and family could feel her appreciation for the spice that makes living exciting.
I love cooking, probably because of her, but I will never have the same skill she had at it. She also taught me to drive. We only had a couple of weeks to pass the drivers exam before school started and there was an added complication: I had to learn on a manual shift. It was not pretty, but she helped me through it. Looking back, I wish I had thanked her more. Whenever I drive a car, see a lobster crawling, or cook a meal without measuring, I will think of her.
She had many successes in life and many challenges. She reinvented herself by going back to graduate school, so she could help more kids other than just her own. The children she cared for at school would run up and hug her whenever they saw her. If she went to mall, she would be hugged by a whole gang. She would smile brightly when she saw an old friend, because she knew a good conversation was soon to be had. She built houses into homes and made sure that there was plenty of people, food, pets, plants, and love. Every home had to have an ample dinning room table, even if the number of kids attending expanded and retreated over the many years. She helped with the family business, even if it was not her primary interest to do human resources. She left a part of herself wherever she went and with whomever she met. The randomness of life was just the different flavors blending together, like an ice cream churn blending raw ingredients into a unique and unforgettable mixture.
I knew my mother my whole life and I will miss her now. She was always there, but now no more. Our death does not define our life; it just draws a period at the end. She left this world with the same independence she absorbed in her childhood. She loved her dog so much, she forgot herself. This was the same love for animals that she taught to her children and then her children taught to her grandchildren. On August 31, she drove her dog Delimi to the emergency vet, because she cared about life and thought about others before herself. She had moved back to San Diego to get well and used this newfound energy to do maybe more than she should. But that was her character, her fabric, and her spirit. Asking her to change was like asking the sun to change direction. Moving to a new home was natural for her. She had done it many times. I couldn’t even attempt to name or count the places she lived. The number of homes was rivaled only by the sheer number of email address she burned through. She used them like BBQ potato chips in a frat house during rush week. She dedicated her life to helping others, especially if they were in need. She was a bright star and anyone who was paying attention could see that. The hints were obvious and showed in her face, in her actions, and in her life. She had many friends and I am glad that many of you could make it here today to remember the impact Nancy had in your world. She taught me much and I see her in her friends and family. I thank you for the small or large part you played in helping her and making her life full, long, and enjoyable. Nancy's gift back to you is a simple love of life she has left inside you, which you may keep forever.
I don’t know everything about my mom and probably don’t even know the half of what she was, what she did, or how she affected the people around her. If you could, think about a time that you spent with Nancy; maybe a moment you shared with her that was special or unique. Maybe you know a story behind one of the pictures or something that not everyone knows. If you are inspired, share it with us, even if it’s only a sentence. Thanks for attending; you honor her by your presence.
