Evelyn May Clauson

On Valentines Day, 1924, as Model T’s drove down Main Street to the General Store, Evelyn Parish was born under the vast Iowa sky. Evelyn was defined by her birth. She loved hearts and chocolates and flowers, but she loved sending valentines even more, opening her heart to others.

A child of the Iowa breadbasket, Evelyn’s parents had followed the American Dream after her father battled the Bolsheviks during the Great War. Blonde and blue-eyed, Evelyn was blessed with the heartland spirit, with roots as deep and strong as the corn crops around her. But growing up in the dust bowl was a struggle; and Evelyn, bright, young and ambitious, yearned for more than life on the farm.

The land of lush orange groves, endless beaches and all-year sunshine, California was a long way from the farm. Evelyn studied briefly at UCLA before becoming a secretary at Texaco. Little did she know it was a choice that would change her life. When the booming voice over the dictaphone turned out to be a handsome, young engineer named Frank Clauson, the trajectory of both of their lives changed. Smitten by her blue eyes, open heart, and winning smile, romance bloomed. On July 21, 1946, they exchanged vows in a wartime ceremony that would last a lifetime, a loving partnership that would span sixty-eight years and three generations.

As the Cold War raged around us, it was warm inside our home. While the brilliant Frank did all things Texaco, Mom was the glue that kept the household running smoothly. She made life beautiful, channeling her inner decorator and trying a fresh supply of recipes. She was the helping hand, the casserole on the doorstep, the face of caring. She understood love was in the details. Returning home after school was like wrapping yourself in a warm blanket, complete with home-baked cookies and a glass of milk. More often than not, Mom was laughing in the living room, over a cup of tea with a friend. It wasn’t a house; it was a home, and Mother was its heart.

Like most Moms of the 50’s, Evelyn wanted to make sure her kids understood what was important, and she wasn’t shy about telling us. Hers were common sense values forged in the plains of Iowa: be humble; trust in God; do the right thing. The truth is children learn infinitely more from what you do than what you say. Mother lived by the Golden Rule – she treated others as she would like to be treated. She walked the walk. It was really as simple as that.

Evelyn always claimed to be “Texan by choice.” In 1963, when bluebonnets carpeted the four-laned Katy Freeway and glass skyscrapers were mushrooming downtown, Houston was a unique blend: city meets country, New York meets Iowa, Frank meets Evelyn. Leaving freezing snowfalls for a tropical climate in the hey-day of oil was a no-brainer. There was nothing to lose.

Evelyn and Frank would raise their family beneath the shade of a canopy of tall pines for over half a century. Ours was an Ozzie and Harriet life, a Norman Rockwell painting. As we grew, Mother reinvented the wheel - from pushing strollers to putting training wheels on bicycles to teaching us how to drive. As Kennedy asked us to “Ask not…,” the “Real Housewives of Houston” all practiced free-range parenting. Before the advent of cell phones and Pokemon, children constantly played outdoors, breathing in the fresh air. Neighbors watched out for each other’s children as they bounced tennis balls in the street, and jumped rope and teetered on new bikes. While Andy Griffith patrolled Mayberry and astronauts orbited the earth, Bruce championed Martin Luther King, Carol sang in the church choir, and Robert wrote Presidents for advice. It was an innocent time, a slower time, a safer time. We knew that Mom and Dad loved us. We expected to go to college. We never doubted that they would be at our graduations and weddings. We were blissfully unaware that we led a charmed life.

Before the ink dried on the last sheepskin, Mom and Dad bought new luggage and put it to use. They circled the globe like nomads, with Texaco friends and Venturers alike, collecting stamps on their passports from Tokyo to London to Rome. It was hard to keep up with their itineraries, but they always returned with a fresh supply of photos, T-shirts, and memories to share.

It’s impossible to say goodbye, so we will say Je Reviens, Mom’s favorite perfume, until we meet again. Though our hearts are aching for our loss, Mom and Dad are dancing in each other’s arms now, smiling down and leading the way.