The following essay was written in 1969 by my mother, who told me that she wrote it on the back of an envelope in the car, tears running down her cheeks.  It occurred at the auction of the worldly goods of my great Aunt “Kate”. Kate was the last of ten children to leave this earth; the last of her generation.

Kathryn Ross was my grandmother’s youngest sister, who became the wife of a prosperous Swiss farmer. She had a little more education and wealth than most of her neighbors, and certainly more than my grandparents had.

Kate taught in a one-room country schoolhouse, but had no children of her own. She doted on my mother and her sister, who were the two youngest nieces, teaching my mother to paint, and encouraging her to continue her studies, possibly becoming a teacher herself someday.

My grandmother Ellen, born in Canada in 1869, was a farmer’s wife too, with eight children.

Kathryn was born in 1882, and died in 1969 in a nursing home. Her cherished possessions were sold at a public auction to the highest bidders, the proceeds used to pay her final expenses.

The essay is called “Random Thoughts”. I have read and reread it many times since it was written. Each time I gain a little more insight into my mother and her perspective on life. To me, it is a perfect reminder at the beginning of a new year the kind of person I  aspire to be.

Random Thoughts (by Jessie)

(After the auction at Aunt Kate’s, May 17, 1969)

I knew her in the days when, as a child, I visited with Mother, happy with the sugar cookies that she always gave me.

I remember happy days of picking fruit, of taking plants that she gave us to plant someplace at home, of picking flowers from a garden bursting with beauty and never thought of all the labor that they cost.

Her way with words was special, her pride in walk and way. Importance was given to mealtime grace and manners at the table. Her home was one of good books shared, of hobbies on the side, each one in its own place in her life, but duty there came first.

Now all of her lovely things are spread out for all the world to see. The grass is trampled down, and children are jumping on her beds. The rain is wetting all the dressers and the chairs; the spirits too are dampened, at least for those of us who only watch, feeling so much. Seeing those who never knew her take for money the precious things she clutched so tight; oh, some in desperation paid the price for memories’ sake.

God, help me as I live from day to day to have enough for all my needs, but let me not clutch too tightly nor hold too dear the “things” that shut out love and kindness, for they will end up owning me.

Rather, let me turn outward to the beauty of the simple things and share them with a child, inspire someone who has lost hope to live again. Let me give kindness to all I meet and show them, if I can, their own true worth in God’s eye view – each one important, each one loved.

Then, at the end when strength of mind and body go from me, there will only be that which money cannot buy, drawing dividends in lives that I have never known. My prayer is this: that envy, jealousy or hate will never overtake me, for no slight or special treatment shown another can ever rob me of that given to me at birth – Health and strength, a quality of holding on no matter what, a love of nature and a zest for life, a driving force that says “you can” and, yes, some weakness, but a faith to overcome.

These gifts are given by one who loves each child the same, not just to look at, touch, and put upon a shelf, but to live them out each day.

This is my heritage.