In Memory of my Friend

This is the day which the Lord hath made; we will rejoice and be glad in it. Psalms 118 Verse 24

These words Frances spoke to the assemblage of women the morning of our first meeting. They were her typical opening statement as she gave the short devotional that was always part of the creative activity program I attended weekly with my mother at her church. These same words were repeated without fail as Frances began and ended each day in prayer and meditation with her Lord.

Short in stature, but big in heart Frances became both my friend and mentor in the following 10 years. To say she touched my life in a special way only begins to cover the impact she had upon me with her grace, spirit, compassion and sheer joy of living life no matter the challenges that befell.

Widowed at 39 and left to raise her 2 daughters alone on her pay from her job as cashier at the local A&P, she never complained about her fate. She “carried on” as she put it. Frances never remarried, focusing instead on her job as a mother and her unflagging ministry to others, whom she said had needs greater than her own. Always with a ready smile and loving heart Frances tended to the spirit of others with the same fervor she tended to her own.

Yet, her true touch upon my life came at the death of my own husband in 2002. Through cards, letters, phone calls and face to face chats she encouraged me to look at the gifts I had been given in the loving relationship with my husband, his tender care of our children and the number of years we were graced to share together. She reminded me that I honored my husband in living life with the same spirit he did. She coached me to “carry on” though my heart was broken into pieces. My ears were not always open to her words in the beginning but the loving hugs that came with the chats were eagerly accepted and appreciated. When ever I think of someone I would care to emulate in my own journey on this path, Frances is always first to come to mind.

Today my emotional state slides between my sadness at the loss of my friend and the joy I know she felt at her own passing. Her girls were with her and said that Frances died in silent peace with that sweet slight smile she had when she knew a secret. My life and widowed journey has been blessed by the gift of friendship, time and compassion given so graciously by this special woman. I will miss her yet; I honor her joy in living life, her steadfast faith and her dying grace.

What follows below are edited excerpts of the obituary written by her son-in-law that conveys in better words than mine the impact this tiny, spirited, feisty blue-eyed woman had during her 95 years on this planet.

I am a better person for having known her.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Frances Wood Rice

UPSTATE, SC-- Frances Wood Rice went to meet her Savior and Lord on Monday, January 23, 2006. She was the beloved wife of the late Lewis Mulloy Rice and the devoted mother of two daughters, two beloved sons-in-law, adored grandchildren and great-grandchildren, and friend to the multitude of souls she touched in her lifetime.

A native of Cherokee County, SC and a 66-year resident of this city, Frances was the last surviving member of the Raymouth and ShadeWood family and was the fifth of the 12 children in her family. She was born on January 6, 1911.

A widow for 56 years, Frances built her life around her faith in Christ and her love for her family. Each child, grandchild, or great-grandchild knew that he or she was of unmeasured worth in Grandmothers eyes, and for her family there was nothing that she would not do. She was always there for every one of us. When her eyesight failed, her hearing was poor, and aging’s aches and pains kept her at home more than she liked, each child was lifted up in prayer every day and was never out of her thoughts or her heart.

For 66 years Frances was an active member of First Baptist Church and remained so until her death. Over the years she served as a President of the Young-at-Heart, Yesterdays Teens, and her Sunday School Class, the Friendship Class. She loved the church and the people in it. Countless afternoons were spent on the road because the joy of her life lay in visiting and ministering to the sick, to shut-ins, or to those who needed comfort. She gave herself away as a friend to all who needed a friend, usually appearing at their doors with a loaf of homemade bread.

Frances retired from the Great Atlantic and Pacific Tea Company as Head Bookkeeper in 1978, having worked with the company for 30+ years. It’s true that she enjoyed her job, but she enjoyed retirement even more. For many years after retirement she hosted Granny’s Dreams, an annual craft bazaar at her home, selling items that she had sewn, knitted, stenciled, or crafted in various ways. These sales were attended by hundreds of people in the Upstate area, and her family served as her support staff for the day.

A lifelong knitter, Frances taught knitting classes at First Baptist Church’s Activity Day and was Activity Day’s first Director in 1978. She also developed a cap ministry after her retirement. She knitted hundreds of toboggans and sent them worldwide to mission fields as far away as Alaska, Croatia, Australia, and to places closer to home--Connie Maxwell Children’s Home in Greenwood and the Shriner’s Hospital in Greenville. She also completed about 150 tiny red caps donated to newborns at the Regional Medical Center.

Although her worldly goods were few, Frances was one of the wealthiest women in town because she spent her life laying up treasures in Heaven. Our family rejoices today in the knowledge that unquestionably she is seated at the feast table of the King.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Rest in peace, my friend. I will miss you greatly.

Christmas in Dixie

It wasn’t quite snowing in the pines as in the Alabama song, but it was still a typically Southern Christmas with too much food, giggling kids, waggle tailed dogs and wrapping paper all over the floor.

Holidays have been something to be endured since Jim’s death in 2002…kept mostly because of our sweet, young grand and grown children. But, they have not been something to which I looked forward. Getting trapped in old memories took the color out of the present. While I could find some pleasure in spending the time with my family and friends, the celebrations were viewed as if through a frosted lens.

Somewhere between the melancholy of October and Thanksgiving I found myself looking forward to the thought of the light, color and confusion reigning in this old house again. Renovations were almost to a point that guests could be comfortable and only the undone fine finishing might be noticed upon close scrutiny.

For the first time in years even before Jim’s death I looked forward to the shopping and bustle of getting things done. There were some challenges along the way, but it really all began with little Cindy Lou Who and How the Grinch Stole Christmas and that unexpected Dickensonian day trip to Biltmore House. Keeping her little cartoon spirit in my head and heart kept me from losing my own when road blocks jumped up and threatened to derail my refound joy in all the bustle, planning, decorating, shopping, cooking and wrapping that makes the holiday what it is.

Even the frantic Trading Spaces drive to complete the challenge fraught wall unit project had an element of happiness in it. The day and a half long plumbing emergency that cropped up requiring a complete toilet replacement the day before and of Christmas was a bit more daunting…yet…somehow…it all came together.


Traditional is neither a word that one would normally use to describe the Outlaw household…nor her family, for that matter. Thanksgiving and Christmas dinner in the standard holiday tradition is an uncommon happening and is usually preceded by “let’s do something different and have turkey for Thanksgiving.” Therefore, the choice of lasagna, cheese and garlic biscuits, salad, carrot cake and home-made cheese cake were not seen as odd. (Go figure) What mattered was that there was food and lots of it.

As family and friends trickled in to a total of 13 (never an unlucky number since our son’s birth on a Friday 13th 25 years ago) this 1100 square foot cracker box of a brick ranch echoed with laughter, light and the sound of little feet and skittering paws across the newly refinished wood floors. Even the rain and cool temperatures could not dampen the spirit that seeped in from the very walls and settled in each person present. Jim’s presence was felt by me all day…I know he was smiling and I know he is happy that I am standing in the sunlight with feet planted beneath me again.

This place is hard fought and won for me. There have been moments in the last 3 ½ years that I have been certain I would finally flounder for the last time. I am a stubborn woman; I know no path other than straight through an obstacle. That stubbornness, Jim’s unconditional and abiding love, that of family and a very special group of widowed friends have been my lifeline throughout this journey.

My Handyman coming into my life at a time when I was finding solid ground is a gift I never expected. And, while perhaps farfetched, my reward for making it to a place where I can find both joy in what I had for over 30 years, what is now and what is to be for the time we are allowed to spend together. I am a most lucky and grateful woman to have experienced such wonderful love twice in my lifetime.

As I sit finishing this, looking at the yet to be dismantled trappings and listening to the rain drum the metal roof of this house, the memory of this season that sticks is the picture in my mind of my Handyman and Jim’s precious grand dress our homely, hastily purchased for $1 at Lowe’s the day before, “Frazer” fir on Christmas Eve. One - tall, almost olive skinned, blue eyed, gray headed with nearly full Santa beard and low toned voice gently guiding the other - dark eyed, dark haired, fair skinned and girly, pre-teen voice - to the perfect spot for each chosen ornament. I watched as the two worked side by side to take that wiggly trunked tree and turn it into the sparkling wonder before me now.
It is the first she has made with The Handyman that has no connection to her past. She and her Papa never decorated a tree together. She and I always rushed to have done all but the lights as a surprise upon his return home from work. (It was also the bane of my holiday season that we fought nearly every year over those blasted lights and is food for a story of its own.) This is a memory just for her and the new grandfather in her life. I wonder will it mean the same to her from the retrospective of years as it is to me now.

It is time to undress Frazer, put away the ornaments and give him his tenure as sanctuary for the birds, chipmunks and rabbits that inhabit the back yard. In a matter of months Frazer will compost and be gone having fulfilled his destined life cycle. Yet, he will remain a memory to treasure.

It’s late, I know. Christmas and New Year’s are fading into the past. But…Merry Christmas and Happy New Year from one down here in Dixie who is grateful and content for what she had and what she has. May we all have enough. As an aside: This cut crystal ornament is one of 6 that hung on Frazer in honor of my also widowed friends who have meant so much to me. They were purchased in Charlotte, NC 2 years ago on a magical day spent with a freshly widowed new friend. This is the first year they graced a tree. Randy...thank you for everything.

Womb with a View

When choosing a title for this I thought about how this house has always been a coccoon, womb of sorts, sheltering me from the storms of the outside world and for the last 3 1/2 years a haven in my grief.

Yet all I have to do is look out any door or window and life is right there waiting for me to take part. As the seasons and weather change, the sun rises and sets it all metamorphs into something else, yet still remains eternally the same little world. I can chart the changes in my own life against the changing lanscape outside these four welcoming walls and be a a photo-journalist in my own back yard, so to speak.

Between the Handyman’s wonderful “Big Boy” (don’t do it) Sony digi-cam with the powerful zooooooooooooom (you went there didn’t you?) and my new, very small…pocket sized even…lightweight Nikon with much less zoom (shame one you...you’re still there aren't you?) I am shooting everything in sight. (Some very good…some very NOT)

So, while I compile my digital photo albums, descriptions AND continuing fodder for this blog I’ll leave you for the nonce with a view out the westside door (that would be Old MacDonald’s little red barn in the background of the first) and southside yard of La Casa Hacienda del Outlaw as the sun bounced off the landscape and then hid behind the lowering cloud cover this morning.

(And, doncha English majors just love a big, old run-on sentence like that? Heh heh heh.)



This last picture is zooooomed and taken across my little valley of Bubba da Bull's stomping grounds. Now, Senor Bubba da Bull deserves a story of his own in a later chapter of life in this little blue collar subdivision plunked down in the middle of an old cow farm in the foothills of lower Podunk, SC. So stay tuned.

Next thing I'm gonna do is remove that darned ugly date stamp from the digi-cam...it's annoying.