I used to needlepoint.
Most people my age likely haven’t an idea what needlepointing is, but I learned at a young age thanks to the inability to detect whether I was being a pest.
My sister and I used to lace up our tennies, kickstand our bikes in the driveway and devise a plan – which was always the same: make a phone call to Idella, a sweet older lady who lived on our block, and ask whether we could visit. Immediately following the acceptance to our proposed invite, we’d sprint to our bikes and strive to arrive at her house within the same minute of calling.
I know what you’re thinking.
Rude.
At such a young age, Lynn and I didn’t realize our poor etiquette.  We just knew that we were bored and she (bless her heart) accepted our company nearly 100% of the time. Plus, she always had homemade (delicious!) cookies on hand. It all made perfect sense at the time.  So much sense that sometimes more than one visit per day was necessary.
Idella would gladly take us in for a few hours. From her freezer she’d pull a stash of molasses cookies (Lynn’s favorite) and sometimes peanut butter cookies (my favorite).  She then would dig out the needlepointing materials and pick up the lesson where we left off.
Idella would pace back and forth to each side of the kitchen table to ensure my sister and I were on the right track, coaching us when we’d get “stuck.”
“Idella!  I came to a corner. Now what?”
How she had the patience for us is beyond me. She probably demonstrated how to “do a corner” over a hundred times. Yet still, she would calmly talk us through, one step at a time.
By the end of a summer, my sister and I had a surplus of coasters and bookmarks. It was as if we were on a mision to be sure all Paynesvillians were reading six books and drinking too much.
The cost of our art supplies and cookie consumption was never discussed and eventually we stopped visiting due to age and moving to a new house in town (after moving a few miles away, the one minute “call and show” mission was impossible and giving a fair warning wasn’t as exciting). Meanwhile, golf lessons and volleyball practice, then college and full time jobs, took the place of visiting our faithful friend until about a year ago.
My sister proposed we visit Idella at the assisted living community in Paynesville. I hesitantly agreed, figuring she wouldn’t remember the “brats” that used to invite themselves over to her home on a too-often basis. Maybe her not remembering would be a good thing – that way no apology would be needed for rudely “swinging in” whenever I saw fit back in the day to needlepoint and do some off-season trick-or-treating.
We walked in during her lunch time and saw her eating with some friends. Nervous and brainstorming topics for discussion, we approached her and said hello.
She looked at us for a few moments before saying anything.
“Now give me just a minute,” she finally said, studying us intently.
“The Stoneburner girls.”
After 20 years, she still remembered us. So much for not having to apologize.
We visited for some time, reminiscing of our needlepointing escapades and attempting to update each other on the past 20 years of our lives. A few times afterward, my sister dropped off a meal for Idella  to help her through the week – perhaps an attempt to begin repaying our cookie and yarn debt.
I was happy to have had a last visit with Idella that day, as Idella recently suffered a stroke and passed away shortly after on December 5. She was 99 years old.
My sister and dad were able to make it to the funeral. Afterwards, the two returned to work at my dad’s law office in town. Reminiscing, they pulled out Idella’s file and came across a note she had written after my dad had completed some will work for her years ago:
Aug. 9, 1991
 
Mr. Stoneburner,
I received your bill today, it is just fine.  Please find check enclosed for same. I have fully destroyed all past Wills and codicils.
 
Thank you, for all the help you gave me.  Now I feel very comfortable with my final decisions.
 
I’m enjoying the visits from Lynn and Laura.  When school starts they won’t have so much free time.
Yours Truly,
Idella Arbogast
Shootin’ the Wit is a column about everyday life that should never, ever be taken too seriously.

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I’m a writer and photographer who loves old cars, big dogs and trying stuff for the first time. I believe everyone should have a bucket list because life isn’t about working, paying bills and having the latest and greatest. It’s about experiences. Achieving goals. People. Adventures. Travel.

I’ve never dyed my hair, broken a bone, or watched a Star Wars movie, and I don’t plan on doing any of these.