Can you imagine?

Can you imagine living to be 97-years old? Not sick, not ailing...not lonely? Living in good health? Living a good life? Living this way for most of those 97-years? I can't, but my mother-in-law, Marvelous Marvel, did just that. I was only around for 15 of those years, but I wouldn't have missed them for the world. True, the last few years were hard on us all...but that still left 90-plus great years.

It's taken me over a year to able to write this piece, but I made a promise to Marvel. I told her on that last Thanksgiving Day, just a week before her death, that I would write about Marvelous Marvel and remind myself and others what it was like while she was in the world. I promised her that I would never forget her. If I am not as wry or witty...or if there are not as many "read-between-the-line" innuendos as usual, it is out of respect for this woman who touched my life so deeply.

During the last five-years of her wonderful odyssey, I had several conversations with Marvel about the many changes in the world that she had witnessed. We talked of politics, technology and people. We talked of morals and values, and the decline thereof. The world had changed so much during her life span, that after the current Iraq conflict broke out, she stopped watching her beloved CNN. The coverage worried her. She did not understand, and she did not want to. Marvel cast her last ballot in a presidential race in 2004. She was very sad that her candidate did not win. Marvel was almost 13-years-old when the nineteenth amendment (granting women the right to vote) was ratified. She took this right seriously. I remember that after the 2000 presidential election, Marvel was riveted to CNN for days, then weeks, trying to find out who her next President would be. I think this is when she began to give up on understanding the world in which she lived. But Marvel continued on in amazingly good health, as evidently (she said) her god intended. I knew she would slip away soon when most of her days were spent watching reruns of Lawrence Welk and waiting for Jeopardy each evening. You see, her mind was still sharp as a tack. It was sharper than mine on a good day. She didn't miss a beat — until that December morning when her heart beat no more, and it was a blessing.

It was a blessing because Marvel was ready to go — even if we weren't ready to let her go. Her "gang," as she called her group of friends, was long gone. She was the sole survivor. She had outlived her husband by over 20-years, outlived her eldest child by 14-years, survived breast cancer without a glitch in her seventies, had two knee replacements in her late eighties, and had taken care of the less fortunate for years (and years and years). Marvel was very tired. She was ready to rest her weary soul. She was ready to join her old friends and loved ones in a place that she could understand.

Marvel was very religious. She was old school Catholic. She had to endure the personal pain (and embarrassment) of watching three of her children go through divorces, and then remarry. In each case, she did her best to accept (and bond with) her new son and daughters-in-law. I am one of those daughters-in-law.

I remember the first time I met Marvel. Wow. To say I was intimidated is an understatement. She was a direct, straightforward woman who spoke her mind and let you know exactly how she felt — whether you asked or not. Nothing was off-limits. If she wanted to know something, she asked. I had never met anyone like her. She was the matriarch — very regal in her manner and always dressed to the nines. Up until a few years before her death, Marvel still made all of her clothes. They fit her perfectly and conveyed her unique style. She was funny and had a great sense of humor. She loved to tell stories, play cards and dance. Would that she could have passed on the dancing trait to my husband. At least he got her sense of humor — and is a pretty savvy card player himself.

Marvel was also an extraordinary cook and baker. We miss her peanut brittle, English toffee and lemon bars. I attempted her toffee during the holidays this year. It came out okay...and my gang was thrilled. For me it wasn't the same. My scorched hands, ruined kitchen towels, and the smoke alarm going off during the critical stove to cookie sheet transfer might have dampened the experience a bit. Or maybe I just missed getting the toffee from Marvel — every Christmas like clockwork — in a tin that had seen more years than I had. I will make the toffee again, and it will go smoother. The first time, I had Marvel's little voice telling me exactly what I did wrong — after I did it. I've no doubt she'll make sure I get it right the next time. Yes, Marvel's spirit lives on. What was strong in life is strong in death. There is one lesson about the toffee that I learned on my own. I will not buy the Hershey bars a week in advance. They evaporate...or at least that's how my husband explained the half-empty box.

My first trip to visit Marvel in Sun City, Arizona was interesting. She was 82. She decided that I bore enough of a resemblance to my husband's first wife that she would just introduce me to her friends as her son's wife (the previous one), and no one would be the wiser...about his divorce, that is. If this didn't work, she was going to introduce me as her manicurist. Let me interject here. My husband had been separated for almost two years when I met him, with the divorce imminent. In other words, I was not a home wrecker. Boy did I feel like one that day. And yes, my husband has a few years on me, and no, we weren't married at the time. Also, I was not a manicurist, nor have I ever been one. However, who was I to argue with the matriarch? I was taught to respect my elders...and, as Marvel said, "Most of these folks don't see, hear or remember too well anyway." Before going along with her plan, I looked to my husband for support. He was speechless. So, dazed and confused, we went with the flow until the first encounter with one of Marvel's many friends. It was with a 90-year-old man who had known the family for at least 30-years. When the matriarch started to introduce me as my husband's (previous) wife, and by her name (not mine), he said "Marvel, are you losing your mind? This isn't Steve's wife. Don't you remember? They're divorced. I just got a Christmas card last week. This must be his new girlfriend. You need to get to the doctor and have your eyes checked again." Whew! I was saved by Henry — a charming little man who still had an eye for the ladies — and could most definitely tell one chica from another.

I have many favorite Marvel stories, but one that I will share here embodies her no-nonsense approach to life. When she had breast cancer she opted for a double mastectomy. A 70-year-old widow, with no intention of ever being romantically involved again, she told the doctor not to mess around. "Take them both," she told him. "I don’t need them anymore." Now, let's skip forward about 20-years. When Marvel was 90, she called me up in what my husband calls a tithy. She was upset with her new young doctor, and this doctor was just as upset with her. I asked Marvel what had happened. She said, "You know that corn that has been bothering me...on my right baby toe?" I wonder if you can you guess where I'm going with this? Yes, that's right. Marvel asked the doctor to cut off her right baby toe because she was tired of fussing with that bothersome corn. "After all," she told him, "I don’t need it anymore." Can you imagine this 30-something doctor's reaction? Had he only known Marvel a little better, he wouldn't have been surprised at all. In fact, he may have laughed...and done as she asked. Rest assured that when Marvel finally decided to continue her odyssey...as she joined her husband, friends and daughter in the afterworld, she did so with both baby toes intact. I remember telling her not to worry, that this was for the best — that she might want to dance again someday. Marvel is dancing, this I know. She's also watching over her family — reminding us of right and wrong, shaking that right index finger at us when we get too impressed with ourselves — or with modern technology.

I mention technology because the one conversation with Marvel I hold dearest involves modern advances that came about in the final years of her amazing journey. I thought she would be impressed with the Internet. Nope. I thought e-mail would thrill her. Not so much. What about VCRs, DVDs, Tivo and Ipods? Wrong again. No matter what new invention came about — no matter how state-of-the-art, Marvel remained unimpressed. One day, I finally asked her..."Why don't any of these modern conveniences impress you?" She looked at me and smiled. Then she explained that while these things might make my life more convenient, and enjoyable, they really didn't matter much to her. As for computers, e-mail and text messaging, she said she would rather hear someone's voice...or get a personal note the old fashioned way — handwritten and delivered by the mailman. Then she spoke of her days with no telephone. She believed that the telephone was much more impressive than any other communication device that she had known in her lifetime. As for VCRs, DVDs, Tivo and Ipods, she said they all paled in comparison to the advent and refinement of electricity, the radio and then, of course, television — all of which she had lived without, at some point, in her lifetime. There was a brief comment about the microwave oven. She thought it might deserve an honorable mention. I attribute this to Marvel's fondness of popcorn. In those last few years, this was a treat she could still make for herself...in her microwave, of course.

I've had over a year to put Marvel's assessment of our modern conveniences into perspective. How interesting her musings were — and how ignorant I was. To think that a woman who had lived so long, a woman who could remember what it was like to live without electricity, indoor plumbing, a washing machine, a dryer, a refrigerator, a dish washer and a television, would be impressed with the World Wide Web. As usual, Marvel had the last word...and I believe she was right. Nothing we invent today (nor I suspect in the future) will ever be as significant as electricity and, as Marvel emphatically pointed out, indoor plumbing.

So, each time I turn on my computer, I count my blessings. I try not to get too impressed with myself, nor with any technological advance that can't replace my Toto Quiet Flush toilet, with soft close lid. When a new invention does comes along, I remember this special lady's words on that beautiful October afternoon. Then I remind myself (once again) that I've yet to see in my lifetime any modern marvel that comes close to my Marvelous Marvel. Guar-an-teed!

In memory of Marvel: I miss you. May your little golden shoe be filled with the many coins that I’m sure you've won — playing poker and bridge with all your old friends in your new home.

© 2006 Teresa G. Franta