Included on this page are tributes to Dottie from her daughters and others, which were read at the memorial service held at Vestal Center (NY) United Methodist Church on December 2, 2011.
Over the past week, my family and I have been going through my mother’s things. This is no easy task, because she had already purged her home of the extraneous prior to her move to the Highlands eleven years ago—and she has been passing along treasures to her children and others for many years. So, what is left in her home, aside from furniture, dishes and the items needed for daily life, is not, for the most part, trivial. There are photographs, too numerous for mention, in frames, on walls, in shoeboxes and in files. She had a four-drawer, plastic organizer for each of her four children and their families, full of photos, letters and memorabilia. There are albums and books, chronicling the places she lived, the births and birthdays, b’nai mitzvah, holidays, weddings, anniversaries and other defining events of a lifetime. There are cherished articles of clothing that tell the stories of her ancestors—rough, hand-made socks and warm woolen mittens; quilt squares knitted by her blind grandmother; her mother’s wedding underwear and dress, all with elaborate hand-made lace… and—of course—her own satin wedding gown and veil, lovingly stitched and beaded for her by her mother.
Most of these things were familiar to us, as they are part of our family heritage. But there were a few surprises. In one file was a letter written on my behalf, to my father, on the day of my birth. It was a precious gift to read of my mother’s excitement and pride as she introduced me to my dad, who would not get to meet me in person for a week, as he was in training at IBM in Endicott, while she remained home in Maryland until after my arrival.
Another thing I happened upon was a pile of 6-7 books, all on the topic of “Grandma’s memories.” I realized that I had given her at least two of the titles—probably three!—and the presence of others suggested that I was not the only one eager for her to record her stories for future generations. I flipped through each book in turn, but all were blank, until I got to the very last one. There, I was happy to discover that she had penciled in responses on the first few pages. The beginning was basic demographic information, but when I came to a page about my mom as a child, I read the following
“My ambition [as a young girl] was to be a teacher or a nurse—but most of all, a Homemaker … wife and mother … good neighbor, church and community worker….”
Most of that was no surprise. Anyone who knew my mom knew her in most of those roles. She did, in fact, work as a practical nurse in a hospital nursery and a doctor’s office before I was born. But what jumped out at me was that, as a child, she had thought she might grow up to be a teacher. Although I knew from the age of five that I would be a teacher, and I made working with children my life’s work, she never confided this to me. As I think about everything my mother did in her life, however, it seems to me that she was, above all else, and in everything she did, a teacher.
Mom taught by example. She lived many of the aphorisms my generation heard growing up, whether or not she actually recited the words to us. These, and many others, have become guiding principles in my life as well:
“Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.”
“If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all.”
“You can catch more flies with honey than vinegar.”
“The most important things in life aren’t things.” and
“Always leave things better than you found them.”
One of mom’s sayings that has been especially instructive to me, both as a parent and as a teacher, is “Mother’s face is baby’s weather.” How true it is that one’s own demeanor defines how others respond. The love, thoughtfulness and caring that were hallmarks of my mom’s life were returned to her while she was alive-- and have been showered upon us in the days since her death.
Mom was the most positive and upbeat person I have ever known. I can’t ever recall her being in a bad mood. She always looked on the “sunny side” and, instead of worrying about herself, she spent her time thinking about and caring for others. She truly had “an attitude of gratitude.” Although we are all saddened by her sudden passing, her children feel that it is actually quite appropriate that she died at Thanksgiving. We could almost hear her words that day, telling us to enjoy our feast and our time together, and to be thankful for the many years we had with her.
As I looked through one of my mother’s many bookcases, I pulled out a title about death. Three more books cascaded to the floor, and from them, fell two clippings she had made of quotes that were meaningful to her. Upon reading them, I knew that my mother was imparting one last lesson. I’d like to close by sharing this quote with you:
“Death is nothing at all; I have only slipped away into the next room. I am I, and you are you; whatever we were to each other, that we still are. Call me by my old familiar name, speak to me in the easy way you always used. Put no difference into your tone, wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow. Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes we enjoyed together. Play, smile, think of me, pray for me. Life means all that it ever meant. It is the same as it always was; there is absolutely unbroken continuity. I am but waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near, just around the corner… all is well.”
Most of you know that my mom was passionate about writing … and for many years she spent a good part of each day corresponding with friends and family, sending greetings that always included words of inspiration, encouragement, and—of course—love. Mom also wrote an annual letter, usually at Christmas time. Her many friends came to expect the annual communication to arrive in their mailbox in late December or early January—and if it didn’t, they took notice. Taken all together, Mom’s annual letters constitute a family history that chronicles the lives of the Wenzingers over a period of more than 50 years.
Several years ago I helped Mom organize the collection of annual letters in a loose-leaf binder. We had a lot of fun taking a trip down memory lane as we re-read Mom’s letters from years past. For anyone who’s interested, you can peruse the entire collection in this binder after today’s service.
One of Mom’s early efforts, from 1954, was a takeoff on the well-known Clement Moore poem, “A Visit from St. Nicholas.” It begins like this:
‘Twas the Night Before Christmas at Carl and Dot’s
The house was filled with the chatter of tots.
Two little girls were fixing a snack
For Santa to eat as he rested his back.
“He must get hungry,” said Leigh with delight;
“We’ll leave him lots of cookies tonight.”
In 1959, which was our first year living in Indiana, Mom wrote another Christmas poem. Here’s an excerpt from that piece:
It’s been so exciting this live-long day
At 2-3-0-8 out Florimond Way.
Grossy and Georgie are here for awhile
And their presence alone seems to make the house smile.
We’ve shopped and we’ve wrapped for hours today
And fixed holiday dinner, and had lots to say!
Mom’s Christmas letters became an annual occurrence starting in 1964. Coincidentally—or perhaps not—that was the year our younger brother, Don, was born. I’ve often wondered whether there’s any significance to that fact. (What do you think?)
This year, Mom began her annual-letter-writing ritual the weekend before she died. On the dining table in her home we found the beginnings of two drafts of this year’s letter: one written in verse; the other, in prose. Here’s a taste of what Mom was working on just before she passed on:
Cards and notes and bills to pay generally start my day;
Need to get them in the box before the “mail lady” makes her stop.
By then it’s getting close to noon; time to take out fork and spoon,
Check refrig and take a look—to eat leftovers or to cook?
My NYK will be here soon, and up to “Wellness” we shall zoom.
An hour with all those weights and stairs—
I should be thin, but no one cares.
A portion of the second draft reads like this:
I’m blessed to be living a joyful life, though there are days when this old body rebels and what doesn’t hurt doesn’t seem to work…. But my mind and my heart are doing well, and I’m thankful for that.
Mom’s untimely passing interrupted her creative process and she was unable to complete this year’s letter. Fortunately for us, she left behind several pages of notes that provide clues as to what she might have written. When I return home to California, I hope to pick up where she left off and complete the missive for 2011. I consider it both an honor and a privilege to do so, though I can’t promise it will be in verse!
My mother’s love of the written word was passed down to her children and grandchildren, many of whom who are creative writers and poets in their own right. She shared her gift for poetry and prose with everyone, though, writing original verse, finding an appropriate poem for every situation or creatively adapting the poetry of others to express her personal sentiments.
Mom was fortunate to live long enough to see the younger generations (that she nurtured so lovingly) use their unique talents to make the world a better place. I can think of no greater tribute to my mother’s memory than for all of us to continue reaching out to others in whatever ways we can to spread kindness, compassion, love, inspiration and encouragement in our own small corner of the world.
Last week, my mom asked if I wanted to speak at my grandma's funeral. At the time, I said I didn't want to, but as I thought more about it over the last few days, I decided that there were a lot of things that I did want to share with all of you. I narrowed it down to three main lessons my grandmother taught me, and I hope to be able to pass these lessons along to my future kids and grandchildren.
1. Be generous to others and be thankful for what you have.
Every year, my grandma sent us part of our Christmas present early. She sent us a $10 bill with a note about being thankful for what we have, and that it was our chance to donate $10 to a child who is less fortunate than we are. Each year, I looked forward to spending that portion of our Christmas gift. When I was younger, my mom would take us to the mall and I would choose a name off of the Christmas tree of a less fortunate child. I would then go through the mall and buy gifts for the child, often far surpassing the $10 my grandparents gave us. I learned to spend my own money in ways that benefit others. This year, I had not yet received the letter from my Grandma, but had been looking forward to telling her the ways in which I have already donated and plan to donate to the less fortunate this holiday season, through various local Washington DC charities. Even as an adult, I love going into the store and searching for the 'perfect' gift for a child whom I have never met, knowing that it will make their holiday season more cheerful. I owe this wonderful feeling to my grandma.
2. Don't lie, because you'll always get caught (and because it's not the right thing to do)!
For those of you who attended my grandma's 80th birthday, you may remember this story. When I was little, I spent a week in Vestal with my grandma. She took my sister and me to Denny's for lunch, where I ordered a chocolate milkshake. However, I managed to spill it not only once, but twice. Later that day, I wrote a letter home to my mom saying how embarrassing it was that Grandma spilled her chocolate milkshake and that we had to switch tables because of the mess. My little fib lived on for many years until my mom showed my grandma my "cute" note (which she had not read prior to me sealing the envelope) and Grandma informed her that it was in fact me who spilled the milkshake and created the scene at Denny's! I should have known I couldn't get away with it forever!
3. Keep in touch with important people in your life.
As many of you know, my grandma sent more notes, letters and cards than anyone else I know. Whether I was 5 years old or in college, I always looked forward to opening letters from grandma, some of which contained a $1 or $5 bill with the president's face covered by a holiday sticker, but always containing a handwritten, personalized note in her distinctive handwriting. I never got a chance to tell my grandma this, but I started carrying this tradition on this past Halloween, when I sent my childhood friend's almost 2 year old a Halloween card with a $5 bill with a pumpkin sticker on it. I explained to my friend that my grandma had done this for me when I was a kid and that I planned to keep the tradition living on. Even though email and text messaging have made is easier to keep in contact with long distance family and friends, my grandma showed me the importance of sending "real mail." To this day, I know that I love getting "real mail" that isn't "junk mail," and I have my grandma to thank for that as well.
Those are just three of the many lessons my grandma taught me and I will miss her a lot.
I was going to come up after my sister Bethany, who shared many of the same lessons I learned from Grandma, and simply say, "Ditto." All of what she described was true, and I'm guessing those lessons were learned by all of us grandkids over the years.
The one thing I'd like to add, which I feel made my grandma so special, is that she had the amazing ability to reserve judgment and simply accept people exactly the way they were. She did not judge anyone by appearance or stereotype. She got to know people and found something good in everyone. Truth be told, she brought out the best in people because we all knew she loved us just the way we were.
When I was around my grandma, I never felt like I had to try harder to be anyone else for her... she was always completely happy with ME being ME. She was so proud of me for working as a preschool teacher, and let me know through cards and letters how much she valued the love and dedication I have for working with the "little ones," as she called them. She didn't care that my degree allowed me to teach elementary age students, she was simply happy that I found a job I loved doing.
My grandma always took a genuine interest in whatever my interests were. She knew how much I loved photography and was thrilled to receive pictures I would send her, which, at this point in my life, were mostly of my friends' children. Through sharing pictures, she got to know my friends and their ever-growing families, and also got a glimpse into my life even though she lived far away. Of course, she was most excited when I managed to get into one or two of the pictures myself! The last card I got from my Grandma was on Halloween, and in it she inquired about my kids at school, my friends and their children, my cat and me. Maybe she made a conscious effort to remember what I valued most in my life, but I think it just came naturally to her. She truly cared about each person that came into her life and was able to overlook their flaws to love them for the special and unique person they were.
I recently read a quote by, perhaps not surprisingly, Mother Teresa, which reminded me of my grandma. It said: "It is not how much you do, but how much LOVE you put into the doing that matters." I hope all of us here today can continue to follow my grandma's example and remember to put lots of love into whatever it is we choose to do in our daily lives. I know this would be a legacy she would be proud to see carry on.
→ See Allison's video tribute to her grandmother
For those of you who don't know me, I have the incredible blessing of being married to Dottie's older son, Ron. In fact, I knew Dottie as a friend before I met Ron. The first thing Dottie did when she and Carl moved to a new place was to look for a church home. In 1974, Providence directed her here to Vestal Center Church. Of course, she joined the church choir (of which I was also a member), so we sang together.
When I attended lay speakers school several years later, they taught us that God calls everyone to some kind of ministry. I mentioned this to Dottie and she said, "I always thought my ministry was just being a good friend." Everyone who knows her knows how true this is--and what a ministry she had! Having so many friends, however, did get her into a bit of trouble from time to time.
I can remember a few times when Carl made some not-so-nice comments about the amount of the telephone bill--that was back before unlimited long distance. And Ron joked on occasion that his mother tried singlehandedly to keep the Hallmark store in business.
Dottie learned to drive a bit late in life; she never liked to drive at night, and she especially did not like to drive in the winter. So, early on in our marriage, Ron and I would drive from our apartment in Johnson City over to the house on Bunn Hill on Thursday evenings. Ron would visit with his dad and Dottie would ride with me to choir practice.
One Thursday--late February--we headed off to church. As I drove up the steep slope of Bunn Hill Road I hit a patch of black ice. There was a brief instant in which I thought we were going to end up down over the bank with a maple tree as a hood ornament. Instead, we ended up on the right side of the road on top of a neighbor's field-stone fence. I climbed out, walked to the neighbor's, and called for help. Carl and Ron came down and got the car back into the road. Miraculously, the only damage was a flat tire. They changed the tired, and off we went to church.
The very next week Ron and I drover over to Bunn Hill again; we went to choir practice as usual. When we got out at about quarter to nine, it was snowing to beat the band. I thought it would be too slipper to try getting up Bunn Hill. So I decided to drive up Rock Road.
For those of you who are not familiar with the area, Rock Road is a little dirt track running from Powderhouse Road up to Bunn Hill. In places, it's barely wide enough for a single car--steep rock wall on one wide, the canyon of the creek bed on the other. Probably gets plowed at least twice a month in the winter. I don't know how she mustered the courage to get in the car with me! Yet she did, and off we went.
I guess she probably was singing to herself all the way--something like "Jesus, Savior, Pilot Me." But out loud, all she said were words of encouragement. I drove slowly and carefully, and when we pulled into the driveway Dottie didn't even kneel down and kiss the ground; she graciously thanked me for teh ride. And then she went inside and bragged to Carl and Ron about what a safe and careful driver I was. She had a special gift for bringing out the best in others.
A couple of years later when Ron and I found out that DSS had a child to place with us for adoption, Dottie was the first person we told. She was thrilled for us and pleased to learn that she was going to be a grandmother again. Little did she know! Ron and I went from one child to four in the space of 18 months! Only five years apart from oldest to youngest, and they were a handful!
We visited Grandma and Grandpa a lot! Dottie always greeted us with open arms and hugs and kisses all around.
One Saturday we were over visiting. I was helping Mom clean up after dinner. We got talking about kids and adoption and stuff. And I thanked her for being such a wonderful grandparent to our kids. She looked puzzled that I would say this so I explained. "I know a lot of people who have adopted kids. And sometimes the grandparents treat their adopted grandchildren differently than they do their biological grandchildren. Not as nicely." Dottie was shocked. She just couldn't conceive of anyone not loving their own grandchildren, no matter how they got to be grandchildren.
One Christmas season many years ago, Dottie became concerned that her grandchildren were growing up with a lot of privileges that many kids don't have. So she hit on an idea to help them learn generosity. Just after Thanksgiving each year she sent a card to each grandchild. Inside each card was a ten-dollar bill and a note telling them to use the money to help make a brighter Christmas for someone who was not as fortunate. And, to ensure that they followed the directions (and didn't spent the money on themselves), they had to write a letter telling her how they had used the money before they could get their Christmas gifts from Grandma and Grandpa!
She was so proud and delighted to see her grandchildren growing up and becoming independent.
On Tuesday evening last week, Ron came running into the house. "Mom's in the hospital--she's fallen and they think she may have had a heart attack!"
Ron and I raced to the hospital, leaving Robin and Noah home alone. While they waited, they did what any well-trained, self-respecting grandchild of Dottie Wenzinger would do: they went down to the Dollar General and picked out a "Get Well" card.
We spent the day Wednesday at the hospital. In all the commotion, they forgot to bring the card. And by the end of the day, it was too late.
Robin was upset because they never got to give it to her. I guess she worried that Grandma might not know how much we all wanted her to get better. But guess what, guys? It's not too late! Grandma does know how much you love her and how much we all wanted her to get well.
And you know what else? She did!
When I was very young, the Wenzinger clan arrived in Concord, MA, and we would frequently visit them on a Sunday afternoon. As an only child for the first nine years of my life, it was an overwhelming experience each time we visited. What a big, noisy, happy family they were! I was amazed at dinner time when they all sang the grace as a three-part round. Karen often played her accordion for us, while Leigh was such a quiet young lady. Don and my brother David were quite young, but played well together. I remember that Ron always ushered me into the basement to show me his latest invention. He was always dismantling electronics and building things out of the parts. I especially remember Ron’s bad jokes, which I loved! Carl was an endlessly fascinating man and was always a gracious host. Dottie provided scrumptious meals and a center of calm amid all the chaos of our two families.
My mom was an only child and often spoke about how she wished she had had a sister. In Dottie, she found her sister. They became the best of friends and when the Wenzingers moved away to Vestal, NY, she was heartbroken. Lucky for her, I attended Wells College in Aurora, NY and our visits to Vestal began.
Most of my trips to Wells over the years involved a detour to drop my mom off on Bunn Hill Road and another to pick her up on the way back to Wellesley. My boys loved sledding on the big hill next to the house and one day, Dottie came to the door and softly called my name, waving me in with her hand. As I got closer, she said, “You might want to have the boys come in now because there is a bear out by the apple tree.” Yikes!! I quietly returned to the hill and dragged them into that house lickety-split. That was a sledding adventure they will never forget!
After my mom died, I continued to find my way to Bunn Hill Road to visit Cousin Dottie. Visiting her was like having a warm blanket wrapped around you, full of love and much laughter. I sent her some of my mom’s favorite sweatshirts and I would often get a call saying that she was “getting a hug from my mom as she wore one of the sweatshirts.”
I have a particular interest in our family history which led to many hours on the phone with Dottie as she regaled me with stories of our relatives. I was able to look at dozens of photos whenever I came to visit her and I cherished our time together.
Yesterday, my son Andrew remarked that he was the last in our family to receive a “Cousin Dottie birthday card.” Both boys marveled that she always remembered them and was sure to remind them to be good to their mom.
Dottie was one of the most amazing women I have ever met. Her gracious manner and loving spirit were simply extraordinary and she was a wonderful role model for all of us. Dottie embodied a Christian life well-lived. Her heart was so big and so full of love for everyone she met. She really filled a huge void in my life when I lost my mom. I treasure our relationship and I will miss her terribly.
What a special woman! How lucky I was to have her in my life!
Leigh Remembers Mom
Over the past week, my family and I have been going through my mother’s things. This is no easy task, because she had already purged her home of the extraneous prior to her move to the Highlands eleven years ago—and she has been passing along treasures to her children and others for many years. So, what is left in her home, aside from furniture, dishes and the items needed for daily life, is not, for the most part, trivial. There are photographs, too numerous for mention, in frames, on walls, in shoeboxes and in files. She had a four-drawer, plastic organizer for each of her four children and their families, full of photos, letters and memorabilia. There are albums and books, chronicling the places she lived, the births and birthdays, b’nai mitzvah, holidays, weddings, anniversaries and other defining events of a lifetime. There are cherished articles of clothing that tell the stories of her ancestors—rough, hand-made socks and warm woolen mittens; quilt squares knitted by her blind grandmother; her mother’s wedding underwear and dress, all with elaborate hand-made lace… and—of course—her own satin wedding gown and veil, lovingly stitched and beaded for her by her mother.
Most of these things were familiar to us, as they are part of our family heritage. But there were a few surprises. In one file was a letter written on my behalf, to my father, on the day of my birth. It was a precious gift to read of my mother’s excitement and pride as she introduced me to my dad, who would not get to meet me in person for a week, as he was in training at IBM in Endicott, while she remained home in Maryland until after my arrival.
Another thing I happened upon was a pile of 6-7 books, all on the topic of “Grandma’s memories.” I realized that I had given her at least two of the titles—probably three!—and the presence of others suggested that I was not the only one eager for her to record her stories for future generations. I flipped through each book in turn, but all were blank, until I got to the very last one. There, I was happy to discover that she had penciled in responses on the first few pages. The beginning was basic demographic information, but when I came to a page about my mom as a child, I read the following
“My ambition [as a young girl] was to be a teacher or a nurse—but most of all, a Homemaker … wife and mother … good neighbor, church and community worker….”
Most of that was no surprise. Anyone who knew my mom knew her in most of those roles. She did, in fact, work as a practical nurse in a hospital nursery and a doctor’s office before I was born. But what jumped out at me was that, as a child, she had thought she might grow up to be a teacher. Although I knew from the age of five that I would be a teacher, and I made working with children my life’s work, she never confided this to me. As I think about everything my mother did in her life, however, it seems to me that she was, above all else, and in everything she did, a teacher.
Mom taught by example. She lived many of the aphorisms my generation heard growing up, whether or not she actually recited the words to us. These, and many others, have become guiding principles in my life as well:
“Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.”
“If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all.”
“You can catch more flies with honey than vinegar.”
“The most important things in life aren’t things.” and
“Always leave things better than you found them.”
One of mom’s sayings that has been especially instructive to me, both as a parent and as a teacher, is “Mother’s face is baby’s weather.” How true it is that one’s own demeanor defines how others respond. The love, thoughtfulness and caring that were hallmarks of my mom’s life were returned to her while she was alive-- and have been showered upon us in the days since her death.
Mom was the most positive and upbeat person I have ever known. I can’t ever recall her being in a bad mood. She always looked on the “sunny side” and, instead of worrying about herself, she spent her time thinking about and caring for others. She truly had “an attitude of gratitude.” Although we are all saddened by her sudden passing, her children feel that it is actually quite appropriate that she died at Thanksgiving. We could almost hear her words that day, telling us to enjoy our feast and our time together, and to be thankful for the many years we had with her.
As I looked through one of my mother’s many bookcases, I pulled out a title about death. Three more books cascaded to the floor, and from them, fell two clippings she had made of quotes that were meaningful to her. Upon reading them, I knew that my mother was imparting one last lesson. I’d like to close by sharing this quote with you:
“Death is nothing at all; I have only slipped away into the next room. I am I, and you are you; whatever we were to each other, that we still are. Call me by my old familiar name, speak to me in the easy way you always used. Put no difference into your tone, wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow. Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes we enjoyed together. Play, smile, think of me, pray for me. Life means all that it ever meant. It is the same as it always was; there is absolutely unbroken continuity. I am but waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near, just around the corner… all is well.”
Karen Remembers Mom
Most of you know that my mom was passionate about writing … and for many years she spent a good part of each day corresponding with friends and family, sending greetings that always included words of inspiration, encouragement, and—of course—love. Mom also wrote an annual letter, usually at Christmas time. Her many friends came to expect the annual communication to arrive in their mailbox in late December or early January—and if it didn’t, they took notice. Taken all together, Mom’s annual letters constitute a family history that chronicles the lives of the Wenzingers over a period of more than 50 years.
Several years ago I helped Mom organize the collection of annual letters in a loose-leaf binder. We had a lot of fun taking a trip down memory lane as we re-read Mom’s letters from years past. For anyone who’s interested, you can peruse the entire collection in this binder after today’s service.
One of Mom’s early efforts, from 1954, was a takeoff on the well-known Clement Moore poem, “A Visit from St. Nicholas.” It begins like this:
‘Twas the Night Before Christmas at Carl and Dot’s
The house was filled with the chatter of tots.
Two little girls were fixing a snack
For Santa to eat as he rested his back.
“He must get hungry,” said Leigh with delight;
“We’ll leave him lots of cookies tonight.”
In 1959, which was our first year living in Indiana, Mom wrote another Christmas poem. Here’s an excerpt from that piece:
It’s been so exciting this live-long day
At 2-3-0-8 out Florimond Way.
Grossy and Georgie are here for awhile
And their presence alone seems to make the house smile.
We’ve shopped and we’ve wrapped for hours today
And fixed holiday dinner, and had lots to say!
Mom’s Christmas letters became an annual occurrence starting in 1964. Coincidentally—or perhaps not—that was the year our younger brother, Don, was born. I’ve often wondered whether there’s any significance to that fact. (What do you think?)
This year, Mom began her annual-letter-writing ritual the weekend before she died. On the dining table in her home we found the beginnings of two drafts of this year’s letter: one written in verse; the other, in prose. Here’s a taste of what Mom was working on just before she passed on:
Cards and notes and bills to pay generally start my day;
Need to get them in the box before the “mail lady” makes her stop.
By then it’s getting close to noon; time to take out fork and spoon,
Check refrig and take a look—to eat leftovers or to cook?
My NYK will be here soon, and up to “Wellness” we shall zoom.
An hour with all those weights and stairs—
I should be thin, but no one cares.
A portion of the second draft reads like this:
I’m blessed to be living a joyful life, though there are days when this old body rebels and what doesn’t hurt doesn’t seem to work…. But my mind and my heart are doing well, and I’m thankful for that.
Mom’s untimely passing interrupted her creative process and she was unable to complete this year’s letter. Fortunately for us, she left behind several pages of notes that provide clues as to what she might have written. When I return home to California, I hope to pick up where she left off and complete the missive for 2011. I consider it both an honor and a privilege to do so, though I can’t promise it will be in verse!
My mother’s love of the written word was passed down to her children and grandchildren, many of whom who are creative writers and poets in their own right. She shared her gift for poetry and prose with everyone, though, writing original verse, finding an appropriate poem for every situation or creatively adapting the poetry of others to express her personal sentiments.
Mom was fortunate to live long enough to see the younger generations (that she nurtured so lovingly) use their unique talents to make the world a better place. I can think of no greater tribute to my mother’s memory than for all of us to continue reaching out to others in whatever ways we can to spread kindness, compassion, love, inspiration and encouragement in our own small corner of the world.
Bethany Remembers Grandma
Last week, my mom asked if I wanted to speak at my grandma's funeral. At the time, I said I didn't want to, but as I thought more about it over the last few days, I decided that there were a lot of things that I did want to share with all of you. I narrowed it down to three main lessons my grandmother taught me, and I hope to be able to pass these lessons along to my future kids and grandchildren.
1. Be generous to others and be thankful for what you have.
Every year, my grandma sent us part of our Christmas present early. She sent us a $10 bill with a note about being thankful for what we have, and that it was our chance to donate $10 to a child who is less fortunate than we are. Each year, I looked forward to spending that portion of our Christmas gift. When I was younger, my mom would take us to the mall and I would choose a name off of the Christmas tree of a less fortunate child. I would then go through the mall and buy gifts for the child, often far surpassing the $10 my grandparents gave us. I learned to spend my own money in ways that benefit others. This year, I had not yet received the letter from my Grandma, but had been looking forward to telling her the ways in which I have already donated and plan to donate to the less fortunate this holiday season, through various local Washington DC charities. Even as an adult, I love going into the store and searching for the 'perfect' gift for a child whom I have never met, knowing that it will make their holiday season more cheerful. I owe this wonderful feeling to my grandma.
2. Don't lie, because you'll always get caught (and because it's not the right thing to do)!
For those of you who attended my grandma's 80th birthday, you may remember this story. When I was little, I spent a week in Vestal with my grandma. She took my sister and me to Denny's for lunch, where I ordered a chocolate milkshake. However, I managed to spill it not only once, but twice. Later that day, I wrote a letter home to my mom saying how embarrassing it was that Grandma spilled her chocolate milkshake and that we had to switch tables because of the mess. My little fib lived on for many years until my mom showed my grandma my "cute" note (which she had not read prior to me sealing the envelope) and Grandma informed her that it was in fact me who spilled the milkshake and created the scene at Denny's! I should have known I couldn't get away with it forever!
3. Keep in touch with important people in your life.
As many of you know, my grandma sent more notes, letters and cards than anyone else I know. Whether I was 5 years old or in college, I always looked forward to opening letters from grandma, some of which contained a $1 or $5 bill with the president's face covered by a holiday sticker, but always containing a handwritten, personalized note in her distinctive handwriting. I never got a chance to tell my grandma this, but I started carrying this tradition on this past Halloween, when I sent my childhood friend's almost 2 year old a Halloween card with a $5 bill with a pumpkin sticker on it. I explained to my friend that my grandma had done this for me when I was a kid and that I planned to keep the tradition living on. Even though email and text messaging have made is easier to keep in contact with long distance family and friends, my grandma showed me the importance of sending "real mail." To this day, I know that I love getting "real mail" that isn't "junk mail," and I have my grandma to thank for that as well.
Those are just three of the many lessons my grandma taught me and I will miss her a lot.
Allison Remembers Grandma
I was going to come up after my sister Bethany, who shared many of the same lessons I learned from Grandma, and simply say, "Ditto." All of what she described was true, and I'm guessing those lessons were learned by all of us grandkids over the years.
The one thing I'd like to add, which I feel made my grandma so special, is that she had the amazing ability to reserve judgment and simply accept people exactly the way they were. She did not judge anyone by appearance or stereotype. She got to know people and found something good in everyone. Truth be told, she brought out the best in people because we all knew she loved us just the way we were.
When I was around my grandma, I never felt like I had to try harder to be anyone else for her... she was always completely happy with ME being ME. She was so proud of me for working as a preschool teacher, and let me know through cards and letters how much she valued the love and dedication I have for working with the "little ones," as she called them. She didn't care that my degree allowed me to teach elementary age students, she was simply happy that I found a job I loved doing.
My grandma always took a genuine interest in whatever my interests were. She knew how much I loved photography and was thrilled to receive pictures I would send her, which, at this point in my life, were mostly of my friends' children. Through sharing pictures, she got to know my friends and their ever-growing families, and also got a glimpse into my life even though she lived far away. Of course, she was most excited when I managed to get into one or two of the pictures myself! The last card I got from my Grandma was on Halloween, and in it she inquired about my kids at school, my friends and their children, my cat and me. Maybe she made a conscious effort to remember what I valued most in my life, but I think it just came naturally to her. She truly cared about each person that came into her life and was able to overlook their flaws to love them for the special and unique person they were.
I recently read a quote by, perhaps not surprisingly, Mother Teresa, which reminded me of my grandma. It said: "It is not how much you do, but how much LOVE you put into the doing that matters." I hope all of us here today can continue to follow my grandma's example and remember to put lots of love into whatever it is we choose to do in our daily lives. I know this would be a legacy she would be proud to see carry on.
→ See Allison's video tribute to her grandmother
Daughter-in-law Cindy Remembers Dottie
For those of you who don't know me, I have the incredible blessing of being married to Dottie's older son, Ron. In fact, I knew Dottie as a friend before I met Ron. The first thing Dottie did when she and Carl moved to a new place was to look for a church home. In 1974, Providence directed her here to Vestal Center Church. Of course, she joined the church choir (of which I was also a member), so we sang together.
When I attended lay speakers school several years later, they taught us that God calls everyone to some kind of ministry. I mentioned this to Dottie and she said, "I always thought my ministry was just being a good friend." Everyone who knows her knows how true this is--and what a ministry she had! Having so many friends, however, did get her into a bit of trouble from time to time.
I can remember a few times when Carl made some not-so-nice comments about the amount of the telephone bill--that was back before unlimited long distance. And Ron joked on occasion that his mother tried singlehandedly to keep the Hallmark store in business.
Dottie learned to drive a bit late in life; she never liked to drive at night, and she especially did not like to drive in the winter. So, early on in our marriage, Ron and I would drive from our apartment in Johnson City over to the house on Bunn Hill on Thursday evenings. Ron would visit with his dad and Dottie would ride with me to choir practice.
One Thursday--late February--we headed off to church. As I drove up the steep slope of Bunn Hill Road I hit a patch of black ice. There was a brief instant in which I thought we were going to end up down over the bank with a maple tree as a hood ornament. Instead, we ended up on the right side of the road on top of a neighbor's field-stone fence. I climbed out, walked to the neighbor's, and called for help. Carl and Ron came down and got the car back into the road. Miraculously, the only damage was a flat tire. They changed the tired, and off we went to church.
The very next week Ron and I drover over to Bunn Hill again; we went to choir practice as usual. When we got out at about quarter to nine, it was snowing to beat the band. I thought it would be too slipper to try getting up Bunn Hill. So I decided to drive up Rock Road.
For those of you who are not familiar with the area, Rock Road is a little dirt track running from Powderhouse Road up to Bunn Hill. In places, it's barely wide enough for a single car--steep rock wall on one wide, the canyon of the creek bed on the other. Probably gets plowed at least twice a month in the winter. I don't know how she mustered the courage to get in the car with me! Yet she did, and off we went.
I guess she probably was singing to herself all the way--something like "Jesus, Savior, Pilot Me." But out loud, all she said were words of encouragement. I drove slowly and carefully, and when we pulled into the driveway Dottie didn't even kneel down and kiss the ground; she graciously thanked me for teh ride. And then she went inside and bragged to Carl and Ron about what a safe and careful driver I was. She had a special gift for bringing out the best in others.
A couple of years later when Ron and I found out that DSS had a child to place with us for adoption, Dottie was the first person we told. She was thrilled for us and pleased to learn that she was going to be a grandmother again. Little did she know! Ron and I went from one child to four in the space of 18 months! Only five years apart from oldest to youngest, and they were a handful!
We visited Grandma and Grandpa a lot! Dottie always greeted us with open arms and hugs and kisses all around.
One Saturday we were over visiting. I was helping Mom clean up after dinner. We got talking about kids and adoption and stuff. And I thanked her for being such a wonderful grandparent to our kids. She looked puzzled that I would say this so I explained. "I know a lot of people who have adopted kids. And sometimes the grandparents treat their adopted grandchildren differently than they do their biological grandchildren. Not as nicely." Dottie was shocked. She just couldn't conceive of anyone not loving their own grandchildren, no matter how they got to be grandchildren.
One Christmas season many years ago, Dottie became concerned that her grandchildren were growing up with a lot of privileges that many kids don't have. So she hit on an idea to help them learn generosity. Just after Thanksgiving each year she sent a card to each grandchild. Inside each card was a ten-dollar bill and a note telling them to use the money to help make a brighter Christmas for someone who was not as fortunate. And, to ensure that they followed the directions (and didn't spent the money on themselves), they had to write a letter telling her how they had used the money before they could get their Christmas gifts from Grandma and Grandpa!
She was so proud and delighted to see her grandchildren growing up and becoming independent.
On Tuesday evening last week, Ron came running into the house. "Mom's in the hospital--she's fallen and they think she may have had a heart attack!"
Ron and I raced to the hospital, leaving Robin and Noah home alone. While they waited, they did what any well-trained, self-respecting grandchild of Dottie Wenzinger would do: they went down to the Dollar General and picked out a "Get Well" card.
We spent the day Wednesday at the hospital. In all the commotion, they forgot to bring the card. And by the end of the day, it was too late.
Robin was upset because they never got to give it to her. I guess she worried that Grandma might not know how much we all wanted her to get better. But guess what, guys? It's not too late! Grandma does know how much you love her and how much we all wanted her to get well.
And you know what else? She did!
Cousin Pam Remembers Dottie
When I was very young, the Wenzinger clan arrived in Concord, MA, and we would frequently visit them on a Sunday afternoon. As an only child for the first nine years of my life, it was an overwhelming experience each time we visited. What a big, noisy, happy family they were! I was amazed at dinner time when they all sang the grace as a three-part round. Karen often played her accordion for us, while Leigh was such a quiet young lady. Don and my brother David were quite young, but played well together. I remember that Ron always ushered me into the basement to show me his latest invention. He was always dismantling electronics and building things out of the parts. I especially remember Ron’s bad jokes, which I loved! Carl was an endlessly fascinating man and was always a gracious host. Dottie provided scrumptious meals and a center of calm amid all the chaos of our two families.
My mom was an only child and often spoke about how she wished she had had a sister. In Dottie, she found her sister. They became the best of friends and when the Wenzingers moved away to Vestal, NY, she was heartbroken. Lucky for her, I attended Wells College in Aurora, NY and our visits to Vestal began.
Most of my trips to Wells over the years involved a detour to drop my mom off on Bunn Hill Road and another to pick her up on the way back to Wellesley. My boys loved sledding on the big hill next to the house and one day, Dottie came to the door and softly called my name, waving me in with her hand. As I got closer, she said, “You might want to have the boys come in now because there is a bear out by the apple tree.” Yikes!! I quietly returned to the hill and dragged them into that house lickety-split. That was a sledding adventure they will never forget!
After my mom died, I continued to find my way to Bunn Hill Road to visit Cousin Dottie. Visiting her was like having a warm blanket wrapped around you, full of love and much laughter. I sent her some of my mom’s favorite sweatshirts and I would often get a call saying that she was “getting a hug from my mom as she wore one of the sweatshirts.”
I have a particular interest in our family history which led to many hours on the phone with Dottie as she regaled me with stories of our relatives. I was able to look at dozens of photos whenever I came to visit her and I cherished our time together.
Yesterday, my son Andrew remarked that he was the last in our family to receive a “Cousin Dottie birthday card.” Both boys marveled that she always remembered them and was sure to remind them to be good to their mom.
Dottie was one of the most amazing women I have ever met. Her gracious manner and loving spirit were simply extraordinary and she was a wonderful role model for all of us. Dottie embodied a Christian life well-lived. Her heart was so big and so full of love for everyone she met. She really filled a huge void in my life when I lost my mom. I treasure our relationship and I will miss her terribly.
What a special woman! How lucky I was to have her in my life!
A Message from Mike and Colleen Hedges
We are so very sad to learn of [Dottie's] passing. She lived such a dignified life and brought so much good into our world. I always felt a special welcome from her and I miss her too. I felt that there was such a depth to the love she expressed for life. I don't have memories of Dottie much before our move to New Jersey. And even there my memories are more about impressions of her love because you were still in Concord then. I remember how she would send your Dad off with packages of onions she had cut and froze so that he could work late and still pull together a home cooked supper. I hadn't realized that Dottie loved poetry, but the measured way she spoke would fit a poet. You always felt reassured when she spoke. It was a though she had thought everything through to a logical conclusion before a conversation started. I can't think of any other person who had that ability. When we moved to Binghamton I was amazed to learn that she had grown up nearby. But it just made sense that she had the opportunity to return to her roots. She deserved all the great things that came into her life. I was fortunate to have delivered several file cabinets to be stored at her folks home and regret that that was my only occasion to visit there. Do I remember correctly that your mom and dad were married in Binghamton? They were so good together. We are so sorry for your loss. There are a handful of people that I have known in my life who expressed love in her unconditional, graceful manner. She is missed. Mike and Colleen Hedges