Patty passed away Dec 19, two days before she and Kayla were due to arrive in Larkspur, CO and mom was to arrive a few days later for what has turned out to be our Christmas tradition. 

After Patty’s passing, we made a promise to each other – even though we may be sadden by this loss, we are going to keep on celebrating Christmas and all that it stands for, which led us to go to Christmas eve service.

Maybe it was simply we were looking for something to ease the pain of losing Patty but the meditation that Pastor Russ gave that night resonated with all of us.  I have a copy of the sermon but I am not even going to attempt to recite or read it because I cannot give it justice.  But I’ll do my best to give you my reasons why I think it applies to Patty.

The meditation is based on the scripture Luke 2:8-14.  It talks about the angels who are visiting the shepherds and sharing the news of the birth of Jesus. Pastor Russ points out that angels play a very important role in delivering the Christmas message. 

Then Pastor Russ does what he does best and blended the scripture with popular culture. In this case, it was a movie called “It’s a Wonderful Life.”  “It’s a Wonderful Life” has become a staple at Christmas time for many including my mother and siblings.  To refresh everyone’s memory, this is a movie about George Bailey.  One Christmas Eve, George decided life was not wonderful or even worth living.  He is alone on a bridge on Christmas Eve contemplating jumping into the cold river below when God designates an angel to deliver a message to him.

He wasn’t exactly an angel, of course.  His name was Clarence Oddbody.  At least, he knew he was an  “Angel, Second Class” who needed to successfully deliver a message before he would be promoted and get his wings.

Clarence’s job was to bring a message of hope and peace to George. He was charged with the responsibility of convincing George that his life mattered and it had purpose and meaning.  It was not an easy message to deliver.  After a couple of unsuccessful attempts to rally George’s spirits, Clarence has an idea. He is going to give George the gift of seeing what the world would be like if he had never been born.  The idea works, and George is transformed. 

When we heard the original sermon, we couldn’t help but wonder what our lives would have been like, not if we were never born…but if Patty had never been born.  For so many of us, it’s difficult to imagine our lives without the impact of Patty. Our lives shined brighter because we had her in them.  She loved unconditionally, she gave with no expectation of anything in return and she accepted you for who you are.  That was her message.

Sometimes we are so preoccupied with the idea of what angels are supposed to look like, (wings, flying, singing, robes, etc.) that we miss the messengers God has sent to us. Sometimes angels look like winged creatures from heaven. Sometimes they come in the form of Clarence, like in the movie. Sometimes, God’s messengers look like our next door neighbor, that person working next to you, your family, your friends, and even people you’ve just met. Clarence may have showed him the “awful hole” that would have been left if he had not been born, but in the movie it was everyone else who showed him the wonder of his life. For those who knew her, it was Patty who helped show them the wonder of life.

Maybe the point after all, is that the message of God’s peace needed to be delivered in the film- and it still does for all of us. Angels played a big part in the first Christmas and they still do -- at Christmas time and every day.

God can send messages through any means God wants. Sometimes it may be a heavenly being. In my life, the messengers have been much more the flesh and blood kind. The message is Divine, but the messengers look normal.

Sometimes they even look like my sister Patty.

I'll never forget the day that Patty looked up at me with tears in her eyes, and asked me to remove the dozen porcupine barbs from Beowulf's tender nose.  We were in Colorado for Grandma Betty's birthday.  With the entirety of my experience as a Veterinary Technician (which was a whopping 6 months), I could barely muster up the words that I couldn't help her.  She then took his poor head in her hands and bravely and confidently removed each barb, tolerating his whines and whimpers.  

Patty seemed to always be able to do that:  be confident.  She walked to the beat of her own music and did not seem to conform to society's norms.  Patty read romance novels, saved every dog she could and wrote stories of her travels and experiences.  While my life went it's own way, she could be counted on for encouragement and support in whatever new path I chose.  She was not there when I moved away from home or had my children, but Patty's spirit always seemed to follow me, urging me to keep seizing the day.  One thing Patty taught me was to write down my thoughts and stories.  We were always exchanging our writings, asking for proofing and advice.  Patty was consistent in her beliefs that you should confidently put yourself out there in literature, even if the literature was for your own sanity.

I found this story while cleaning out my garage the other day.  It may be simple and it is not one of her famous stories that I remembered, however it is another example of how Patty bravely attacked a new experience in her life.  It made me chuckle to reread it and realize the poignancy of it all.

I will miss Patty's brave demeanor, her laugh and most of all, her confidence.  If I can pass on anything that is anything I've learned from her to my children, it will be to always move ahead with confidence, all the while having fun (and if you're not having fun, learning how to change your attitude or your earrings), and walking to the beat of your own music (or in this case, skiing ahead on new terrain)...

Learn to Ski, Learn to Have Fun
by the Incredibly Late Patty Taylor

Who would have thought that at the age of 35 I become a skier?  Certainly not my eighth grade gym teacher, that nasty creature in tight white shorts, who would say things like "you throw like a girl."

Many young girls in the modern 90s are taught how to throw a ball and swing a bat.  My young nieces play soccer and dance, and of course, ski.  But organized sports came after my generation of women grew up.  We were raised to read Little House on the Prarie books, play the piano and cheer the boys on in Little League.

So last March 13, 1993 was a day of triumph for me, as I skied down Porcupine at Taos Ski Valley with my brother Tom.  Finally, after 35 years of recreational subservience, I was an equal.

It was this attitude, a mixture of envy, pride, and curiosity that pushed me towards Strawberry Hill in January 1992.  That, and the fact that I had heard there were a lot of healthy single men who skied.

Strawberry Hill might sound like something a platoon of army soldiers battled over in WWII, but it is actually the beginner area of Taos Ski Valley.  "Beginner area, hah!'  I thought to myself, that January morning, as I waddled over, self-consciously gripping skis and poles.  "Who are they kidding?"  My palms were sweating.  My breath was fast.  I wanted to cry.  I stood next to a lady dressed to kill in a turquoise ski outfit.  Even her goggles matched.  As we waited for someone to pay attention to us I plucked dog hairs off of my Walmart basic black ski pants.  The night before I had used by jacket as a hot pad to open to door to my wood stove.  Which leads me to lesson #1 about skiing:  Never use your ski jacket to open the door to your wood stove.  It will melt.

Ski instructors at Taos wear yellow jackets.  There must be some kind of psychology behind that.  Maybe yellow inspires confidence, and creates happy feelings of supreme well-being.  For whatever reason, yellow works.  Every ski instructor I've ever had at Taos Ski Valley was confident that he/she was having a good time.  And the strange thing is most of them seem to have names of one syllable, like Dawn or Sean or Todd.  Which leads me to lesson #2 about skiing: Be slightly suspicious about ski instructors who have names with more than one syllable.  Ask them for references.  Just who exactly have they taught to ski?  Ask them trick questions like, if the chair stopped and we were stuck and a blizzard comes and it got dark, would my cellular telephone still work?

But anyway.  There I was standing at the bottom of Strawberry Hill, plucking dog hairs.  Eventually a ski instructor named Chris came over.  He grinned, confidently having fun.  "Have you ever skied?" he asked.

"No, never skied, never, not ever, not once," I babbled.  The sophisticated turquoise goggle lady smiled politely.  "No, Chris, I've never skied," she said.

"Can you ski down that," Chris asked.  He pointed to a slight inclination.  The turquoise goggle lady said she could.  "If she can I can," I thought.  We skied down the strawberry bump.  The turquoise goggle lady fell.  Turns out she was a nice lady named Meg.

After careful consideration, Taos Ski Valley finally chose an instructor for Meg and me, a great guy named Peter.  (It might be a good career move for him to change his name to Pete.)  That first day Peter got us on Lift #3, and down Strawberry Hill.  It was exhausting.  I don't remember much about that first lesson.  I just remember Peter smiling confidently and having fun, saying things like, "Breathe, Patty.  That's good.  Now breathe out."  Which leads to lesson #3: Always breathe when your instructor tells you to breathe.

I remember getting in my car, driving home and crawling under the electric blanket, with the heat on high.

I don't remember why I went back.  I think I had already paid for the lessons and couldn't get a refund.  Peter, Meg and I conquered Strawberry Hill during our second and third afternoons.  Finally we were ready for the big time.  I can still remember the first time I rode the Quad Chair up the mountain.  Mostly because I remember looking down at Al's Run and praying furiously that there was another way down.  Which is, of course, lesson #4: Always stick a trail map in your pocket.  (I also carry tissue paper, a pen and a pad of paper in case my instructor says something brilliant.)

Peter took us down Honeysuckle and Rubezahl.  It seemed so hard!  I remember holding back my tears.  After all, if Peter was confidently having fun, then who was I to hold him back?  For the next couple of Sundays I painfully snowplowed my way back and forth across the mountain, afraid to pick up speed, terrified of getting hit, or, even worse, hitting someone.  I would leave the slopes so tired and sad.  I was not confidently having fun.

Then one warm sunny winter afternoon came the epiphany.  I remember it well.  We were at the top of Lift #8.  Peter said something funny and I started laughing.  Which is lesson #5: Always laugh at your ski instructor's jokes.  Laughing made me relax.  I remember taking a deep breath and looking at the mountains, the trees and the sky. All of a sudden I knew I could have fun.  I was confident that I could do it!

The next time I skied I wore my purple and turquoise polka dotted coyote earrings to symbolize my new attitude.  The earrings were fun, skiing was fun, I was having fun.  Pay close attention to lesson #6: Have fun!  Skiing is supposed to be fun.  If you're not having fun, then you better change your attitude, your ski class, your boots or your earrings.

I've skied another year since then, with several ski instructors, but mostly with Peter.  I'm probably classified as a careful intermediate skier.  Look for me on the slopes.  I'm the one wearing Walmart ski pants, a melted ski jacket, coyote earrings and a huge smile.  Have fun! 

When I think of my niece Patty the first words that come to mind are GENEROUS and GENUINE -- of spirit and of heart.  Next come THOUGHTFUL and HOPEFUL, INVITING and INCLUSIVE.

Oh yes, she was also doggedly determined, stubborn, independent and messy.  She had little interest in wasting time on the mundane:  Her car was a rolling wastebasket.  Her home was a cheerful clutter.  Her cupboards and fridge were danger zones.  Her garage a mine field:  Watch your step!

But her priorities were clean and crystal clear:  Kayla first. Self and others second. 
 
Patty believed in the basic goodness of people, always had faith they would find it in themselves.  She would not give up on others, even in the face of incredible odds.

Patty was full of kind words.  She refrained from gossiping or complaining.  She reached out, offering help even when her plate was full, even when her health was compromised.  She was grateful and giving -- forgiving even -- when others would have said, "Enough, already!" 

I will miss her smile, which was so genuine -- lighting up her face and the faces of those around her.  It went far beyond her beautiful teeth and lips  -- it washed over her face; it crinkled her cheeks; it made her eyes sparkle and almost disappear in delight. 

I will miss her voice.  On the phone it was, "Hey, Uncle Mike and Marj.  It's Patty!"  I will miss the lilt of her cheerful greetings left as messages when we weren't there to talk.

I will also miss her joyful presence, her warmth and understanding, and most of all her non-judgmental acceptance.  Patty loved unconditionally.  And she lived that to the fullest.  She will always be a model for me in so many, many ways.

I always felt better when I'd been with her. Now I'll carry her in my heart so she'll always be with me.

Blessed be,
Aunt Marj