Jan Pickett-Rich
1984, I carried my college pal Shed in to see the Southwestern Univ. campus nurse.
He had a temp of 103. Strep throat, according to the nurse.
Neither Shed nor I were focused on his diagnosis, we were focused on this nurse.
Pink hair, striking
eyeglass frames, and wearing a 1950s-esque poodle skirt complete with a
hand-stitched poodle running across its bottom hem.
We learned she and her husband were recent transplants to our area from New York City (this, of course, explained the fashionista before us).
I asked if she liked Georgetown and that’s when I learned that her and her husband were fixing up an old saloon on the main street of a little town east of Georgetown.
“Oh
really?” I asked with great interest, “where’s that?” And she replied: “Granger.” Her husband Denny, an artist, would later
become my hometown’s mayor.
Later, while doing my graduate studies at Austin Seminary, I selected to do my mid-year internship at Scott & White Hospital in Temple where, as it happened, Jan had recently transferred. For six months we commuted together.
Imagine my surprise learning that Jan and Denny
were fully versed in the branch of theology I was focused on in my seminary studies, Process theology. Their exposure was a result of Denny’s brother, an Episcopal minister. And so, our rides to Temple and back
consisted of deep conversations about religion and philosophy, all while my
speakers were introducing Jan to my thumping techno dance music.
When the old Bartosh saloon on Granger’s Main had been transformed
into their chic urban loft, they’d host great dinner parties. We’d relish the stories of old Granger told
by my flamboyant “Uncle Dan” Martinets, and he and I would be mesmerized by the
couple’s tales of living in NYC.
Denny and Jan were a special couple, and so it was especially
heartbreaking witnessing the toll Denny’s battle with Parkinson’s had on them
both. Jan called me to their home the
night of Denny’s passing to provide a prayer and, later, I officiated his
memorial service held at the Southwestern University chapel.
Jan reached out to me, having heard about a difficult chapter I had been through, and she restored value and meaning, confidence and strength in me again.
After Chuck’s passing, Jan and I began our weekly excursions together –
dining out; attending our UU services; road trips into Austin, Georgetown and
the Hill Country; and having one another over for meals.
As her own health struggles grew more
serious, she wrestled with understandable anxiety. And yet, I was awed by her resilience,
self-assuredness, and bravery as she navigated through it all with
determination and thoughtful planning.
I’m so thankful God brought this nurse in the poodle skirt
into my life.
I will miss you so much ‘Jannie.’
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