I'm just saying...: For Polly, May You Rest in Peace

I first saw Polly Edwards Johnson some 45 years ago.  She drove into my life in a burgundy Mustang convertible and thankfully she stayed around for about the next 5 decades. 

I learned many things from Polly, one of the first being that a woman could keep her maiden name as her middle name!  In the small town of Bryans Road, Polly -- with her middle name and her open mind was a real stand out.  She had three children – Kae, Kris, and KeKe and I had the good fortune to snag Kae as my best friend.  This meant that I had unlimited access to Polly. 

Fortunately Polly had an open door policy and all of Kae’s friends were welcome.  Many of us grew to be part of the often raucous and always interesting Johnson family.  A teacher by trade, Polly could be found evenings and weekends curled up in her living room chair reading a book and making notes.  When I arrived (whether Kae was there or not), Polly would look up and without missing a beat say, “Pam, you’ve got to read this book, this lady is a fabulous writer.”  With her ever present glass of sweet tea and a cloud of cigarette smoke, Polly ruled the living room -- delivering edicts, demands (get my purse, Kris), recommendations and wisdom, to a gaggle of teenaged girls who listened in wonder and took mental notes. 

A mother who read books, talked to me like I was an adult, dispensed sweet tea and the occasional cigarette – I was enthralled.  If it weren’t for Polly, I’m not sure I would have ever considered going to college.  But, there was no doubt in Polly’s mind that was where all of us were headed.  It was“When you and Kae go to college -- THIS and be careful what you choose as a major --THAT” – and soon, I accepted as normal, that I would indeed go to college.  Polly had that knack, what she said, somehow became true, or at least a possibility.  She expected the best effort from people and rarely got less. 

And, it wasn’t just school work and literature that she extolled.  I remember coming in with Kae one day and Polly jumped up to put a record on the stereo, “Listen to this girls, I saw this guy on Johnny Carson the other night and he’s going to be a big star.  She then proceeded to tell us about Elton John.  Kae and I (caught up in the teenybopper world of top 40 tunes) most likely exchanged skeptical glances until we heard the first few notes of “Friends.”

And how fitting that the memory of a song called “Friends” would leap to mind as I gathered my thoughts on Polly.  She embodied the essence of friendship and she obviously passed that along to her children.  “Come in, sit down, have some tea, watch this show, read this book, sing this song.”  All this directed at a gawky teenager with loads of adolescent issues and the desire to be taken seriously.

That was another thing that Polly always did – for her students, her kids and her kids’ friends -- she took us seriously,  She listened to our woes, our little triumphs and our dreams.  She encouraged those dreams.  She didn’t scoff or poo poo what we hoped to do, she said “Do it Girl.”  And, somehow, when it came from the mouth of an adult, a teacher and a parent, it sounded doable.  She came to our sports games, our plays and school activities.  She picked me up countless times in that little burgundy Mustang and schlepped the whole bunch of us to the movies, the mall, and the pool.  And later, when we could drive and go where we pleased, we continued to gather at her feet and listen to her consul on the issues that plagued us as we grew up – grades, boyfriends, parent troubles, college, and politics.  And as we aged the bigger issues of sex, drugs, and rock and roll. 

She was an authority figure, but like no other I’d ever known.  A grown-up who was interested in what young people had to say, who encouraged us to stretch and who never judged or talked down to us. 

I owe her a great debt and I only hope that I repaid a small part of it in her later years when I had the pleasure of making her a dinner or taking her to a concert or spending an evening with her reminiscing about the old days. 

Thank you, Polly – for the wisdom, the guidance and the laughter.  Thank you for being a part of that Village that it truly takes to raise a child.  Not only raise them – as you did your three loving children and their countless friends – but raise them to be responsible, thoughtful and caring adults. 

When I think of you in the days, weeks, months and years to come – I will see you in a comfortable chair, bathed in the warm glow of lamp light, head bent over a book and pencil and notepad at the ready.  As I cross the threshold into your snug little living room, you’ll look up with a warm smile and in that husky but commanding voice --softened with a slight Georgia drawl – say “You gotta see this, read this or do that…”  And I will, Polly -- we all will -- we’ll keep learning and growing and living like you wanted us to, like your taught us, like you showed us. 

Thank you Friend, Mother, Grandmother, and Teacher.  Thank you and Good bye. 

Polly Edwards Johnson & Me 

Keeping the Peace

Okay, I broke one of my Cardinal rules today – I went shopping on a Saturday morning. I have been breaking it all summer because the best venders come to the Farmer’s Market on Saturday mornings.  Usually I shop and go home, in keeping with my pledge not to bother the working folks. (See blog post 03/23/12).  Well, it’s a damn good thing I stayed out because my services were sorely needed. 

As always, my first stop of the morning is Starbucks.  My fav location at the intersection of Old Georgetown Road and Rockville Pike is moderately busy serving the best coffee on the planet.  I get my usual order and hop over to the bank to get some cash.  All is well until I exit the bank.  As I juggle my coffee and search for my keys, I notice a man lurking around the entrance to the sheltered ATM.  Yes, I said lurking; he is slouched over with his hands stuffed in his pockets; mumbling to himself and furtively eyeing those exiting the Starbucks.  As is my nature, when he looks my way I make direct eye contact.  He quickly looks down.  I would never have given it another thought (maybe he was mumbling into a tiny cell phone), but as I start up my car I notice that he has wandered over to the trash can near the parking spaces.  He proceeds to fish out a discarded coffee cup and take a swig.  Then he scoops up a morsel of pastry and swallows it.  I’ve seen this before (albeit, not often in Mo Co) and I am not alarmed.  Not until he suddenly begins to shout and gesture menacingly at a young family on their way to the cleaners.  A small boy with wide eyes looks over his shoulder as his parents tug him forward.  Heads at the outside tables swivel to look and one couple gathers up their things to leave.  Now I am on alert and immediately shift into “witness mode” –  Hmm, white male, mid to late 60s, balding with sparse gray hair, about 5’6”, neatly dressed in a navy golf shirt, tucked into belted jeans.  I make a special note of his most prominent identifying mark – no front teeth.  I put my coffee aside and watch him carefully.  He strides up and down the sidewalk, making jerky motions and shouting intermittently. 

Okay, I’ve got to do something.  I’ll go back into Starbucks and tell them to call the police.  No, they won’t do it, they’re too busy and they won’t be sufficiently alarmed, they didn’t see this guy.  I decide to report this to the non-emergency police number.  I call and give them (if I do say so myself) an excellent description of the culprit (see above) and his location.  I am assured that the Mo Co police will arrive shortly.  I finally drive across the parking lot to the Farmer’s Market.  Later, I hear sirens.  I doubt they are responding to my report, although I do double back to check the lot at Starbucks.  I don’t see the man.  My work is done. 

Next stop is Target and all goes well, no unsavory characters mar my visit.  I really am pushing it, it is close to noon and I need to get home and out of the way of the working folks.  On a whim, I pull into the Dollar Store.  I need some bubble wrap and mailers – always a real bargain there. I find the mailing supplies and as a bonus, some sturdy CD cases.  I make my way to the check out.  By this time the store is crowded.  Elderly ladies with their care givers buy greeting cards; groups of Hispanic women fill carts with cleaning supplies; and young boys in soccer gear grab bags of Chex Mix.  The line is unusually long at the one open check out.  A lady behind me, holding four bags of egg noodles, asks me to guard her place while she gets someone to open another register.  She returns and assures me she notified someone.  I thank her and we chat about long lines and the Halloween decorations already on display. 

In blatant disregard of “the code of the newly opened register”, several people who have just wandered up jump into the newly opened line.  My friend, still hanging on to her noodles, walks over to that register and politely says, “We are all over there waiting in that long line.”  A large man replies in a loud, scornful and gruff voice, “Open your eyes, Lady.  You’re out shopping you gotta look out for things.  That’s what you got eyes for!”  The store grows very quite.  Hmm this doesn’t sit well with me.  That is no way to address my nice egg noodle lady.  Not to mention the other little ladies who seem to shrink back, bow their heads and clutch their greeting cards more tightly.

This guy is intimidating my peeps!  I am the tallest and whitest lady in the store; it’s now clear why I made this unscheduled visit to the Dollar Store.  In my firm school teacher voice I announce, “That kind of talk is unnecessary!”  My fellow shoppers perk up and the man’s head snaps around to take a look at me.  In a quieter tone he says “Whatever.”  The lines move along and we all get checked out.  As I am about to exit, I see the egg noodle lady at the door.  She pats me on the arm and thanks me.  There is no excuse for that kind of rudeness, I say and there are smiles and nods all around. 

I now seriously head for home; I have satisfied my need to keep the peace. 

I’m just saying…