by Valerie Nusbaum
I am primarily a humorist. I write about the funny things that happen in my life, and when Randy hasn’t done anything especially amusing, I try to put a comic spin on the everyday happenings around here.
Lately, though, things have not been all that funny or fun for us. Randy’s beloved father passed away in late April, and his wonderful mother left us in early June. There is no humor in that; none at all. The point could be made that when one reaches a certain age, life expectancy decreases with each passing year. That’s true, of course, but this was too much, too soon. My heart breaks for my husband, who lost his only brother just five years ago and is struggling all alone. I’m here for him, but I didn’t know Randy as a boy and I don’t share in those special memories, those bonds from childhood.
I do, however, have some treasured memories of my own times spent with Randy’s family, and I’d like to share a few. Thank you for your understanding.
Randy’s dad, Bill, was a man of few words. I knew him as a quiet, gentle man. That’s not to say that Bill didn’t have opinions. I can’t tell you how many times Randy has looked over at me and said the words, “As Dad used to say…..”
Bill loved baseball, especially the Baltimore Orioles. He watched the games faithfully and yelled at his “Birds” just like every other fan. A few years ago, it happened that the Orioles opening home game was being played on Randy’s birthday; I got Randy tickets for the game and he took his dad. Bill’s birthday was the day before Randy’s, and the two always celebrated together. They had such a good time eating barbecue and razzing the umpires for making bad calls. They got Boog Powell’s autograph on their Orioles hats, and Bill wore that hat all the time. He wouldn’t let Mary, my mother-in-law, wash it for fear the ink would run. Randy and Bill attended Orioles games in Baltimore until it became too difficult for Bill to do the walking. They found watching the Frederick Keys play almost as much fun, and they continued to do that for as long as they could.
Bill loved to fish, and Randy tells stories about how his dad could catch fish when no one else was getting a bite. An avid outdoorsman, Bill had a spectacular vegetable garden, he enjoyed building things, and he hunted for game. I remember telling our nephew, Andrew, that Granddad had once shot two pheasants in his pajamas. Andrew was very young, and he scratched his head and asked, “How did they get in his jammies?”
Randy and his brother, Dale, learned so much from their dad. The family had a trailer and they traveled all over the country and camped, and like a lot of us, they spent quite a bit of time at the Maryland shore. I’m glad that Randy has such happy times to remember.
The brothers used to joke that since their dad had retired, he should get a job in customer service at Walmart. Then they’d laugh as they pictured Bill telling a customer, who was trying to return a product, “There’s nothing wrong with it. You’re just too dumb to use it.”
As I said, Bill didn’t talk a lot. He did what needed doing with a little swearing and not a lot of fanfare. That’s how he left us…quietly doing what he had to do.
Randy’s mother, Mary, on the other hand, was a force to be reckoned with. Barely five feet tall, Mary had the power of a tornado. Her kitchen often looked as though a tornado had been through it. She cooked and baked for everyone she knew. Mary became famous for her peanut butter fudge. She made pounds and pounds of it and gave it to her Sunday school class, the staffs at her doctors’ offices, and anyone who mentioned liking it. She was thoughtful and generous, and had a tremendous sense of duty to her family and her faith. Dale learned a lot about cooking from his mom, but Randy must have been outside chasing butterflies that day.
Randy loved his mother’s homemade hard candy, and every year at Christmastime, Mary handed Randy a jar of the colorful treats that would last until the following year. I know he’ll be thinking of that this year, and I hope he’ll smile.
Mary had a sense of humor, too. Once, when Dale was visiting from Florida, he brought his girlfriend, Melinda, along. Bill and Mary lived in the country, and there was a small brick church on the corner of their property, along with a tiny cemetery and a few gravestones. Melinda asked who was buried there, and without missing a beat, Mary replied, “Dale’s old girlfriends.”
Randy’s parents were married for fifty-nine years and were always together. Mary used to tell Bill that if she died before him, she was going to be cremated and have her ashes put in a bucket of paint and be spread on the bedroom ceiling. She might have been kidding.
My mother still laughs about the time Mary taught everyone to do the chicken dance. I wish we had pictures to prove it.
In the future, I’ll never look at Winnie the Pooh without thinking of Mary Nusbaum. She loved Winnie, and she decorated her entire bathroom with Pooh memorabilia. In fact, the bathroom came to be known as “The Pooh Room.”
I’ll remember all the holidays spent at their home, the trips to the emergency room (especially the one where Bill was painting the roof and fell off. I followed the trail of silver paint on the floor back to Bill’s cubicle and found him sitting up in bed looking like the Tin Man from The Wizard of Oz), Mary’s biscuits and baked corn, and so many more things that I’m too sad to think of right now.
In the end, I guess all anyone can hope for is to leave a mark on the world after they’re gone. Mary and Bill did that, and I think it’s going to sting for a long time.
