The first time I met Jane, I was 19 and dating Jeff. We went to Jane and Don's house in Champaign and sat on their couch and got to know one another. Jane began to describe in minute detail "the beautiful swaying of the mustard plants" in Sweden, a place they had recently visited. She went on and on, waving her hands back and forth. I couldn't contain myself. I began to giggle and then to laugh. Because of the way she described the fields (and my immaturity), all I could envision were dancing jars of French's mustard. Over the years, I came to learn that that's how Jane was--dramatic and passionate.
Our relationship experienced many ups and downs and definitely improved as we both aged. She was deeply and passionately in love with Don, that was clear. What was also clear, however, was that it was sometimes hard for her to know who she was when she wasn't part of him.
In the year after Don died, I called her a number of times just to check in. There weren't many visits because she was embarrassed about the condition of her house. She had always kept a tidy home and was very proud of that. On one visit, she said, "You know, I'm not good at anything. I have no skills." I looked at her and said "You make a mean apple pie." She grinned and said "Yeah, I do, don't I." It seemed to comfort her, and she seemed content.
Every year when Thanksgiving is at my house, I make an apple pie and Jane's sweet potato casserole. When I do that this year, I will laugh and think of Jane's passion and drama and thank her for being part of our lives.
