FATHER'S DAY -- JEAN -- HOUSE HEARING JAN. 6

FATHER'S DAY I celebrate in tribute to my son, to my husband's memory, and to all those fathers who are uniquely special in the lives of their family. 

SMILE -- Steven Tyler sings to his father; Chris Botti on trumpet, for your viewing at this link:           https://www.facebook.com/watch/?v=992496770834556

(That emotionally moving singular performance was originally slated to be embedded here but then became unavailable for use in that manner.)

                             ^                  ^                   ^

JEAN

I'm not much in the mood for writing since I've learned what I really didn't want to know when I finally mustered the courage to conduct an internet search of a friend's name.  The closest of my undergraduate college friends with whom we've kept in contact with each other all these years has died.  

Jean has been writing she wanted to talk with me but preferred to call, so I waited for her to write a message advising that she was feeling up to talking and when she would phone.   Her last email message to me included her saying she felt "like a slug."  Now, I've discovered that two weeks later she died.

In the days before the internet, I might never have known about the death of some friends since family doesn't always make contact to convey that information.  Most close friends long term have lived many miles distant from me for most of our years during our adult lives.  Seldom, if ever, did we even see each other and in most instances hadn't even met each other's now adult children.  

This close adult life-long friend, Jean, is the third in the past decade I've learned has died but only after I finally searched their name on the internet.   I was hesitant about checking for the second person a few years later after that first loss experience.  Though a letter and phone calls had elicited no response, I delayed further internet checking before finally searching only to once more find the result that I didn't want.  

So, on this third occasion I finally acquired the courage to search a name once again on the internet.  The screen instantly appeared and there Jean was, smiling directly at me, her face and name next to a column titled "Obituary".

I'm so glad I took a side trip stop-over to visit her and her husband as she urged I do on my flight home from visiting with my family several years ago.  I wish now I had stayed longer.  We could have enjoyed so much more time together.  Now, there are only the memories.  So much I could write, but as I said in the beginning, right now I just can't bring myself to immerse deeper into sorrow's moody pool.   I will miss her!

In the decade before this current one when my friends' deaths began becoming more prevalent, some adult children never contacted me then, either, about their parent's death.   One did, but not until a daughter wrote a year later, and another when a son wrote several months later.  

One husband phoned me across the continent quite soon after his wife's death, then broke down on the phone and it was all I could do to emotionally keep it together as I felt I must for him.  Days later the adult daughter called and after determinedly thinking I must keep my emotions under control for her, I could not.

I don't know why with other friends who died I never heard from family, especially in one specific instance.  But  I can appreciate simple contact delays as I guess there's really no longer any rush for any reason.  

I know from my own experience there can be complications after a loved one dies, plus family members personal lives may have extra-demands, too.  There's usually a rush of attention, followed by diminishing concern at some future point in time directed at the deceased's immediate family.   Then that all ends and the remaining significant family member is truly alone.  

All the grieving, adapting, coping can be overwhelming, giving way to the never-ending sense of loss for family and some friends.   On reflection,  after my husband's unexpected sudden death, I have been aware of not handling some matters in the manner which I intended or did so only part-way from what I expected to do.  

Age differences between friends seem to matter little, especially since I've been older.  I often think of one older-than-me long gone friend who wrote me once, "There are no friends like old friends."   New friends, not always easily acquired when we're older, but who can become dear, rarely have the depth the history of time with shared life experiences and changes provides.  

I note also, when an older friend dies there can be a different way of thinking about losing them than when a younger-than-me person departs.  The older person is often said to have had a long life versus the younger one said to have died too young.  When someone my same age dies, as was Jean, the loss resonates in a uniquely personal identification way.  

I've written here before that I've found one of the most difficult aspects of ageing is the longer I live the more friends and family die before me, the fewer who remain living.  My old friends and family once quite expansive in number are now down to less than I can count on one hand for the former, two hands for the latter.  Memories can be cherished though they're not as rich as future personal interactions.   No matter how many of those for whom I care deeply depart this earth, incorporating their loss into my life never becomes easier.

                                ^. ^. ^                           ^. ^. ^                            ^. ^. ^

"Donald Trump and his supporters are a clear and present danger to democracy."

   Judge Luttig quote from the third House Hearing held on June 16, 2022.

United States Select House Committee on January 6th next Hearings:

--Tuesday,   June 21:   l p.m. ET (10 a.m. PT)  

--Thursday, June 23:  3 p.m. ET (Noon PT)  

One more Hearing to be scheduled.

Judge J. Michael Luttig PBS "Frontline Interview" May 25, 2022 "filmed for a forthcoming documentary looking at challenges to American democracy"  HERE.

                                                                                           

LIFE-DEATH -- ACTIONS-PERCEPTIONS

Through my youthful years between the plants, animals and people in my life I absorbed the reality for each that existence was a continuum of living for varying spans of time evolving ultimately into death.  This lifelong awareness of life/death as a given relationship has spared me some of the death angst expressed by others. 

At the point of dying the life force can be explained as changing into some other form of energy, but we humans haven’t really deciphered those specifics yet.   Science and religion each offer their perspectives while for some the two are plausibly integrated.    I’m reminded of this life continuum when events on both ends of the spectrum enter into my daily awareness with both extremes quite prominent presently, birth then death when a phone call conveys another’s departure from this earth.     

The advent of spring accentuates birth and rebirth, bringing much change here in Southern California with the abundance of rain we’ve received after our drought years.   Greenery and colorful flowers including our California poppy cover previously drab deserts and mountainsides, some that had been blackened from fire.   The poppy’s brilliance can be seen from creme, white to pink, yellow, orange, red and deep plum blooms. 

The mixed poppy seed package I planted has produced only a delicate crème and lemony yellow, plus bright orange blooms that have spread like a blanket covering my parkway – the area between the sidewalk and street that had been filled with bark to replace the water-thirsty grass.  I’ve read the California poppy contains chemicals that might cause relaxation and sleepiness, is also sometimes mixed with other herbs for medical treatments.         

New life in my community emerges again as a relatively new neighbor awaits the birth of their first newborn.  I also look forward to the next stage in our Big Bear Mountain Bald Eagle couple’s story awaiting the hatching of their two eggs.   Refer in the archives to my two immediately previous blog posts for the timeline from fertilization, to egg laying.

The two eggs are expected to hatch about April 10^th – imminent this week! 

You can check for the latest developments at the Big Bear live camera focused on the nest 24/7:

  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5b2dUgK6VV4

My continued interest having been captured by these eagles, I discovered a few other facts I hadn’t known before.    I always knew the Bald Eagle was depicted as representing strength and officially our nation, but I didn’t know much else about the bird.   Incidentally, the founding fathers in the process of debating the birds selection had also considered the turkey which has since been given a unique characterization of its own – not exactly a bird visualized as soaring majestically over our country.   

Seems that maybe much like each of us and our country, we may not be quite like how we believe ourselves to be, or may represent ourselves, whether or not knowingly or intentionally.   I don’t know that the Bald Eagle has misrepresented itself to us, but we have projected on to the bird how we prefer to perceive it.  I think that happens with what we do with people in our lives sometimes, too. 

We can certainly say very different perceptions about the country’s leader prevail among our nation’s people, for example.   But questions people of any persuasion might want to consider:

 – has our leader misrepresented himself ?

 – have we projected on to him how we prefer to perceive him rather than recognizing the  person he is ?

Take the Bald Eagle we have characterized in such a way that we hold it in high esteem for example. But some have described the bird as being rather dirty, given to being lazy and attracted to landfill sites, carrion, or other less desirable foodstuffs and possibly capable of spreading disease by dropping trash in suburbs such as in Seattle, Washington as described recently in the New York Times.

Also, as I’ve already noted in my previous post with sound links, that the eagles voice has been judged to be weak, so another bird’s sound believed to sound fiercer is dubbed into movies and TV.

I read just briefly about some other eagle pairs who in the past have really botched their family responsibilities.   One instance, instead of alternating egg-sitting the parents-to-be would both be off the nest simultaneously.  The result was on more than one occasion another bird type, a raven, took an egg.   Later, the parents apparently not having learned the lesson were both off the nest again and another creature was able to take their remaining egg.   Were they inexperienced parents,  did they not care, or couldn't they figure out what happened?   Then there was the eagle pair where the male just didn’t return to his mate one day.   Did he simply abandon her or did he meet with some tragedy?  

Now that I’ve learned some of these shortcomings, I laud this Big Bear Bald Eagle pair as they seem to be ideal parents-to-be so far.   We do know Jackie laid only one egg last year that successfully hatched, but later the eaglet died.  Those monitoring the nest think she has returned again this year, but with a different mate they named Shadow.  We could only speculate as to what happened to the previous mate. 

Anytime I’ve ever looked in on the nest after the two eggs were laid, one or the other eagle has been covering the incubating eggs in some pretty cold sometimes wet, snowy, or windy weather through the stormy nights.  We're due still for some weather and temperature variations with periods of increased heat.

So, I await the eggs hatching with this projected date “about April 10^th “.  The second egg was laid three days after the first so there may be some variance in eaglet arrival times.   Expect I’ll want to keep tabs on the eaglets until they actually leave the nest. 

I don’t project on to these Bald Eagles any greatness other than just what they are demonstrating.    I think my perception of this pair is that they are competent, reliable parents based on their actions to date. 

That really is what we have to rely on since actions most clearly define them just as is true among human beings.   We would be wise to consider actual actions as we form our perceptions of others including those with whom we make friends and those we choose as desirable nation leaders.

Time To Talk

I recall that Saturday, May 13, 2006 morning standing by my husband's bedside, still absorbing the fact of his unexpected death during his sleep. The understanding and supportive police officer stood quietly across from me at the far corner of the foot of the bed. He had arrived at my home within a few short minutes in response to my emergency 911 phone call, after I discovered my husband's lifeless body whose facial skin was already cool to the touch of my fingertips and lips. The officer had offered his help with various questions as to what I might like him to do, or what did I want to do ... whatever. I just recall his calm, rational manner, but I cannot bring to mind many of the specific words exchanged between us.

I'm sure he must have inquired about the circumstances of my husband's death which I vaguely recall describing to him as I, too, was trying to make sense of it all. I think I told him of my husband having just seen his doctor the previous morning for a follow-up visit. For the prior two to three years, my husband had periodically undergone various tests to determine whether or not he had a small abdominal aortic aneurysm. Sometimes the aneurysm appeared to be present, sometimes not, but the medical action plan had been to track the small bulge for any increase in size. Tracking had been an ongoing problem since the bulge often was hidden from view during ultrasounds. The definitive angiogram or MRI (Magnetic Resonance Imaging) tests could not be administered since he had other serious medical problems making either test unsafe for him.

My husband had told me the Dr. said the results of this most recent ultrasound once again failed to reveal the aneurysm's presence, but they could not conclude it no longer existed, much less know its current size. Once I made that 911 call, I know I remained on the phone with the operator until the police officer arrived. I know I phoned each of our children, reaching my son immediately, leaving a message for my daughter for our later conversation, but I cannot recall making those calls, when in the sequence of activities I made them, or receiving calls returned. I do remember my son saying he would immediately begin making arrangements to fly home. He arrived later that night. My daughter and granddaughter came home at a mutually agreed upon later date, but we had frequent phone contact daily until then. I don't recall whether that day or later days I phoned others significant in my life.

I knew I must remain strong for my children and myself. I was very good at that with lots of experience. Always before for me, once the crisis was over would be time to emotionally let down. This time proved to be the same only to a degree, but different in so many other ways including the process that lay ahead of adapting to my life being forever changed.

Later the officer went outside to direct the emergency teams. I expected their arrival would be heralded first by the large red fire truck with sirens screaming, soon followed by a small red paramedic truck, from having experienced that scenario before numerous times when I had to call them for my mother. This time, when they arrived on my street, there was no siren since I presume they had been forewarned there was no life in the balance here. An advance directive clearly specified no extraordinary means were to be taken to prolong my husband's life, but he was past the point of having such techniques administered anyway.

Before the officer went outside to direct paramedics to our house, I stood by my dead husband's side, thoughts racing through my mind of those hours from the last time I had spoken with him, had seen him breathing peacefully in his sleep, until the moment I found him. So many words came to mind. For much too long there had been sensitive topics around the edges of which we skirted, that might gradually emerge from time to time. There were those topics with other issues of more recent vintage where the rocky barriers had only begun to be worn down, allowing our words to begin sliding more easily over their once razor sharp edges.

I told the officer, as though somehow he could call back my husband and we could rectify this matter that was pressing on my mind, "There was so much we needed to talk about...so much that we hadn't had an opportunity to yet say...."

In retrospect now, I pause to think, that fateful Saturday the 13^th day he died was the same day and date we had begun our first full day as husband wife so many decades ago. We were married on the preceding Friday night the 12^th -- the exact same day and date I shared my husband's last wakeful living moments, two months shy of our forty-third wedding anniversary. Just imagine, in forty-three years, we still had much love and laughter to share, so much more we needed to talk about.

Story of a Friendship

(The final portion of my early employment years story will be posted at a future time. I felt compelled to write what follows, but oh, how I wish thare had been no reason to do so.)

Story of a Friendship

Our families met when she was in her early thirties and I was pushing forty. All of us sometimes gathered at a neighborhood pool on those late summer afternoons where we all enjoyed the outdoors, the light warm breezes that wafted through the air around us, and the cooling water. Our children became friends in those early years. We kept busy with our own separate activities, only occasionally crossing paths. She was teaching part time at a local college, completing academic classes in English literature toward her doctorate.

She had a special rapport with younger students, so was sought after each year to teach entering college freshmen writing skills they had been unable to hone adequately during their high school years. She had established her credentials as an outstanding instructor, warm, personable, a caring individual with a sharp keen wit, who was quick to laugh when the situation warranted. Her knowledge, teaching skills with young adults, and personality had resulted in her obtaining a steady position at a time when others did not, as she pursued her own higher education.

She could be demanding with high expectations for a student's performance, but also recognized their limitations. She was able to maintain just the right tenor in her relationships with students, sometimes having to tactfully cope with those who developed a crush on her. She gave every indication of being on a path that would allow her to successfully meet her goals and fulfill her dreams. Some of her dreams shattered years later due to circumstances not entirely a consequence of her actions.

But before those times, over the next few years our friendship grew as we seem to come into contact more frequently. Our trust and confidence in each other evolved, ultimately resulting in our recognition that on occasion we might have need of each other for additional support toward reaching our goals. By that time, I had returned to university classes as a student to fulfill plans of my own. One afternoon, I remember the frantic phone call I received from her. There had been a meeting of mothers to select volunteers to assume responsibility for various committees in our daughters' branch of a national girls organization.

Because my friend had not been present to explain her unavailability at that time, she had been appointed to head an activities planning committee. Her daughters were pleased and she did not want to let the group down either, though she was annoyed that someone else had confirmed her availability to do this in the first place, having not checked with her. This may not seem like much, but was the proverbial straw that could have broken our camel backs.

I certainly didn't have the time to take on those duties myself either, so for our children's sake we agreed to share the responsibility. I knew between the two of us, we would complete the task quickly and efficiently. We did so within several days or so, then we were no longer burdened with the matter. We only had to show up once a month to accompany the girls to each different scheduled activity location.

During the ensuing years there were times in both our lives when, having settled our children for the night, we noted our husbands were engrossed in their own interests. We would engage in our own studies, then one or the other of us would spontaneously phone the other to determine if a study break was being scheduled there, too. If so, we walked to a nearby restaurant for relaxing conversation, coffee and an accounting of how we each were progressing along this part of our life's journey. Yes, there were sometimes serious matters we discussed, but we always found something about which to laugh before returning to our homes, and often more studies, into the wee hours of the morning.

Then we were always up bright and early to send household members out the door to work and school. We had to think about and perform all the household duties, go to our respective classes, study, and in her case teach, too. There were other family responsibilities for each of us associated with parents. You could say, we were "sandwiched." Those were extremely hectic, challenging, times, mixed with periods of pure joy and happiness for each of us. Our families managed occasional varied vacation trips though not together. My friend's family often enjoyed camping trips driving off in their VW bus on their journeys.

As I write this, I am aware that last night at this very time, my good friend was making that final journey we all make at some time in our life. She was entirely too young to go on this journey. She was only in the early years of the second half of her life. Her youngest daughter phoned me from along the Atlantic seaboard across the miles this afternoon. I was quite unprepared to accept her words informing me of the finality of her mother's life on this earth.

Only this week, the thought had crossed my mind, wondering if my friend's California family had moved as planned to the Midwest, or if she might come west anyway, and we would manage to spend a few hours together. I remembered last year at this time she had phoned weeks earlier to express her sympathy when she learned of my husband's death, then let me know she would be coming later in the summer. I remembered just how much that time together had meant to me, though what brought her here was related to the death of her parent some months earlier.

During this time we had together, we had shared a humor predicated on similar type unique coincidental events associated with circumstances that occurred long after our loved ones deaths. We had each long since shed many tears, so we indulged our residual pain by engaging in a type of emotionally releasing humor that we could not have shared with anyone other than each other.

We laughed, then laughed some more. I held my side from the ache of laughter, leaned my head on my hand with my elbow on the table, pounded the table with my other hand as I was regaled by the real life story I was being told. I shared my own in similar manner. My friend and I shared a special bond in our ability to find humor in what to others might have seemed irreverent or even disrespectful to the loved ones about whom we were sharing memories. This was the kind of conversation I could only have with someone who knew me intimately and I them. This was the kind of relationship that had developed over many years, many confidences, many shared experiences, that rarely occurs with anyone known for a lesser time.

We had much history together, our families, each other. There had been additional sorrows, an earlier death, and other tragedies of life. There was a mix of joys from our children and more positive life experiences, we each had, along with some we had shared together. Our family members had gradually scattered about the nation those years ago. I had once given much time and energy to this friendship, but the distance of miles and changing circumstances had resulted in a lessening of contact between us.

Mostly our contact had dissolved to an infrequent once a year holiday greeting by mail, or that additional visit if she happened to come this way. We just seemed to be on different paths and I was quite preoccupied with my own activities as she seemed to be with hers. Yet, on each of her visits westward she always arranged for us to spend some time together and I made myself available. I didn't initiate contact other times, perhaps I should have.

When we did talk, I skirted asking specifics of her day-to-day life, nor did she volunteer them. She carefully painted a rosy picture in generalities and I left the matter at that. She did not die from any intentional deliberate act, but then she did not have a traditional terminal illness or disease, either. I don't think she consciously meant to die. I think she died of heartfelt pain from within, deep inside her, not associated with any one individual other than herself. I think she ceased to love herself.

Heaven only knows, had she sought love outside herself, there had always been an abundance of that available wherever she looked, had she wanted it. She had the admiration of adults and students, love of family, love of friends, but she self-destructed. I cry for her, for her family, for all those who knew and cared for her, for all those who will now never have the opportunity to know her. I will miss her.

WE NEED TO TALK

End of life directives are not enough, since we never know when we may be faced with serious issues associated with continued living, dying and death. We don't even know which issues might confront us -- where, or at what age. There may be decisions to be made about loved ones, or ourselves to which we've never given adequate thought. I have periodically encountered some of these various issues for a number of years both personally and professionally.

One experience from numerous others proved to be among the most challenging I've had professionally, while simultaneously being the most satisfying. The satisfaction was largely due to the fact the individuals involved were so open, honest, and most important, comfortable discussing the issues of continued living, dying and death with each other and those, such as myself, with whom they needed to interact.

I was comfortable in that situation and have been in others because of my own experiences with loved ones. I attribute this largely to my mother. She fostered such communication throughout my life in such a warm accepting manner without belabouring the issues. When life issues were at the forefront of decision making for her with me we were as prepared as we could be, though I'm not sure anyone is ever fully prepared for the inevitable when that time comes. We certainly can make the preparation easier for ourselves, loved ones, dear friends, enriching all lives in the process.

In my most recent experience, I was engaged in daily weekday sessions for about two months or so, with a couple who were involved in examining quality of life issues, considering ending alternative ways for sustaining life by means other than eating and drinking by mouth, use of supplemental oxygen for breathing. They were assessing their choices in terms of the means to safely continue life versus risk associated with using or not using these alternative methods.

The pros and cons of compromise for safety versus a desired life style was the basis for their considerations. The major questions centered around how best to receive nutrition and hydration, by mouth or other means, but the former also meant living apart from the healthy spouse in a more restrictive nursing supervised setting that might also lessen the risk of serious life-threatening health issues, or could even prolong life.

The greater risk was present by returning to a prior shared spousal living arrangement in a much less nursing supervised setting that also necessitated receiving nutrition and hydration by mouth. That placed the spouse at significantly increased risk of potential terminal health problems. What if the spouse's health became worse; would they want then to revert to the surgery again so he could resume alternative life giving support?

One of the references provided this couple is a booklet (also available in Spanish) I do recommend that was written by Hank Dunn called "Hard Choices For Loving People" that provides practical information regarding "CPR, Artificial Feeding, Comfort Care, and the Patient with a Life-Threatening Illness."

My involvement with this couple initially was directly related to maximizing an aspect of the ill spouse's physiological functional safety impacting their decision process, but I was drawn in by their clear desire for my inclusion in all of the matters. I had no hesitation in being included in their process as I always respond to the individual with whom I'm interacting as a whole being that encompasses their mind, body and spirit.

So, I responded in such a manner as to facilitate their conversation, sometimes just listening, other times asking thought stimulating questions, always providing them the real facts of his functional condition based on my assessments and perceptions in the area of my expertise. I made no effort to influence their choices or project on to them my own beliefs.

They made numerous plans from the certain to the uncertain decisions, only to rescind them, then alter them again as the ill spouse experienced changes several times in health status across a fluctuating full range framework with sometimes a promising, and other times a not so promising prognosis. Culmination of this whole process occurred in an ethics committee meeting with the couple, where they reiterated their thinking, then fully expressed their final decision with the clear knowledge that we all understood and respected their choices.

Living and dying issues are not always simple, even when advanced directives are
present, which is why I believe we need to talk more freely about this topic throughout our lifetimes. As I reflect on this whole experience, I recall this couple's disappointment
with the loss of intimacy from which all lives would have been richer, when they recounted their interaction with friends and loved ones. They said often those closest to them did not know how to talk with them, were uncomfortable with the subject matter on such a level, or simply could not allow themselves to discuss the topic of dying.

The Los Angeles Times featured an article by James Channing Shaw, a physician at the University of Toronto, in their February 28, 2007 Health segment, in a "My Turn" column that was titled "The acceptance of death can be a gift." His thoughtful comments relative to the choices some individuals encounter include:
"I would have to question whether an extra year or two of life would be worth the potential suffering that goes with treatment. Patients should be respected for thinking the same."

What also comes to mind is a post at "Time Goes By" written by Ronni Bennett titled "Fear of Death" I found the ideas expressed there quite powerful and meaningful. So did the couple about whom I've written here, after select writings, including that one, were shared with them at their request. I was particularly impacted, as were they, by that portion of the piece about half way through the post that begins:

"We fear not being. And that fear -- the most primal of fears -- is built into our DNA."

Later Ronni Bennett writes:

"...most people have made it taboo to speak of death in ordinary conversation even though it is the central problem of life. Have you ever tried? Even your friends will say, "oh, don't be morbid" and change the subject."

This is some of what the couple to whom I refer experienced. They were realistically facing the facts, others with whom they most cared were the ones with whom they wanted to speak of some of these matters, but were unable to bridge this conversational gap.

I find the specific matters in that post discussed above of most significance to the focus here. However, that whole "Time Goes By" post addresses even broader issues that bear serious consideration. I think these are all matters worthy of contemplation for both young people living for their future, middle age individuals determining how they want to live the second half of their lives, and older people engaged in enjoying their lives to the fullest. We all would be wise, as Ronni Bennett wrote there:

"...to pay attention to the changes the later years bring -- to see them, feel them, think about them and to talk about them and the mystery of life."

SIGNIFICANT LIVES

I just came back from a place I frequently visit, Old Horsetail Snake, whenever I feel the need for a guaranteed laugh. He's been doing some remodeling over there, and darned if his blog isn't taking on a really classy look. As always, plenty to laugh and think about. I'd been intending to add a really humorous blog to my blogroll for some time, so I just figured, why wait? I'm gonna add that blog right now.



Influence of others occurs throughout our lives upon reflection...
here are a few from my youth.


There are people who make a difference in our lives at every age throughout our lifetime. Some we remember quite vividly. I strongly believe that we have some slight impact on just about everyone with whom we come in contact and they us.

I thought I'd take the time one of these days to list all the people I've met and recall as having made a difference in my life. Perhaps, given my belief about how we all impact each other in minor to major ways, an abbreviated list might be in order, in which I would simply include those who had the most profound impact on my life. Actually, as I think about important others, at any given time an individual might be having a significant impact, but then in the scheme of a whole life, the impact could ultimately become much less significant. I could not possibly list everyone who comes to mind. I do want to mention a few here from that well-known group called teachers, who dedicate their lives to trying to make a difference in the lives of others. They are generally quite successful in doing so, though they may not always know they have been, or receive the acknowledgement and recognition to which they are entitled.

Certainly, my life was impacted by teachers I encountered at various life stages. Some, I would say, even most teachers, were a very positive influence, but as with any group, there are always those few who, however unintentionally, are otherwise. I prefer to think of the more positive ones, those whose expectations and efforts to expose their students, including me, to new ideas, experiences and expression of thoughts come readily to mind.

Regrettably, I don't recall ever having an opportunity to express my appreciation to far too many people, including some of these teachers, who have crossed my path in a meaningful positive manner. For some, what would I say? I recall in the fifth grade Miss Barroway asking me one day, to take over from her reading the spelling words to the class. I felt very surprised and proud to have been selected, especially considering not too many days before that, I had received several whacks on the knuckles of each hand from a wooden ruler wielded unmercifully by her. I had been caught writing a note to my boy friend, Dwight.

I also had quite mixed feelings as to why I was being asked to stand before the class and read these spelling words, since I had been observing her closely when she had begun reading from the word list, and I knew something was wrong. I was distracted seeing the throbbing, blood flow pulsating in her neck's left artery that looked most unusual to me. I walked to the front of the class, began slowly reading one spelling word at a time as she left the room. Later our principal, Miss Broome, told us our teacher had a heart attack. After some days had passed, I learned she was safely recovering. The knuckle whacks she gave me were extremely painful and potentially injurious. They would not be tolerated today. On the other hand, my being selected to read the spelling words suggested to me I did have some redeeming qualities in her eyes.

What a contrast with a college instructor I had, with whom I exchanged annual holiday greeting letters each year as long as she was able, well into her nineties. Just before she finally had to relinquish living in the home she had shared first with her parents and then by herself, I indulged what I thought to be a selfish pleasure, when over some period of time, the impulse to do so simply would not go away -- I phoned Miss Harton. I kept remembering with pride for her that a few years earlier, a brand new theatre complex was built on campus which bore her name.

This call and the conversation which ensued turned out to be more than welcomed by her. I told her the reason for my call was simply to thank her for all she had contributed to my life. I described her now incidental actions which had so affected my life then, how I had been influenced, how she had been on the cutting edge of innovation with a new idea she brought us following her summer leave to work on her master's degree out of state. She responded that in all of her years of teaching there were individual students that stood out in her mind, but she had never had so many at one time as in our particular group of six, a small part of a much larger class. Our conversation ended with her saying to me, "You've made my day!" I could only respond, "You didn't just make my day, you made my life."

Another one of the individuals I so wanted to thank had departed this life by the time I made an effort many years ago to locate her. Mrs. Eastburn was without question the best teacher I had in high school, who truly made an effort to prepare each of us for life, death and especially to attend college for any of us who might so aspire. She was demanding of us, not without humor, but with high expectations for our performance in her English class. I'm sure our writing efforts must have contributed to humor in her life, too, such as can be read HERE.


She went to great lengths to make arrangements for us to travel from our suburban rural setting school into the nearby city to see Lawrence Oliver in a special showing re-release of the 1948 black and white movie Hamlet which he directed long before he was knighted "Sir Lawrence." We had been reading some of Shakespeare's works in class. I was young and impressionable as Shakespeare's words penetrated the stillness of the darkened theater auditorium, coming alive for me as I viewed the movie. I became unabashedly enamoured with Shakespeare, "Hamlet," Lawrence Oliver, acting. My love of language was reinforced.

Mrs. Eastburn also required us to read, explain, memorize, and recite the last verse of William Cullen Bryant's poem "Thanatopsis." We even had to write a paper about the value of memorization. There were many plays with memorable lines as a student/amateur, in which I have acted, directed, or judged. They included high school's relatively unknown "Drums of Death," through obligatory one to three act perpetually performed college plays, a live local TV drama, and subsequent little theatre productions in which memorization has been crucial.

In college there was "Don Juan In Hell" inviting the audience upon their entrance to "Give up all hope, ye who enter here" (here and here) in which our cast's production included our soon-to-be Dean of Students, the son of a well-known actor of his time, Guy Kibbee. Then there were Portia's often repeated Shakespearean lines from The Merchant of Venice: "The quality of mercy is not strain'd, it droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven upon the place beneath..."

All these words, but through the years those that periodically always come to mind are in the last verse of the one repeated here in tribute to Mrs. Eastburn. The thoughts expressed in this poem's verse contributed to the formulation of my perception of death. I believe our culture could benefit immensely by more freely embracing comfortable discussion of death throughout our lifetimes without avoidance of the topic, becoming afraid, or resorting to denial, but instead accepting that, indeed, life and death are parts of a connected circle. Whenever, at whatever age dying becomes our life experience, we will have long since made our preparation by embracing these words:

"So live, that when thy summons comes to join
The innumerable caravan, which moves
To that mysterious realm, where each shall take
His chamber in the silent halls of death,
Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night,
Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams. "

Thanatopsis by William Cullen Bryant 1794-1878