90: Another Nice Number

It has been too long to try to cover all that's happened since the last post. So, I'll just have to skip ahead to be up-to-date and only mention one event that has transpired since I last wrote. That event will be the birthday party we had for Marilyn's mom.

She will never read the internet, so I can go ahead and say it here. She is now 90 years-old. It is genetically contrary to the nature of those with Platt blood coursing in their veins to unabashedly speak of their age. It is a subject that provides more peace by simply leaving it alone. At least that seems to be true of the ones with whom I have close contact. So, at a time of life when most are bragging about their age, Modene would rather talk about the coming agenda for the local chapter of the Republican Party. Genes notwithstanding, her kids pressed forward with plans to celebrate what everyone else considers to be a lifespan landmark worthy of note - her 90th birthday. The only indication that anyone got from her that she was doing anything other than tolerating the foolishness of her offspring was a phone call Marilyn received two days before we all gathered to celebrate. She called with a request for the gathering. She wanted all the men - son, sons-in-law and grandsons - to wear white long-sleeved shirts. No tie required and rolled up sleeves permitted. Personally it affirmed for me that she appreciated the fact that the event was happening. When asked she later explained her request as simply a desire to see her men dressed as men would dress for such special occasions back when men were more careful about how they dressed. I was thrilled at her request. It represented an easy way to please and honor her taste and it meant she was glad we were making a fuse over her.

The event itself was spectacular. Sandy was the emcee extraordinaire. Bob Gibbs was the official photographer. Thus the pictures posted here, which were mostly taken by Marilyn or me, are unofficial. Preacher's count put the attendance at about 100. We had folks from probably 20 cities - from the east coast and from beyond the west coast. The fourth generation was there.

Special memories and meaningful praises were offered by each of her five children and all of her grandchildren. One nephew, Stan Simmons, interjected himself into the recollections to clarify some of Larry's comments. A special Modene-ized version of Proverbs 31 was read publicly. A nine minute DVD collage of ancient photos set to old music was debuted. A beautiful certificate of congratulations from the governor of Texas was presented. And, finally, a completely nonsensical soliloquy sent in by the one absent member of the second generation was shared causing laughter and groans. All was done in such a way as to comply with Modene's only other request for the gathering - "I don't want this to be like a funeral." It wasn't. It truly was a celebration of a life that has been an inspiration to many but one that is obviously not over with yet.

There were tons of pics, but these are the few unofficial ones I've chosen to post:




Modene with her seven grand children. Michelle Brabham (front right), Kenny Brabham (front), Bryce Gibbs (back, 2nd from right), John Terry (back left), Shelley Park (front left), Sara Holland (back right), and Meghann Jones (back 2nd from left)



We took pictures of Modene with each of the five tribes. This is Marilyn's tribe. This tribe contains two of Modene's four great-grandchildren - Samuel and Jeremiah.



As you can clearly see in this photo, there were at least 100 people there.


This photo-op brought out all the cameras. The opportunity to picture the two grandchildren who were obviously the most beautiful. What a catch for a collector of beautiful images.


And finally, a picture of one of Modene's best friends. A woman who shares two grandchildren and two great-grandchildren with her - my mom, Naomi Holland Paulus. She is hold up her two sons by their belts. Pretty strong don't you think.

Modene Platt Brabham is no ordinary woman. She neither sees life nor lives it in an ordinary fashion. She has a passion for her Lord. She has a passion for her children. She has a passion for her Rangers. She can almost name every person she has ever met and, given a few minutes to think about it, tell you who their relatives are. She loves people and she loves her land. It was an honor to see her children honor her. God was honored by the children who obediently honored their parents. For they did it not out of obligation but out of love. Modene Platt Brabham is loved and she knows it.