The Magic of Mayo

On my wall hangs a cross stitched verse from a song that reads:

Sometimes
Not often enough
We reflect upon the good things.
And those thoughts always center around those we love.
And I think about those people who mean so much to me
and for so many years have made so very happy.
And I count the times I have forgotten to say
Thankyou and just how much I love them.

Made by Mayo.
I am thinking a lot about my friend, Mayo.
Mayo who is everywhere I look.
On my walls.
On my shelves.
In my books.
In my kitchen cabinets.
There isn't a room in my house that doesn't have a piece of Mayo in it.
Even the guest bathroom has a watercolor from Priest Lake.
On the way to the garage there are pictures of our sons, as children in cowboy hats riding wooden stick horses and as young men ready to graduate high school.
My home is filled with pictures of our two families intertwined in good times and in bad.
On my dresser, in a small brass frame, there is a photograph taken by Mayo of my father in a familiar pose on the beach in San Clemente digging a sand castle with Mayo's daughter, Melissa who was no more than four years old.
Mayo's photographs capturing every gathering, every party, every important moment are everywhere.

Mayo was one of my first calls when Daddy dropped dead.
And Mayo was the last person with me by my Mother's bedside the night before she passed.
Mayo took the last pictures of Mother and me together.
Mayo was the first one at my door the day I got a sudden and shocking phone call that my beloved student Ben's father had killed himself two weeks after Ben had started college.

Mayo can turn a trinket into a treasure.
She helped me with every Tri-School Theatre show creating "gift items" to sell.
Countless trips to Shinodas
Inspired descriptions of keepsakes -
a Beautifully faceted acrylic violin for Fiddler.
Customized Noah's Ark gift cards for Children of Eden.

The Brian Shucker Inspiration Award was created in Mayo's living room.
Mayo's home holds memories of my first bridal shower over thirty years ago - a kitchen shower at which my ignorance of kitchen utensils became obvious with each opening. At that shower, Mayo gave me a recipe box filled with hand written recipe cards, a trifle bowl, and a cook book holder. I still use them.
My children now grown, still fall asleep at Christmas time on special personalized pillow cases made by Mayo. My Christmas tree is full of Merry Crismon ornaments.
When I put together the Beatrix Potter themed nursery for my first born, Mayo made matching accessories.
A framed cross stitched Beatrix Potter picture with the name and birth date of my daughter stitched into the image.
September 16th - a birth date shared by our two eldest.

I met Mayo in the assembly hall at Rosary High School on book buying day my Freshman year.
Turned out, Mayo was my French Teacher.
Mayo was my Drama Teacher.
Mayo was my Typing Teacher - even though Mayo couldn't type.
Mayo moved away in my junior year. My cedar chest is full of letters from Mayo.
When Mayo returned the next year, she was expecting a baby.

I remember sitting in English class on March 9, 1977 when Sr. JoAnn announced over the loudspeaker that Mrs. Crismon had given birth to a baby girl. The announcement was to the whole student body - but I knew something they didn't. That baby girl was named
Amy.

I remember getting a phone call when I was away at college, that Amy had had a cerebral hemorrhage. Amy went on to be involved in Tri-School Theatre. I sang at her wedding
I remember getting a phone call just before Mayo was headed in to have a premature C-Section on December 23, 1986.
She asked Steve and me to be baby Jake's Godparents.
Jake and Brendan have grown up like brothers.
Mayo is Brendan's Godmother.

From Clarkston to Cayucos
from Washington to Maine
from souvenir shop to souvenir shop
My life memories are melded with Mayo.

And now, my friend, Mayo, is having a double mastectomy.
Breast Cancer may change Mayo's cup size
but it cannot change the warmth of her bosom.
Mayo has three children, but
Mayo is and will always be the loving, nurturing Mother for whom we all yearn.

That is the Magic of Mayo.