There is so much more to Claris than we could possibly put in words or formulate in a speech but here is a glimpse into the Claris I knew and loved.

 

I have actually known of Claris for most of my life but have only personally known her the last 20 years.

 

As a child, my family regularly drove down Park Ridge Road. Gazing out the window, as we turned the corner, I would see the little house with the archways and often wondered about the people who lived there.

 

As a teenager, my school bus would pick me up and drop me off on Park Ridge Road, directly opposite this same little house and occasionally I would see the man who lived there, working in the yard, and the lady of the house working along side him.

 

Then as an adult, I was blessed to live next door to the little house with the archways on Park Ridge Road and not only did I get to meet the people who lived there but I had the privilege of getting to know them and calling them my friends.

 

Every morning Clarrie would walk the dogs along our back fence to the dam to check on the goats. I was often hanging washing while the kids played in the yard at that time of morning. With a whistle and a holla we would hear Clarrie come and race to meet him at the fence. This was the beginning of a special friendship and I looked forward to our conversations. It was through my friendship with Clarrie that I got to know the woman he affectionally referred to as “Mum”, my dear friend Claris.

 

To be honest, I was a little intimidated to meet Claris at first. From a distance I knew her to be organised, efficient, hard working, resourceful, independent, incredibly smart and wonderfully self assured. With some trepidation I got over my insecurities and invited her to my house for morning tea. She arrived dressed in a lovely outfit that she had made, with a hat to match. She looked beautiful. She was chatty and happy and quickly made herself at home, and me at ease. Ironically the things about her that once intimidated me were the very things I found most endearing about her.

 

We were generations apart in age (next year I will officially be half her age) but we had much in common. She too had married her best friend at a young age, she was also a mother of 4 boys, lived on the land, had a passion for sewing, singing, family and the community. The more we talked, the more we connected. Claris was open and honest. I knew where she stood and she expected the same in return. I loved hearing her stories and marvelled at the strength and tenacity she possessed. We talked about a variety of subjects at length… except… as she stated… “Unlike Clarrie, I do not care to talk at length about politics, religion or philosophy.”

 

After they moved to Heritage Park our cups of tea became a regular affair and so did our outings and conversations over the phone. She would talk about the dogs (her favourite being Blackie), her dear relatives & friends from afar and those from the local community, her childhood, her careers from singing to work in the pub, building houses with Clarrie, their early years and their adventures together, her siblings (who she adored), her hobbies, memories of her mum, her health and her dreams. She spoke fondly of the people in her sphere, especially the ones who made the time to connect with her. But her favourite topic of conversation ALWAYS centred around her best friend and husband Clarrie and her four beautiful boys, her pride and joy. She lived a big life and I marvel at her fortitude.

 

As time progressed and the frustrations of ageing crept up on Claris we developed a new season in our friendship… I call it the dance of resistance… she could be stubborn and fiercely independent at times. The doctor had encouraged her to slow down but learning to relinquish her independence and to rely on others was hard. She was a woman of action.

 

After every visit or phone call she would promise to call me (or another friend on her list) if she needed help around the house, with shopping or attending appointments. I would have my phone at the ready to receive her calls. There were times when she did call, but on more than one occasion, I busted her trying to tackle a chore in the backyard on her own or doing her shopping at her local grocery store by herself.

 

I will never forget the first time I caught her out. As I turned into the next section of the grocery store, there she was… sitting at the end of the aisle on her walker “catching her breath”. As she looked up her eyes met mine, sparkling with mischief, as a guilty grin crept across her face. Smiling, I shook my head and reprimanded her. I decided to be firm, stand my ground, insisting I would take her home and finish her shopping by myself. But somehow… I found myself negotiating with her and agreeing to push her on her walker up the aisles, gather her essentials and then load her, the walker and her groceries into her car so she could drive herself home. She liked to push her limits but she did embrace them (for the most part) when the time came to do so.

 

It is this independence that I admire about her. She’s incredible and would surprise me with new skills that she had taught herself. She would often be working out how to find something on her computer, reading the manuals to sewing machines, printers, phones, appliances etc to see if she could get them working before asking for help.

 

One day she rang me with an urgent request. She needed to get her tape deck working. She had found a box of cassettes and wanted to listen to them. One in particular…  her family sitting around the Christmas table at Park Ridge. She loved listening to these recordings together - reminiscing and recounting her favourite moments.

 

The cassettes were one of the many things she treasured and decided to put it away in her “safe place”. The only thing was that her “safe place” was occasionally too safe. She couldn't remember where she put them. We often laughed about this and then rejoiced when she called to say she found her items months later.

 

Claris, Thank you for the many cups of tea, laughter, advice, sewing days, hospital hangs, stories and friendship. Your resilience, tenacity and courage taught me a lot over the years and I reflect on it often. There were many times, life dealt you an unfair hand and yet you never used it as an excuse or let it steal your smile. And while we may not have always shared the same views, we certainly did connect. We listened to each other and respected each other’s journeys, always free to speak our truth without fear of being rejected. Thank you for letting me into your world and for allowing me the privilege of getting to know you. You will be missed Claris. I hope my dear friend, that you always felt seen, heard, valued and loved in my company. 🌻 1925-2020