It was the only job you ever had. You came on as temporary, filling in for a woman on maternity leave. She never came back and you never left.

You raised so many of us with your kind heart and open arms. We cried together in every bathroom here. You simply understood and were always gracious enough to listen.

If there was a party to be planned, you were the one getting the supplies, making the guest list, and ensuring the ice cream was cranking along. You always visited every table at the Christmas party, seeing to it that every baby got held and everyone got spoken to.

You never missed an Open House, and I think in 46 years your hair was never the same style twice. I seriously doubt you ever repeated an outfit at the Annual Meeting, either. And speaking of meetings, how many desserts did you make over the years for the board meetings? You can make your chocolate chip cookies by muscle memory- how many dozens have you baked for all of us over the years?

Your name is written in black Sharpie on the cupola of this building, where you started in heels and a skirt, armed with an adding machine that you can still operate blindfolded and a little burnt orange Swingline stapler.

You have forever been known for fixing the neatest, clearest, error-free deposit for the bank. You babysat everybody’s kids at one time or another. The Co-op handbook never said anything about daycare services being included with employment, but there is more than one single dad who owes you a thank you. You would organize all the paper bags for us to distribute Christmas cards on the conference room table.

Fellow employees stood by you and rejoiced at your wedding, and then as you brought two boys into this world. They held your hand when your daddy grew sick and they prayed with you as you told him goodbye. We watched your boys grow into men and begin their own careers and start families.

You always extended an invitation to your church for revivals and special sermons and guest preachers. I remember attending a play or two, and a Christmas Eve candlelight service, and to hear Ray Ball sing, and of course to listen to our fellow coworkers Red Beeler and Mark Williams preach. We’d hear all about Vacation Bible School- every year it got wilder and hotter! You invited me during my worst, lowest time, just to sit and be somewhere that love would encircle me.

You sweated your way through one memorable JULY day, all the while reminding me Co-op ladies get married in November. I never was much for advice.

I could count on you to go first at the funeral home, easing the awkward introduction. But the best was the funeral of Joe Woods. I don’t need to remind you that it started in the backseat of the wrong vehicle at Food City. That would have never happened if you’d still been driving the Volvo, just sayin’. Please give me a heads up if Jerry ever decides to get a nose ring or you want to dye your hair blue. I’m not sure who got worse of a shock, or who laughed the hardest after it was over. I’ve never been kicked out of a funeral home, but I guess there’s a first time for everything. Speaking of, remember when Joe was at Fort Sanders and we debated on visiting, because he’d always said if you’re in the hospital, you’re too sick for visitors…but we were scared not to! Or the time I thought I’d found him dead in the office he shared with Gary!!! I was the one who almost died, from laughing so hard. And when David Newman fell off the rack at the fuel island and we went to visit him at the hospital and then we went to lunch while we were out…and he beat us back to the store! And when Delmar Maples was so sick, and we thought he never knew we were there, but he said a few days later when he came out of it, he heard every word we spoke by his bedside. We went to visit Lily Ann and you said you liked going to the hospital to see new babies with me, because you didn’t have to worry about competition holding the newborn!

We can’t overlook the year of renovation and all the the storms we endured! Both with the store and employee turmoil. I always felt safest in the old part of the store, especially after watching the tall block wall at the garden center tumble, and then they braced it for weeks afterward. We watched siding fly off the breezeway and I thought, “I guess if I’m gonna die, it may as well be here.” We gave Max Sutton’s retirement (and Barb’s too, I think) in that little construction trailer in the parking lot. We’d just pile in wherever we could. It didn’t matter as long as we got together and had fellowship over hot dogs and hamburgers.

I would come upstairs, pockets stuffed with money to offload, and spend thirty minutes lamenting working with Tuletta or AnnMarie or whichever grouchy customer I’d had to endure. You’d usually have your own story about Dorothy’s latest to add to the woes. We speculated if the new people would work out (most of the time we were right, and they didn’t, but sometimes people would surprise us). We compared coffee mugs, moisturizers, recipes, pocketbooks and earrings. We planned vacations and talked about our mothers. We discussed Thanksgiving menus (the famed carrot soufflé!) for weeks leading up to the holiday.

It’s not Christmas till your little Nativity & glass tree come out, and now I have my own, in your honor, on my desk where I am the secretary who bakes cakes for my board…on occasion…if they’ve been behaving. I will never be as elegant and kind as you, though. I do try to dress well to make up for it. You always look so fashionable in your Belk bargains!

Your touch is everywhere, from the blue jean bank bag your momma sewed, to the decades of files written in your hand.

When Willie received his diagnosis, I ran to you. I wanted to be with family. Co-op is the best family I ever had. I shed so many tears there, most in your company, both from glee and grief. This isn’t meant to be sad, just a collection of all the memories we’ve shared.

The cookouts, the ice cream days, the soup and chili potlucks. The pancake breakfasts from Papa Kents when Darrel would call those early morning store meetings. So many Mexican lunches, so many snobby salesmen. Remember going to Waynesville to help with inventory and we came home black from head to foot? I’m sure your pink lipstick was still in place, though. Without fail, you touched it up after every meal, getting out your little compact. I would sit, amazed, only dreaming of being so polished. I was lucky to survive a lunch without getting barbecue sauce all down my shirt. (Even if I wasn’t eating barbecue!) And I never saw your nails without polish, not one time, not ever.

How can I cram my 13 years of working there and all the other years we’ve spent as friends into one letter to you? I can’t. I looked for a card and they were all bland and simple. You deserve so much more.

Do you remember my first day? I walked into the office and declared, “you went to school with my momma,” and your immediate response was, “no, I didn’t. I’m not old enough.” 🤣🤣🤣 But oh yes you did. We got that sorted, and you became my work momma from thereafter.

You’re still pulling us together for Ladies of the Co-op Cracker Barrel suppers. You are the glue. There are a few things in this world that can be counted on. There are things that endure: God’s word, receiving love from unexpected places, and Robin, secretary at the Co-op. Always and forevermore.

Love you bunches and I don’t know what any of us are going to do without you. Congratulations on your retirement, and for never quitting. That is some achievement.