The Colors of Ice Cream
By Lisa Gemperline
Dedicated to Jayna Brown Quinn on March 2, 2015
I will never forget you.
We all have different stories to
tell. We all have different ways we knew her. A sister,
cousin, mother, father, son, daughter, coworker, colleague, friend and
neighbor. Our views are all different yet we saw the same things. Her
unconditional love, patience, laughter, creativity, cleverness and unstoppable
spirit have changed our lives. We may not see her now but I still see and hear
her everywhere I go. I see her In the sea foam green glass vases
that sit on my bathroom shelf when the sunlight shines right through them. I
see her in the paintings hanging on the
walls in my home, The textured oil of our view from the balcony in Positano,
Copper swirls of charcoal of my Baby Hanna Sleeping, brightly splattered watercolors
of tiny Heather “Smelling the Wobbies” and a toddler Taylor “flying the leaves”
and of Daniel fishing off a porch at our Cabin.
Every time I scrub a cookie sheet or dirty pan or fold my laundry,
especially the whites. I think to
myself, “She would not approve!” She
would approve, however of the hugs and kisses that I give to littles
everywhere. I picture her holding each
one of my babies in her arms loving them as she did her own. I see her when my hubby laughs, for he was
truly himself around her.
I see her when I pass locations in the car
like the parks of Davis County where we spent many lunchtimes playing with Beau
and Aria, all the fast food places we went for lunch on a spur of the moment
like Arctic Circle, Olive Garden,
McDonalds or the likes of Arby’s.
I see her when I walk in our neighborhood. Look at the mountains or hear
the creek babble. I walk past her house
and hear so much laughter. Game
playing, Cards, Phase ten, Rummy cube. Large tables with linen table clothes,
tiny tea spoons and must have dishes. A cozy
movie watching coves where she has picked out a favorite movie for one of my
kids to watch. When I smell pumpkin I
see her in her kitchen with perfectly positioned pie crusts ready for the “Libby
can” recipe. She always cut me a huge
piece because she knew how much I loved it.
Whenever I am washing a pan or cookie sheet I see how hard she scrubs to
get it cleaner than I ever would think of doing. I always think to myself,
“Jayna would never approve”
When I see the color Cobalt blue I
know she is there. She loves that color-
the color of the ocean and the sky in its most dramatic moments. She fell in love with it when she went to Greece.
She painted with it in her art work to
complement the other colors. I never
appreciated that color until she talked about it and now I look for it and have
love for her when I see it in glass wear, plates, pottery and even on a
bike. She loved other colors too just
like me. We shared yellow as a favorite
but loved all color. It’s something we
had in common. To appreciate something
and have someone understand is a joy.
She never missed a detail in life. She adored charming cottages, tiny
figurines and music boxes that played haunting tunes. Everything of beauty reminds me of her. I can see Glowing Sunsets, colored umbrellas,
small orange tugboats, crocheted baby
booties, pointed toes, cherry blossoms, dollops of cream, French bakeries, moss
covered windows, red poppies in a vineyard or sparkling waterfalls in the
gardens of Tivoli. She is there.
I see her in all the b day gifts she has given
to me. These are impressive. Not because they are gifts but because she
has the ability to find the perfect one for me. She knew me so well, and she would always
keep her eyes peeled year round for the perfect gift. When she would see something she liked she
would yell, STOP! She immediately knew
it was for me and she would buy it on the spot. Steve knew better than to get
in her way because she knew when things were right. Sometimes she would just make the gift. Whatever it was, if she wanted to give it as
a gift, she would find a way to make it.
She made her Mom Sherry a Book for her b day. She wrote it, illustrated it and yes, even
made the book herself. It is exquisite in every detail. I have a teacup ceramic geranium pot on my
table, an adorable pink bunting doll from the 60's that was lost in my
childhood but now found, a 1970 orange
and yellow daisy clock that still tells time, an antique waffle maker because
she knew my dad used to make us waffles before he died, a treasure box to hold
newborn booties, bonnets and silver spoons, a Kiddle doll on a trike, a
collection of Winner the Pooh antique books and a beautiful orange silk
Scarf. A colorful pin cushion with Sumi
dolls spinning round and round and so much more.
I see her when I feel an adventure. Hanging on for dear life while Steve drives
on the cliffs of the Amalfi Coast,
crossing a dangerous out of control
street in Napoli, taking a 3 man motor boat on a mossy lake in the Bayou,
exploring an underground cave on the Mediterranean sea, sleeping
in a haunted hotel where Ulysses S. Grant stayed, listening to insects and
creatures of the swamps invade our dreams while we tried to sleep in a shack on the Bayou, screaming atop the biggest coaster at Six Flags, traveling to
foreign countries where we can’t read German, hiking southern Utah and driving
around until we find an interesting road that hasn’t been explored yet. Fishing at the Cabin, paddling down the
Potomac or braving the dungeons of the Salem Witch trials. Or
just Adventure land at Disney where we sit and eat ice cream cones while
watching the parade go by.
I see her through my camera lens. She let me borrow her DSL camera and
encouraged me to take some lessons. I
loved taking photos with her. I truly
feel like we saw the same things. She
would tell me what she saw or had noticed and share in the treasure she had
found. The images I would create would
delight her like they were her own. Like it was her grandchild and she looked
proudly on like a grandparent. I loved
when she would critique my photos. She
told me that if I grouped my photo graphs together tell a story then they would
have more impact and I have done that ever since! She taught me about
composition, design and color which greatly enriched my life bringing back
things I had learned as a child and forgotten.
She had a way of teaching and
praising all in the same sentence. She
truly saw beauty in things and people that others did not see. She opened my eyes to so many beautiful and
wonderful thoughts and feelings. I treasure
her advice. Her knowledge of things
astounded me as she seemed to know about everything. . And if she didn’t, she just acted like she
did. She was always learning. I
loved walking next to her in the Museums of Europe or sitting next to
her in a concert as she always commented on the art, the history, the beauty,
or the feelings that she felt. But mostly I loved being with her because of her
joy in experiencing Art in any form.
I see her as an Artist Extraordinaire painting in her studio with her splattered
aprons and assortment of brushes. I see her setting her brushed down to mentor
or talk with or encourage another artist no matter the age, no matter the
form. I see her unselfishly giving time
and attention to my girl who needed her.
I see her meticulously piecing together
new boxes made of antique bits and pieces. I see her digging in the dirt of
Idaho and repairing a flat tire in Texas, just to get dirt samples and smells
of her ancestor’s lives. I proudly see
her Masters exhibit displayed in the building where I walked the halls 30 years
ago as a young student. I wish we had
been friends then. My university experience would have been so different. I
see her walking across the stage of two universities. One where her son gets up
and yells in a very loud voice that made me jump in my seat, “That’s; l my Momma!” She was an outstanding student and scholar
who was inspiring to her peers yet,
annoyed by the younger students who had to keep up with her over achieving
grades. One of my kids was telling her
about the really smart student who made the grading curve in class way too high
and she said, “Oh, I hate people like that!”
I laughed right out loud and said,
“Jayna that was you!” She
lowered her head and smiled and said, “Oh, Yeah.” I see
her eating Mexican Food after the ceremonies.
She loves to eat out with family and friends. I see an example of unconditional love for us
all.
I hear her saying things to me like,
You are amazing, You can do it, You have the gift, You are worth being with,
You are my friend. I hear her say in
humor, “How trying” “Don’t you worry yourself one little bit”, “It was HIDEOUS! With emphasis on the hid part. “Come here and let me kiss your cheeks” I hear her laughter everywhere! I hear her in the movie theatre when it’s quiet
or during a play when it’s the least bit funny, from the Kitchen when Anj is in
there tormenting her, from the office where a Disney movie is playing in the
background, her laugh was like therapy to me.
Like a spoon fun of sunshine going into my body. She could always find something to be happy
about.
I hear voice when she stops to talk
to neighbors on the street or friends in the store and she gives them more time
and energy that I have patience for. In
fact, one neighbor said that when she went to the Quinns for some reason or another, that it was like
a vacuum sucking her in and her
children were left to wonder where she had disappeared to. I hear her voice kind to the clerks lifting their loads with a smile or a
compliment. I hear her talking to shop keepers
and carrying on a conversation fit for a friend. One shop keeper in Texas had a beautiful
shop with cream and white pillows, signs, quits and Knickknacks displayed in a
lovely and beautiful fashion. As Jayna visited with her and found out her
tragic story, she mourned with and comforted a stranger that was now her
friend. I wish we had a photo of that shop.
The sun was shining through the windows and the corrugated tin on the
walls fascinated Jayna so much that the memory of it is so vivid.
I see her saying nothing in
judgment. I feel of her heart growing as
she loved those that had been forgotten. I see her buying Christmas Presents and
Graduation gifts for a lost boy who had no home. I see her opening her front door in her white
cotton duster to welcome in a little 8 year old boy who had tragically lost his
father. They were her own. Her door wide
open to them all. I see her door wide open for her children when
they needed a place to land, to rest, to be loved. I see her tears for the pain and loss of
others . I hear her words of non
judgment, compassion and acceptance as she seemed to wisely understand the needs
of others . I saw her quietly and kindly
help friends and neighbors who had children that had struggled and she seemed
to know exactly what to say and what to do and I just watched from a distance
and was amazed.
Ok, yes, I can see her grumpy and
sad at times. It wasn’t like this mostly. But it makes me smile to think of some of
the things that annoyed her. Having to
wear shoes , or using hair spray was trying.
She did not like going to the grocery store or making dinner. Waiting for our server when we were desperately
hungry, stranded beneath the Paris airport while Steve and Anj
tried to secure a rental car for the day but they had forgotten to do so,
having to be told NO, we can’t go to Germany this year, or No, you can’t take
an extra suitcase with you on the plane.
When her favorite flavor of gelato had just been “sold out” or her
favorite movie was now gone from the theatre etc. The ending of the movie Somersby
really made us mad. If she had to miss
an adventure because she was sick or didn’t have the funds or had to stay home
from a party where she would see friends and family then she wasn’t happy. Having someone take her car which left her stranded
or when she was not able to go to a Cory Connors Concert because she was too
sick. Even when she was in severe
physical pain and when her emotional suffering was at its worst, she seemed to
be able to laugh at something, say words to help another person, yet always
bearing her trials with beauty and grace.
So…. where do I stop? I could keep
going on forever. Every time I sit in a
movie theatre or at a restaurant she is there. There are so many memories, so many thoughts,
sooooo many lessons to learn. There
will never be a day that I don’t see or hear her. She is everywhere to me. The sights and sounds and feelings that
became a part of me while being with her are endless. It’s something you can’t even put into
words. There was an easiness about it
that was natural and eternal as if we had had this relationship before. I could find myself when I was with her. I
liked myself when I was with her. She has
been one to help me know why I was born.
She knew sooner than I did what her purposes were but I have a few years
to catch up. Her spirit was one that I
wanted to be with. She had a magnet that
pulled me in. She was always happy to
see us. She not only loved me but my
entire family. I see in my mind that she
always had time for me ( except) when she had to be in a class at Weber and
When she moved away to go to BYU)” so
Trying.” If I called her or showed up on
her doorstep, it didn’t matter what she was doing, (even if she was in bed) she
would drop everything to be with me. I
don’t know of anyone else that would do that.
She didn’t even mind that I had little kids. She would just come with us. She
swam with us in the pool. Not just wadding or bouncing but full out swimming
and diving! (Synchronized swimming at
its best.) She told me that she didn’t care if anyone saw her in her bathing
suit. She was not going to let other people spoil her fun. I loved her for it. She would come with us to the canyon creeks to wade in the water,
walk around Lagoon with a stroller , go to a park to watch the kids play, ride
in the car to see where the fire was burning , go see a show, watch a dance recital or band concert , it
didn’t matter, we just liked being
together.
I see her laying in her bed with her
yellow and blue striped comforter lying over her. She is bald and weak and
Steve is tenderly taking care of her, like always. We talked about her garden that she created
in her back yard in Farmington. I still
see her sitting in the rocks and dirt making sure each is in its proper place. The stone benches the dancing fountain Steve
built her, the tree that she loved that hung in front of her kitchen
window. I asked her if she would have a
garden like that in Heaven where she could meet her sister Jean Marie. She said slowly and strained, “I can’t
wait….. And then she paused. I thought
she was seeing her sister in the air as she was looking up. I thought she was
thinking about how wonderful it would be to meet her again. It made me feel a
little bit better. I waited to see what
she was going to say. I said, “Jayna, what is it that you are waiting for?” After
a long pause, she finally said, “I can’t
wait for Steve to bring me that ice cream!”
We laughed. I heard her humor and saw her eyes
twinkle. A week or so later, we are
visiting again. She is eating ice cream
for one of the last times. I have to spoon
the ice cream in her mouth as she cannot use her arms. I give her a drink of water out of a bent
straw. We talk about how much ice cream
we have shared over the years. She
chuckles and smiles and as she takes another bite and says, “Yes, we probably
ate too much ice cream but, pause, we made each other happy!” Those are the last words I heard from her
mouth. I wasn’t sure if her affair was
with the ice cream or if she meant that she and I had made each other happy but
that is what I want to believe.
A week or so later, I’m at her
bedside again. She is not eating ice
cream today. She is not eating anything.
She is not drinking. She is just breathing. I sat down next to her bed and took her
hand. I squeeze her hand but she doesn’t
squeeze back. Steve tells me that she
can still hear me. Tears run down my
cheek. She is breathing heavy. Did she really know how I felt about her? About
us? About the 4 of us? About how much she was a part of who I
am? Could she see and hear me now? I wondered.
I doubted. I prayed for a tender
mercy before I came. Would we be
allowed? Her dear sweet Mother came in and stood by us. I didn’t think she could hear me so I started
telling Sherry what I wanted Jayna to hear.
Jayna opened her eyes! She looked
at me. We talked about a few adventures,
and good times that I knew would please her.
We talked about how much we loved her and how much we had shared. Her chin quivered a few times, a tear came to
her eye. She looked at me again. She could not move but she knew. She heard.
She saw. She ever so faintly
smiled at us. She smiled 3 times that
snowy Thursday afternoon. She smiled for
all of us. I see that smile so full of
love and longing to not leave us here on this earth. It was a gift from God
I can see her smiling. I can see her laughing. I can see her hugging loved ones gone before
that are so dear to her. I see her
laughing and smiling at all the people for whom she opened the way. I see her smiling at her family and laughing
at their jokes. I see her laughing and smiling at all her dear friends and
loved ones, as there are so many. I see her creating with colors and paint,
with dirt and stardust, making beautiful creations that we can’t even imagine. I see .; her looking at me. She is saying “Now Don’t you worry yourself one
little bit! I hear here say “I
love you, too!” I see her healthy and
happy. I see her beating Anj in a foot
race and laughing so hard she can’t talk because she always loved beating him
at something. No more pain, no more
sickness, no more worries, no more tears.
Just smiles, laughter and hugging,
just dancing, flying and creating, just love and joy and peace. And definitely no more waiting for ice cream.
