Recently, I visited Phoebe, who was our family’s friend and neighbor. A gifted woman in her late eighties, in her time she could have run General Motors. There in bed she rested with her white curls, once flaming red, blending in with her pillow. While her jogging suit hung loosely on her frail body, her crystal-blue eyes held the promise of the lingering wit and charm of her former self. She touched my hand and smiled. I wondered if she thought I was my mother, her best and most beloved friend.
In 1957 after we moved from the farm to Summerside, to a home adjacent to hers, Phoebe offered her warm hospitality to each member of our family. She and Mom were opposite in many ways. Phoebe was a city woman with all the skills of a socialite, while Mom was a country gal with less polished social graces, but a way of relating that won her many friends. Somehow, when they got together, they were like coffee and cream, blending into a loving, complementary duo who laughed together and shared daily life challenges. They knit, tatted, painted and quilted, and with their children put 1000-piece puzzles together. Phoebe had a library of cookbooks she used to make meals that held her dinner guests in awe, but Mom won acclaim for her beef dinners, pickles, plum puff and fruit cakes.
And so the years passed. Phoebe had five children and Mom, four. Together they shared the woes and accomplishments of all the youngsters. Although Phoebe’s husband was a distinguished accountant and Dad, a farmer, teacher, mechanic and civil servant, they each respected the abilities of the other. Most of all, however, they recognized the bond of their wives and the affection of the nine children, with the young ones idolizing the older ones. With parents who valued the importance of education, the children competed at school for acclaim and honors while Phoebe and Mom watched over their study habits and gave homework precedence over chores.
The two couples belonged to the YMCA where they did community work and traveled the globe with the members. Phoebe and Mom used to entertain the group. Mom once portrayed Joan of Arc on a rocking horse, wrapped in a bandage which served as armor, a helmet, and a silver cross: Phoebe, in another skit, was a cabbage patch doll with bloomers, a hat and frills in gingham. I saw Mom acting as Joan and wanted to cover my head, but to hear the audience laugh and see the fun they brought the Y-members made me reassess my reservations.
