Nanny Ann Potato Pan

She was given to us on Christmas Eve 1951. We used to say that she was the only Christmas gift we ever got that we didn't break or get tired of playing with. Since I was only 4 when she was born, I don't really recall much of her being a baby, except Mom nursing her. Luckily, I didn't have to change diapers or clean up after her. I do remember trying to get her to suck her thumb. I figured it she did it, Daddy would stop spanking me when I did it. It didn't work. She wouldn't suck her thumb no matter how many times I shoved it into her mouth. That baby wasn't good for nothin'!

When she was about 3 years old, we used her to get what we wanted. Asking Daddy to go get ice cream from Trout's usually resulted in being told "no". But! If we could talk HER into asking, he usually said "yes". We thought we had a gold mine in her! Mom told me later that he only did that to get us to ask her. He was playing us. Well, who cares who was playing whom? We got the ice cream and that's all that mattered at the time!

Every Easter, Clayton's store would have colored Easter chicks for sale. Daddy always let us pick out our own and we took care of them until they got too big. He gave them away after that. One year, Nancy's chick was a rooster! She carried the poor thing around by his neck. It's a wonder he wasn't strangled. He never tried to peck at her, either. Maybe he knew she was just a little kid.

She and I were thrown together alot simply because we were the two youngest. We shared a room and a double bed. She would never clean her side of the room. It infuriated me to no end. I hated a messy room. I think she did it on purpose. It's very hard to make up half a bed, but I was determined that I wasn't going to make up her side. I even went so far as to put masking tape down the wall, over the bed, down on the floor, up the front of the dresser we shared and up the mirror and farther up on the other wall. That lasted only until Mom saw it. Down came the tape and once again, I was trying to make up half a bed. Even with this problem, I wouldn't have wanted her to be in another room. I had frequent dizzy spells at night. She would hold my hand and assure me that the room wasn't spinning and the bed wasn't tilting. Hearing her voice and feeling her holding my hand helped me endure the dizziness.

I taught her how to roller skate by letting her hold onto my belt or wrap her arms around my waist. I would then pull her along the sidewalk. It didn't take her long to learn. Soon she was skating with all the other kids and having a great time. Mom ran behind her when she was learning to ride a bike. I'm glad I didn't have to do that! Her best friend lived with his grandparents next door. They were so cute together. Nancy and Dubby. She loved Yogi Bear and Pluto. Romper Room was right up her alley. Cars and trucks. Marbles. Dolls didn't impress her much.

She and I sat at the dinner table on the cut-off remains of our old high chairs. There were only 4 chairs to the kitchen set, so Daddy cut the back, arms and foot rest from each of our high chairs for us. She loved to eat spoonfuls of sugar and margarine. Mom had to remember to put them away after our meals.

From an early age, we used to tease her about being adopted. She had beautiful blue eyes and we had beautiful brown eyes. Mom and Dad had brown eyes, too. Unfortunately, we never told her that Memaw had beautiful blue eyes. Mom told me later that when Nancy was about 13, she told Mom that for years she had tried to remember another home, another mother, some other people. Mom was confused. "What in sam hill are you talking about?" That's when Nancy told her how we used to tell her she was adopted. Oops! We never thought she'd take it seriously! In our adult years, she and I used to laugh about it.

There were so many times that we laughed ourselves sick over something we remembered. Our stomachs would be aching and it would be hard to breathe. Just looking at each other would then bring on gales of laughter. I sorely miss that.

In my teenaged years, having to room with an adolescent was daunting. I remember many times coming home from a date to find her in bed, covers pulled up to her chin, an open book resting on her chest (as if she had just fallen asleep while reading) and the bedroom light still on. She wouldn't admit to being afraid to sleep alone. We finally got separate bedrooms when the two older sisters moved out. Finally, I had a neat, clean room. She would fall asleep in her own room, "forgetting" to turn out the bedside lamp.

We were friends when we were children and we were friends in adulthood. I have so many memories of her. I wish I could write about them all. She was a tomboy, a fisherwoman, a hunter, a hard worker, a photographer, an artist, a gardener, a dog lover (well, an animal lover, really), a Stephen King fanatic. She wore make-up only when she had to; dresses - well, there weren't any in her closet, so I guess not. She was at home in jeans or slacks, sneakers or boots. But clothes were not what made her who she was. Her activities defined her - such as caring for the injured squirrel, Rocky. After her daughter was born, motherhood defined her. She took to the role of Mother as a duck to water.

A heart attack took her away from us. I've lost my shopping buddy, my yard sale buddy, my "I'm bored - let's do something!" buddy. I don't think a day has gone by this past year that I haven't thought about her. Everytime I see the new shopping center being built, I think how she and I were going to be there every day. When I see places we used to go, I think about her. When I eat at McDonald's, she's there. She's at Walmart, too.

I guess that's what happens when you lose a sister too soon. I get through it by remembering all the good times we shared. I cannot and will not get lost in depression and sadness. Nancy had a full life and was doing what she wanted to do. She had a good job. She had friends. Her next ambition was to have a house built on her property in the country. I'm thankful that, if she had to leave us, it was at a good point in her life. She wasn't sad, depressed or worried about money. She wasn't down and out. Everything was looking up and she was happy.

When she was very little, we used to call her Nanny Ann Potato Pan. It would make her so angry and we'd just laugh and laugh. In her adult years, I think she enjoyed hearing it. When I would be shaking my head over some goofy thing she had done, I'd call her that and we'd both laugh.

December 24, 1951 - January 8, 2006