My high school classmates convened this weekend to celebrate our fiftieth reunion. We were asked to write about our most memorable moments in the last fifty years. Here is what I wrote.
After graduation
from Holy Cross several events stand out in my life over the last
fifty years. The first is the day the acceptance letter arrived from
Stanford University. I remember that it came earlier than I had
expected and that I held it in my hand for some time afraid to open
it. Stanford was the defining experience in my life, I think, more
so than High School, although without the foundation that I was given
by the Sisters of the Holy Cross, I could never have gone there. As
a transfer student (from Foothill), I never lived on campus, but I
made life-long friends through the St. Ann Choir, a Gregorian Chant
and Renaissance Polyphonic Choir that still sings in Palo Alto. A
degree with honors in Medieval History still decorates the inside of
one of my drawers somewhere. The picture was taken around the time
that I began studying at Stanford.
The second is the
day that the acceptance letter arrived from the University of Chicago
Divinity School. Again, an early letter which I held in my hand and
then finally opened. As I pondered whether to go or stay, one of the
people who had written a recommendation letter, Fr. Robert Giguere,
said, “Peggy it is a very great honor and very prestigious, but
you don't have to go.” I went.
In the first quarter
there I attended a lecture by a visiting theologian given at the OI
(Oriental Institute) because our school, the Divinity School located
in Swift Hall, did not have a room large enough to accommodate the
crowd. I remember entering the huge foyer of the OI and looking up
to the carving above the doors. James Henry Breasted Memorial Hall
the letters read. The hair prickled on the nape of my neck. I had
come full circle from Sister Peter Damian's Religion History class to
the place where the foremost Egyptologist of his time and author of
the book we had used had, to paraphrase the Episcopal Book of Common
Prayer “lived and moved and had his being.” As a further note,
when I told Papa about this while I was home at Christmas, my father
recognized the name of the theologian. Turns out he had known the
man before he became a priest—when they were both graduate students
in Mathematics at Ohio State. It is always a small world!
Sometimes I wish I
had stayed here. At the time I believed that I was truly called to
active ministry but not to be a member of a religious order. I
thought that I would most likely become an Episcopalian, but in the
end could not. Sometimes, especially when I am reading Jan Karon's
wonderful novels about Fr. Timothy Kavanaugh, I wish I had become an
Episcopalian.
Instead, I returned
home after passing doctoral qualifying exams. That day and the whole
process of preparation for those exams are two more outstanding
memories in my life. Graduation from Chicago with my father and
younger sister (Patricia Manor Pierce, HCHS 1969) attending was
another outstanding moment. I remember at Convocation holding my
degree in my hands at the end of the ceremony as the president
proclaimed, “Welcome to
the community of scholars.” The
event was marred by sadness though, for even as we celebrated and we
went on to Toledo for a visit where I got to meet my niece for the
first time (I had met her older brother in previous visits) we missed
Mama who had died a few months earlier after a courageous and
cheerful battle with Non-Hodgkin's Lymphoma. The picture at the left
shows me at the pulpit at Bond Chapel. The closest I ever came to
preaching!
I came back to
California expecting to work and carve out a career after spending so
much time enjoying school. Unfortunately, post-polio syndrome, also
known as post-polio sequalae was already catching up to me. By the
late eighties I was also developing serious arthritis in my hips and
spine so that the doctor who diagnosed post-polio advised me that I
should begin using a wheelchair alternating with my crutches.
Coming home from
Chicago after not driving for the better part of six years also found
me without the ability for independent mobility. I could no longer
drive. I needed hand-controls, which should have been a simple
solution, but no amount of research or number of phone calls yielded
the information that I needed—where to buy them. I was stranded in
the island that would soon become Silicon Valley. Today, of course,
the internet would solve the problem in a few simple searches. What
I needed was a good occupational therapist.
It
wasn't until 2010, when an emergency hospitalization brought me to
Valley Medical Center's Spinal Cord Injury Unit (also known as Rehab
One) that I was to meet a truly great Occupational Therapist and a
whole team of caregivers who taught me how to use the equipment that
paraplegics use. I spent almost three weeks there and it was the
closest that I have ever come to a real vacation. Today I live my
life on wheels—a power wheel chair that allows me to get around in
my neighborhood—Hobee's, Walgreen’s, Starbucks, a lovely Chinese
restaurant and most important a lovely new grocery store, Fresh and
Easy. After decades of being house bound I can go outside and enjoy
the flowers and trees and a walk with a friend, and even her
dog—never mind that I am still sitting as we proceed. The picture
to the left was taken in the Spring of 2011.
In the interval I had
tried everything that I could think of to maintain some independence.
For several years in the 1980's I grew what seemed like a zillion
seedlings—it was really only several thousand—primarily tomatoes
and peppers for Common Ground in Palo Alto. I was trying to have a very small
business, what today I call, and I think I have seen the term used by
others—a micro business. I researched flowers and herbs, their
meanings in the language of flowers and their uses. A few years ago
I resurrected this business and am enjoying selling on Etsy,
potpourri and sachets that are natural, symbolic and very pretty.
There are several natural moth and ant repellent mixtures for fiber
stashes and kitchen cupboards. I also make custom labels for fiber
artists, to their specifications. (In reality I never made it past the "I'm having so much fun I don't know how much money I am losing" stage of turning a hobby into a business. The draconian constraints of the institutionalized poverty of disability benefits, have not helped any of this, of course. That would be another blog post, or maybe several.)
In High School, I
taught myself to sew, a few years later I took a wonderful knitting
class at the Mountain View Sears store with my mother who wanted to
learn to knit, but didn't want to go out after dark alone. The
teacher taught us how to knit a sweater and that project pretty much
gave us all the basics of the craft. I still have the sweater—wish
I could still fit into it! I can no longer embroider as the fine
hand movements are gone, but knitting and sewing, cooking and reading
occupy my time.
This year I also put
in a garden again so that interest has come full circle. All in
containers so that I can tend it, it has rewarded me immeasurably not
only with delicious food, but the peace and joy of being in it.
Making a meal based on what I find in my own garden has given me a
profound sense of connection to my ancestors, especially all those
who were farmers.
