On The Mark: Remembering my role model

The death of a beloved elder causes deep mourning. Some of us lose parents way before their time. My father died in a rock climbing fall when I was 27. My grandmother, Ruth Lee Markusen, Cromwell's beloved English teacher for years, died of cervical cancer in 1947, shortly after I was born. It's a blessing when some live long lives. My mother lived to be 89, plenty of time for us to work on her detailed, sometimes funny, life story, painstakingly written left-handed and then typed out on an old machine.

This past week, Rod and I lost our "mother-in-love" as we called her, Siiri Mononen Peterson. Born April 9, 1925, Siiri was the mother of Rod's first wife, Barb Peterson Walli. Barb was one of my two best friends from way back in the 1980s when we started, with June Collman, a women's canoe trip. Barb and I began paddling together on Day 1, and the confidential talking never stopped. Barb invited me to join her women's walking group, the Road Runners, every morning except Sunday. The first day I joined, she sprinted off. She had a lovely graceful gait! I had to huff and puff to keep up. "Isn't this a bit rude to the others," I asked, as we left the rest in the dust. "No!" she replied adamantly. "We have the coffee and meditation time afterward to socialize."

Barb died of breast cancer in the winter of 2002. It was a huge loss to our community. Barb had created a wonderful career as a reflexologist, not only working people's feet but also being a kind of counselor for problems, griefs, and sore spots that her clients shared. She began to rub my feet, too, which I found profoundly energizing.

After Barb died, I considered taking on the presidency of a liberal think tank in Washington. I was elected by the board, to which I belonged. I remember flying home and looking down at the glittering rivers and lake of Minnesota and thinking, "I moved back here to live here, the state of my birth. Why am I doing this?" I had been sitting on the press release, and on Monday morning, I called the board chair and outgoing president and said I had changed my mind. I burnt a lot of bridges doing so.

I began emailing with Rod Walli, Barb's husband, whom I didn't know well but had developed a deep respect for from Barb's recounting. In what I worried was an unconsciously short time, we began to hang out together. And I began hanging out with Siiri, too. In her beautiful raspberry and veggie garden, over bowls of soup.

I remember her incredible generosity to me. One evening Rod and I walked into a crowded Cromwell Pavilion for a dinner to raise money for a community family. Siiri rose up from across the room and came over to give me a big hug. I couldn't keep the tears from my eyes. Another friend recounted a conversation where someone had asked her, "What do you think about this courtship of Ann and Rod?" She responded, "Well, he made Barb very happy, and I'm sure he'll make Ann happy too. Thanksgiving weekend that year, Rod and I married. Siiri was a member of our wedding party.

Siiri became my second mother. We walked. We brought her on our annual women's canoe trip with us. We gardened - she was an expert at flowers, vegetables and especially raspberries and blueberries. In her basement, she wove beautiful rag rugs on an immense wooden loom. An active member of her Bethany Lutheran Church, she participated in quilting, baked bread for communion, and sang in the choir. We cooked and shared meals. Every Fourth of July, Thanksgiving, Christmas and Easter, she'd host us at her home, providing the turkey or ham or hot dogs, while the rest of us brought an array of complementary goodies.

Most lovely of all, we played music together - Siiri on the recorder, me on the piano, and Rod on the guitar. Sometimes others joined us - Walt Collman with his saxophone, June Collman to sing.

Siiri was about to become a great-great-grandmother. She was cheerful to the end. She seemed to not have that fear of death that is so common. One afternoon recently, we sat in her living room and had a long talk, rambling across memories, friends, events. She will never again be the oldest and most enthusiastic participant in our yoga group. I am missing her, as are many others in our extended family and community. We will carry her love, wisdom, and joy with us, always.