Isn’t Marjorie a beautiful name? To me evocative of English accents, cocktails and dinner parties.
I am lucky to have a Marjorie in my life. Some folks call her Marjie or some such. But to me it short sells a beautiful word, aptly applied to a beautiful person.
How did I come to have a Marjorie you might ask? When I found the sanctuary of Grace UMC, I was alone. Every Sunday for months, I would enter the calm stillness and hope to find peace, true grace and a way ahead. Every Sunday, two lovely ladies sat near where I sat. Sometimes, I would sit right behind them. Soon, we struck up a friendship. It didn’t take long to find out my new friends Joyce and Marjorie had existed in my state of onesiness for a long time. They knew where I was, and made an effort to make sure I got where I needed to go.
Soon, we were seeking each other out before service. It was delightful meeting those ladies. Joyce sent me cards. Long after the madding crowd had left my little drama, a card now and again would pop through the mail. Made me feel there was someone out there thinking.
I recognized a fiesty streak in Marjorie. Don’t ask me how. I was blown away when she stood up in the pulpit and described not only that she had been attending Grace for over 80 years, but she had begun the journey as a little girl, alone. First walking, and then riding a trolley. Beyond fiesty. Determined. Very, very determined.
When we began serving on the finance committee together, I loved seeing her work the room. She was a force. I became chair of the committee and soon Marjorie and I were riding together, sharing space, sharing tales. I started realizing how shallow the end of the pool I inhabited. She was quite simply, Something.
I thought I was so cool, so pushing the envelope when I picked her up for her birthday lunch in my hot little convertible. That day we were ladies who lunched. Taking our time, swapping stories. It wasn’t until afterwards, when I had forgotten to take the convertible up to 90 in honor of her upcoming date, that I realized I needed to run a lot faster than that to keep up. She told me that she and her husband had owned a GTO back in the day. Not only did they own it, they drove it Mexico. When he needed a nap, she took over the driving. Wide open spaces, foreign country, muscle car, Marjorie at the wheel. Then her husband woke up and discovered she was doing 90.
And she is the 90 I would aspire to be. Curious, energetic, thoughtful, smart. She volunteers, she leads, she continually keeps moving and it seems takes no prisoners, except me. Sweet, gentle, fiery.
Happy birthday, Marjorie.