"Each life that touches ours for good"

During the time that we lived in Centerville, Utah, we spent a year and a half renting a home while a couple served a mission. It was fun to live in a "real" house in a "real" neighborhood. The house was on a corner, and the back yards of 3 of the houses sort of all merged together. One of the houses that merged with our yard belonged to the Coleman family. The Colemans had a daughter, Renee, who was Bonny's age. She was their youngest daughter, while Bonny of course was our oldest.

I'm not sure of the occasion for this photo - I don't know if it was a homegrown craft project, something they did in Primary (which was held during the week back then), or some kind of school project. But it is a photo of Renee and Bonny in our backyard - and if you look through the trees, you are looking at the Coleman's backyard.

This was the closest I could come to a picture of Marion, Renee's mother and my good friend. Marion would walk through the yards - or I would walk through the yards - and we would talk, share recipes, produce, sewing tips, or solve the world's problems! Marion knew everyone in our ward and pretty much understood them too. She was always there to fill me in on "background" so that I could understand the ward and our neighborhood better. She was a good friend, and when we moved away in 1979, I truly missed her.

She was good about writing letters though, so we corresponded for several years. I remember writing her a letter one night soon after we had moved to Monrovia. I had put bread in the oven to rise, and then I had forgotten about it!! As I lay in bed, I remembered the bowl of bread dough I had put in the oven that afternoon. I got out of bed and ran to the kitchen to see what was happening! (Marion had taught me to put the bread in the over to rise, and then to put a jelly roll pan on the bottom shelf and then fill it with boiling water. The bread always rose beautifully that way - a technique I still use - and share with whomever is interested!)

The bread had spread all over the oven, but it came back together rather nicely as I scooped it up. I kneaded it a few times, plunked it back in the bowl and put it in the oven to rise once more. After it rose - which it did quickly - I shaped it into loaves and let it rise once more - then I baked it. Of course this took time, so to keep myself awake, I wrote a letter to Marion detailing my evening!! She wrote me back and told me that her Swedish grandmother always did her bread that way - letting it rise all day and then knocking it down and baking it whenever she had the time or inclination!!

That was the quintessential Marion - and I smiled as I read her reply. We exchanged letters for several years, and Marion kept me updated on all the news in Centerville. When we went to Utah, we'd stop in Centerville to go to church, and I'd see Marion. After about 15 years, it pretty much got to just letters at Christmas time. I suspect that she was computer savvy, but I never did get into the habit of emailing her. For a few years I didn't hear from her - and we didn't get back to Centerville very often - so I occasionally thought of her and wondered how she was. Then a Christmas card would come with all kinds of updates.

Last year I didn't receive a card - and then this year I received a card from her son, informing me that Marion had died on August 16, 2009, after a courageous battle with cancer.

I am so sad that I didn't know about this. I am so sad that I didn't have a chance to send her a final letter, letting her know how much I valued our experiences together. Her son told me that his mother had valued her friendship with me, and that is some comfort.

I thought of the hymn, Each Life That Touches Ours For Good. And whenever we sing it now, I will think of Marion.

And I am going to take pictures of my friends. I can see Marion in my mind quite clearly. But I wish I had a picture of her.

I'm a pretty good correspondent. But I'm not a perfect one. Lives change. We all change. Contact sometimes goes by the wayside.

I'm sorry that this correspondence went by the wayside at the end.

But I will always treasure the friendship I enjoyed with Marion.