Phyllis Ruth Sutherland Pettis

PHYLLIS RUTH PETTIS (NEE SUTHERLAND)It is with great sadness that the family of Phyllis Ruth Pettis (née Sutherland) announces her passing on Saturday, November 28, 2009 at the age of 93 after a brief illness.Phyllis was born on November 19, 1916. She was the second child of five born to Clara and Will Sutherland in Brandon Manitoba, where she was raised. Phyllis went to Normal School and then began a teaching career that spanned over 30 years. After the war, Phyllis moved to Winnipeg and began teaching sewing with the Singer Sewing Company. She met Fletcher Pettis and they were married in 1949. They raised two daughters, Joanne and Barbara. Phyll and Fletch returned to Brandon in 1956. In Brandon, Phyllis resumed school teaching and began the first special education class in Brandon. In 1970, the family moved again to Winnipeg. Phyllis remained a dedicated and inspired special ed. teacher until her retirement from St. Vital School Division. After her retirement, Phyllis devoted time to Meals on Wheels, the Riverside Lionelles, the Anna Blair Group of the St. Andrew’s River Heights United Church Women’s Auxiliary and the WSO Women’s Committee, as well as to her many hobbies. She read avidly and enjoyed sewing, leather work, English smocking, and crocheting Christmas ornaments. Her family has lovely mementoes of her creativity. Above all though, Phyllis took pleasure in her family, their activities and accomplishments. Phyllis was predeceased by her husband, Fletcher, in 1974, sisters Jean Budge and Betty Sutherland, and brother Glen Sutherland. She leaves to mourn her sister, Peggy Robertson in Brandon; daughter Joanne Pettis and grandson Andrew Neville; daughter and son-in-law Barbara and Ron Stanley and granddaughter Alexandra all of Winnipeg; sister-in-law Gwendolyn Sutherland in B.C and many nieces, nephews and close friends in Canada and the U.S.Phyllis was an out-going, laughter-filled, gracious, resilient and generous woman who inspired her family and friends. She will be sorely missed. Memorial service will be held at Thomson “In the Park,” Funeral Home, 1291 McGillivray Blvd on Wednesday, December 2nd at 2:00 pm. She will be interred alongside Fletcher in a private gathering. In lieu of flowers, donations can be made to the St. Amant Centre Foundation 440 River Road, Winnipeg, Manitoba R2M 3Z9.Phyllis Ruth Pettis - EulogyHello everyone.My name is Joanne Pettis, and I’m Phyllis’ elder daughter:My sister Barbara Stanley, her husband Ron, daughter Alexandra and stepson Damien and my son Andrew Neville and I, want to thank of you for coming out today to say goodbye to our mother and nana, Phyllis Ruth Pettis.She would have been thrilled to see you all her and would love to have had the chance to visit with each of you.She did so love a party.In fact, just last week, she made us change the day of her 93rd birthday celebration to Friday so she could attend another party on Saturday. It was an anniversary party for Sterling House, the senior’s complex that was her home, where she and a handful of others were honoured as the first residents five years ago.Mom was born and raised in Brandon and it was always the home of her heart. She was the second of five children born to Clara and Will Sutherland. Jean was first born. Then Phyllis. Her brother Glen was next, then Betty and finally Peggy.It was a busy, happy household, especially as Glen’s buddies liked to hang around to chat up his sisters. The girls were collectively known all their lives as the Four Sutherland Sisters. They all looked alike and were commonly mistaken for each other.I remember Mom saying that, when she took over a one-room school that her sister Jean had previously taught in, a student came up to her and said, “Are you Miss Sudaland or are you Miss Sudaland’s sister?”Mom could ALWAYS be relied on, and from an early age was frequently charged with minding one of the younger children in the family.When she met Bernice Dawson, who became her Best Friend Forever, Mom had her little brother Glen in tow. The Dawsons were just moving into a new house down from 311 – 22nd Street where Mom’s family lived. Mrs. Dawson invited Mom in to play with Bernice and her many dolls, BUT, she said, the little boy would have to stay outside. Mom explained forcefully that he was her little brother Glen and she was responsible for him so he had to come wherever she went.She was seven years old at the time.This dependable, conscientious streak remained all her life, sometimes to her detriment. In 1956, she was hired to begin, the first Special Education class in Brandon and given one week to visit Special Education programs in Winnipeg as her training.The superintendent who hired her had told her he didn’t want to hire someone who would quit on him in six months, and mom assured him she wouldn’t. Then, he took all the children in Brandon schools, from ages 5 to 15 who were not coping educationally or behaviourally in regular classes, and gave them to Mom to teach.She had an ulcer in 3 months but refused to quit because she had given her word.Mom was definitely born to teach. Teaching emanated from her very being, and it was a passion she never lost. I think she was thrilled that both Barbara and I found our way into teaching although in very different contexts.After his first nightmare introduction to teaching special education, mom went on to teach these challenged children for another 20 years and grew to love every minute of it. She was a gifted teacher and frequently had visitors to her class to learn from her. “Other children”, Mom often said, “learn in spite of you. These children need you for every accomplishment.” She would do anything to engage her students and even took our dog, Freckles, to school on occasion to do tricks.And speaking of Freckles! She was a lovely Welsh Border Collie that my dad brought home, and my sister and I promised vehemently we would care for. Of course, that only lasted a short while, and soon it was Mom with all the doggie chores.Freckles was a wonderful dog but didn’t like being left alone. If left for any length of time she inevitably looked for mischief to get into. One time she got up on the kitchen table and at a plate of butter. Needless to say, Mom wasn’t thrilled.Another time Freckles shredded the full length, wall-to-wall living room drapes that Mom had made. Making them had included spreading them out across the ping-pong table in the basement to sew in the lining and hem them – all by hand. When the dog tore them, Barb and I assiduously Scotch taped the ripped drapes back together, but somehow Mom noticed they weren’t right. Amazingly, the dog survived.Another time, Freck toppled the ironing board and broke Mom’s iron. Barb took responsibility for that incident, I recall, because Mom never got angry at US if something was an accident, but we weren’t sure if that grace was extended to dogs.The fact is, Mom always cut us a lot of slack. She was full-time working mother who managed all the housework, gardening and household chores, cooked, baked and made jellies and pickles, sewed most of the clothes that Barbara and I wore, and took us to all our swimming classes, gym classes and Sunday school.And frankly, she didn’t get the help she should have from us. To add to her burden, she had been blessed with two daughters who were not constrained by the demands of time. In other words, we were slow moving, like our father. My mom and my dad, Fletcher had met in Winnipeg, just after the war. They met on the grounds of the Legislative Bldg. close to Queen Victoria in her chair. Mom and Dad married in 1948. My darling father was a witty, artistic, but inordinately slow moving man, especially in the morning, and so were Barb and I.Mom however, moved like a flash.Mornings in our house were a blur as Mom tried to get everyone up and ready on time, made breakfast and all our lunches, made beds and did the dishes. I can remember on more than one occasion, my dad leisurely sitting at the kitchen table reading the paper and drinking tea while Mom flew around like a whirlwind. Dad, absorbed in the newspaper, would reach out slowly pick up the teapot for another cup of tea. In the meantime, Mom would have whipped over from the sink, snapped up his teacup and dumped it in the dishwasher. My dad, still immersed in his newspaper would proceed to pour his tea all over the table.Mom would be beside herself.I mentioned a moment ago that Mom sewed. Well, Mom sewed beautifully. So beautifully that she had spent several years teaching sewing at Singers on Portage Avenue. Money was often tight in our family and rather than buy new, Mom would remake hand me down men’s suits and women’s dresses into clothes for herself, my sister and me and on occasion, my Dad. Because of her magical skill and attention to detail, our dresses would be fully lined, or have piping and bound buttonholes and often, when we were little, there would be rows and rows of exquisite English smocking.Her smocking was striking. My artistic father often chose the colours, and Mom worked the patterns. Our dolls even had smocking on their dresses and nighties. Mom was amazing at many handicrafts. She did leather work, made her own gloves and belts, wallets and purses. Complete with tooled patterns, often ones my Dad had designed. After she retired from teaching, she took up a variety of new crafts and handwork. As a result, we have a plethora of memories in delightful Christmas ornaments she made for us over the years. Several are on display in the foyer today.I think though, that one of my favourite memories of Mom is of her reciting poetry. She had taken elocutions lessons as a child and had performed often. As a result, she had a wealth of poems that she had memorized. I remember as a little girl, maybe 3 or 4, sitting on the floor listening to my mom recite poem after poem as she did the ironing. She could keep us entertained for hours, reciting as she did housework. Who needed TV?She never forgot those poems she had learned growing up and could easily be enticed to say them. The Concert Rehearsal, the Tale of Custard the Dragon, Little Orphan Annie, Baby’s First Christmas…One of the poems she often recited was a passage from the Book of Ruth that she had learned in high school. Although it is about a young woman speaking to her mother-in-law, it always seemed to be most about the love and commitment of a woman to her family. It seemed appropriate to share it in the card you were given today. I was either that one or the poem, Betty and the Bear, which was another favourite.Mom’s memory was prodigious. Not just her memory for poetry and verse, but her memory for the stories that made up the lives of the people she was interested in. If you spent any time with her, you know you would hear story after story, each one reminding her of another. She often remembered more about us than we remembered about ourselves.And all the stories eventually led to home and her family. She was supremely proud of us all and thrilled at each and every accomplishment. Especially her grandchildren, Andrew, Alexandra and Damien. They were, she believed, much like Mary Poppins: practically perfect in every way.Mom was always so easy to please. If Barbara and I went out for lunch together, Mom was thrilled because she was so happy that the two of us got along so well. If someone dropped in for a visit with her, it buoyed her for days. A postcard in the mail was a delightful treasure to be shared with all her friends. A thoughtful gesture had her remarking “Isn’t she a lovely girl”, or “Isn’t he a kind man.”She was also, in no small part, an independent woman of formidable strength and perseverance. “Getting old”, she once remarked “is not for the faint of heart.” But she faced each and every challenge with grace and especially, humour. She laughed easily and often at herself. Her glass was always MUCH more than half full. She began each day expecting it to be fruitful and enjoyable; if it wasn’t, she dealt with it equanimity – and with the occasional whispered “Hell’s Bells” or a comment that she was so made she could spit. Recently mind you, she told us she had taken up swearing and was finding it satisfying.As my Uncle Glen used to say Phyllis was a Pip.But at 93 years of age, Phyllis, Ruth Pettis, nee Sutherland decided it was time to leave the party and in a manner typical of her, she did so with as little fanfare and inconvenience to others as possible.She just let go of the ribbon of life that bound her to us and floated away.And, as her good friend, Marg Goodale, wrote in an email to Barb and me, “Loved ones are always close, as close as thoughts, and her spirit will continue to guide us.”And as Mom herself would say, “Aren’t we all just blessed.:Thank you.