the view from Africa

"From the camp I see...the jackels...and some Zebra and Springbok...the jackels wine and cry to each other all night...sometimes I hear lions...which is pretty cool."

The preceding is an excerpt from an email my daughter sent from Africa, where she is conducting some ongoing Anthrax research in Namibia. "...pretty cool" indeed. I simply can't imagine what it must be like to be surrounded by the sight and sound of wild animals day and night. And I mean wild. This isn't a zoo she's working at. She's living in a tent. She takes such adventures in stride, though.

Do I worry about her? Of course. But she is a grownup and quite able to take care of herself. She does have a somewhat "wild" side, though, which is what gets her through such activities without too much trepidation. The key to her being there, though, despite the possible danger, is the important medical research that she is involved in. Someone has to do it, why not her. As a wildlife Veterinarian, she is in heaven over there.

In a couple weeks when she returns to UC-Berkeley, she'll be in the somewhat more tame activity of teaching Anatomy to first year medical students. I can see her wishing for a bit more of that "wildlife" then.

bye, bye

They say that the happiest days in a boater's life are the day he buys his boat and the day he sells it. I can attest to the truth in that statement, since over the weekend we sold our 18'ski boat along with the trailer and boat lift. Yes, we were thrilled when we bought it 15 years ago. We got a lot of pleasure from it when the kids were younger and liked to ski and tube and go real fast. But as they got older the thrill diminished and the boat was used less and less until it became a big stationary sculpture along side the pier. Then it became a nuisance to maintain. Then it became a pain in the ass to store over the winter. Then I thought seriously of turning it into a giant planter. But then I mentioned to the contractor who worked on our cottage last year that I wanted to sell it and he mentioned that to someone five doors down the shore from us where he was doing some work and just like that the guy bought my would-be planter and the trailer and the lift that it sits on. He is in the same situation we were in when we bought the boat--his kids are young and gung-ho about going real fast on the water.

I don't think I will have any nostalgic pangs when I see the boat on the lake; I will be happy to see someone else enjoying it for the next few years until the time comes when he will have the second happy day in a boater's life.

So now we are officially non-motorized boaters. Mary went right out and bought herself a kayak so we can join the neighbors with their kayaks for a paddling regatta. Kayaks, canoe, and Sunfish sailboat are now our means of enjoying the water. Long live paddle power! No more winterizing motors, unless you consider my daily glass of schnaaps as a sort of personal Winterizer. And Summerizer. And Fallizer. and Springizer. No more hoping the motor starts and keeps running, unless I get old and/or more decrepit enough to worry about my own paddling motor starting and running. No more cursing the birds who make their nest in a corner of the lift under the canopy and leave their nasty droppings all over the boat. I flipped 'em the bird the other day when they were flitting around wondering where their favorite nesting site was. I'm already enjoying a wider, less obstructed view of the lake from my deck without the lift taking up so much of the view.

Yeh, boats are great fun when you have someone to enjoy them with (like the kids). The maintenance hassles are worth it until they become the only reason you are in the boat. The expense of running the thing will not be missed now that gas prices are so high. And all the planning that goes into launching it and pulling it out of the water will not be missed at all. More time for golf is the way I see it.

The weight that has been lifted is hard to describe or appreciate unless you are a boat owner, or better, a former boat owner. I look forward to many happy days of motorboatless contentment. And the silent serenity of paddles.

country brouhaha

Apparently if you reside within the realm of country musicdom, you are not allowed to express an opinion that runs contrary to its ingrained rightist polemic against all things liberal or democratic. Avow a stance other than the right wing, conservative, red state (or redneck) position of the majority of country music aficianodoes (for my redneck brothers, that means fans), and you will not only be on the end of a string of vituperitive verbal broadsides, but begin a collection of very real death threats.

That is the state that the Dixie Chicks found themselves in in 2003 after one of the group, Natalie Maines, made the unforgivable sin of expressing a dislike for George W. Bush, darling of the right and the current holder of the Office of the Presidency. She told a London audience that she was "ashamed that the President of the United States is from Texas." For that mildly provacative statement, she and her two fellow Chicks were rewarded with a cascasde of condemnation from the easily insulted dimwits that inhabit country music. Radio stations refused to play their music, sales of their music plummeted, they were verbally attacked by all members of the right wing ranch, and at one point feared for their lives after some very specific detailed death threats were made against them. And please note, they did not express any emnity toward our troops. They simply condemned the war.

Come on, people, lighten up. Remember the right to free speech you are so fond of claiming when you spew your own opinions? That same right applies to everyone else, too, not just to those you choose to share it with. I don't agree with any thing you say for the most part, but, damn it, I will defend your right to say whatever you want. I expect to get the same consideration from you. It's a two way street, cowboy.

So if I say that I am ashamed that Dubya is from the United States, let alone the great state of Texas, am I going to find myelf ducking cowpies whistling past my head? If I express the opinion that Bush is a usurper of the Presidency (let's remember that he was appointed, not elected, in the first place), and that his current popularity ratings match his IQ, will I need to dodge the bullets from your sixguns (the sixgun being the weapon of choice since most of those wielding them can't count any higher when loading them)? If I say that the mess that warmongering neanderthal has gotten us into will take generations to clean up, will I be hoisted up a tree with a noose around my neck by vigilanties in white hoods?

I know all the preceeding ranting by me is childishly insulting and unnecessaary in a reasoned dialogue. But the point is, I am free to make those statements, issue those insults, and feel unthreatened when doing so. If you disagree with me, that's ok, beccause you have that right. Go ahead, insult me back. I am not going to threaten you with retaliation of any sort for your disagreement or insults. I may ridicule your positiion, question your intelligence, but I will still gladly stop and have a beer or two with you after the debate is over. So why is it so hard for you to offer the same consideration to three singers who don't share your opinion? It's all so childish.

And while I condemn the unnecessary war in Iraq and the sabre rattling bravado of the current administration, I have nothing but the utmost respect and gratitude for the men and women who choose to wear the uniform of the armed forces, who make the huge saccrifices that keep us free to argue as we will. I not only respect the current members of our armed forces, but cherish the memory of all those who served throughout our national history. We may disagree on a lot of things, but I know we can agree on that on this Memorial Day weekend.

another domestic skirmish

Whenever we get home after a stay at the cottage, there are always the "catch-up" chores to do. You know, like laundry and grass cutting. Nothing too taxing or unusual. Unless you are named Mary and you have a compulsive need to do everything that ever has to be done at anytime in the course of your life and do it RIGHT NOW! There is no such thing as planning it out and paceing yourself over the next few days. Take it easy? Not on your life.

Usually when we finally arrive home, I unload the van and carry the bags and other stuff into the house. Mary is already storming past me as I unlock the door, only to disappear into that nether world that the compulsive inhabit. While I carry the bags upstairs to unpack, she is generally asking me to rip off my clothes, but not for any fun purpose. She just wants to add them to the load of laundry she has already started. By the time I get the van unloaded, she will be plotting the course of the vacuum from room to room. By the time I get my bag unpacked she will be finished sorting the mail and started on paying the bills (which aren't due for another 2 weeks). After an hour has passed she will start harangueing me about my uselessness and wondering why I am not washing windows or scrubbing floors. Never mind that we have been gone for a few days and that the house was cleaned before we left, now it has to be cleaned again beccause....well, just because. We are here so we must clean.

I admit that I am a bit more laid back at those times and tend to figure that whatever needs to be done will wait until tomorrow. I know how to pace myself. I am always tired from driving and just want to relax with the newspaper and an adult beverage or two. Of course, when my loving wife sees me stretched out in the recliner with my hand securely wrapped around a glass of suspiciously colored liquid the, uh, conversation goes something like this:

Her: "Could you possibly get off your lazy ass and give me a hand around here?"

Me: " Shhhh, I'm resting."

Her: "Well, could you at least feed the cat?"

Me: "Cat? Do we have a cat?"

Her: "I'm going to be up until 2 AM with all I have to do and you're just sitting there on you dead ass. If I didn't do everything around here nothing would ever get done. You are the most worthless sack of shit I have ever known. If it wasn't for me you would be livng in a filthy house wearing filthy clothes and probably sitting in your own crap. I don't know why I even bother with you.

Me: "Could you move out of the way, I can't see the ballgame."

Her: " You miserable sonofab............blah, blah, blah, yadda, yadda, yadda, so on and so forth, more of the same, then repeat one more time with feeling.

Me: "I love you too."

This can go on for some time if I don't gather my wits about me and force my exceedingly fatigued old body up out of my exceedingly comfortable recliner and follow her into the kitchen where she is catching her breath before the next diatribe directed at my manhood. Once I corner her against the counter, and despite her flailing arms trying to ward me off with protestations of "don't touch me, leave me alone. I'm too busy to deal with you," manage to get inside her defenses, I give her a big hug and kiss and tell her how special she is, and all is forgiven. For the moment at least. I can then go back to my recliner and finish watching the ballgame. Of course, as long as I am up anyway, I fix myself another of those wonderful adult drinks. Told you I know how to pace myself.

good time

The past weekend was great, a terrific birthday celebration for four days. Mary took Friday and Monday off (she gets two personal days each year for whatever reason she wants) so we parlayed them into a four day weekend centered on her birthday. We spent the full four days at the cottage, under beautiful sunshiney skies with warm temps.

This pcture is the western shoreline which has been left natural with no cottages or other development.

Our good friends and next door neighbors at the lake had a couple visiting them that they had met on an elder hostel vacation and we joined them for lunch on Friday. So we made some new friends to go with the old. There was a lot of story telling and laughter, with Mary being the story teller (she has some good ones) and doing the loudest laughing. Good to hear her after the doldrums of recent events. We went out for dinner Friday evening with some other friends at our favorite restauarant and found out by meerest coincidence that anyone who is celebrating a birthday eats free. So not only is Mary fun to have around, she's a cheap date as well. I guess I'll keep her for awhile just for that. Saturday and Sunday I played golf (honest, she insisted that I go) and she rode her bicycle and did whatever putzing around she does when I'm on the golf course. Do I really want to know?



We did get the kayak into the water and after paddling around a bit, Mary decided that she needs one of her own.

We also took the canoe for a spin among the lily pads and got some nice pictures.

These lily pads will grow much larger and turn green. Then the flowers will come.



We headed for home Monday evening and the reality of normal life. It was a great weekend that I hope got Mary back on track. The laughter was the best part.

another birthday

Tomorrow is Mary's _____ birthday. Tradition says that we should not give a woman's age, so I will let you filll in the blank. Just say she has aged gracefully, while keeping pace with my own birthdays. It's incredible to realize that I have known her for over 2/3 of our lives, and been married to her for nearly that much time. We were high school sweethearts and married before graduating from college. And now with two grown children, we are back to being just the two of us. She is so much a part of me that I can't imagine what I would be without her in my life. I think it may be time for another honeywoon. But first, everyone join me in a hearty and heartfelt rendition of Happy Birthday. I only hope that we will be able to celebrate as many birthdays in the future that we have in the past. God, how I love that woman........

birthday

Today my son turns 25. Twenty-five! Wasn't it just yesterday, or maybe it was last week, when he was starting to walk? Shouldn't he be getting ready for his little league game tonight. Gotta get him to soccer practice this afternoon. Is it tomorrow when he starts middle school? Such a little guy, is he ever going to grow bigger? High school already? Gotta grab my baseball glove and play some catch with him this afternoon. JV basketball practice after school today. High school baseball season starts tomorrow. Will he play shortstop or will he pitch? He doesn't care as long as he plays. Gotta keep up with the school work. He set a goal when he entered high school to graduate at the top of his class. Gave up varsity basketball to concentrate on school work. High school graduation--my son the valedictorian! Think I'm proud? He's going off to college at UW Madison, with those scholarships to help pay the way. He looks so much bigger and so mature. The little guy has grown to over 6' and has muscles on muscles from all his working out. Nearly a man now. College graduation. Looking so good in that cap and gown. Going on to grad school right away. Has more goals to meet. Has met all his other goals in his short life so far. A Masters Degree now. Some accomplishment! And now really a man. Guess what, Dad, Katie and I are getting married. My son, the man. Who would have ever thought it would come to this when he was small enough to hold in one arm? My son, the man. Happy 25th Birthday, Jonathan......Love, Dad

baseball

Last night my buddy, Rich, and I went to a ball game. One of the clear advantages of living in a large city, a Major League city, is the easy opportunity to take in a Major League baseball game. Here in Milwaukee we have the Brewers, a team which has been arguably less than major league caliber in the past, but is now on the rise, to cheer for at one of the newer and more fan-friendly domed stadiums in the country. And while the domed stadium makes for a more enjoyable early spring ballpark experience (without the dome, baseball in the upper midwest is a trying experience for even the most ardent fan), I still prefer my baseball al fresco. Still, I will take my baseball any way that I can get it. As long as I can enter the stadium and get the rush that comes with the first glimpse of the manicured green grass, the pristine basepaths, the unsullied chalk lines, the DIAMOND in all its glory, I will tolerate the artificial atmosphere created by a roof that shuts out the breeze for air stirred by machines.

I know there are some out there who say, no, scream, that baseball is boring. To them I say, go to a soccer game and then we'lll talk about boring. Baseball is far from boring if you know the game and appreciate the subtleties and nuances that go into making up those nine innings of high drama and low comedy. Every inning of a baseball game is a mosaic of vignettes starring the pitcher and hitter, the catcher, the umpire, baserunners, and the defensive players and the myriad panoply of possibilities that includes them all. Throw in the vagaries of a cheering or jeering salty crowd of fans and you have a pot of athletic stew that gets tastier with each batter who comes to the plate.

A real fan and student of the game can find a number of little things in each inning to occupy his attention. All the players on the field are part of the baseball equation. It all starts with the pitcher--righty or lefty, hard thower or junkballer, good fastball, good breaking ball, how about his change up, does he have good stuff today, is his curveball working, is he spotting the ball well, nibbling at the corners, throwing heat, what's his ERA, how many K's, how many BB's, innings pitched, starter or reliever, middle relief or closer, the litany goes on and on. The same kind of scrutiny applies to every player on the field and that scrutiny varies with all the different possible game situations that arise in any given ballgame.

For every situation in baseball there is a statistic that applies and helps to clarify and quantify the players and their play. Statistics are the platelets in the blood that flows through the body of baseball. Without those statistics baseball is merely a game; with those statistics baseball is a body completed, blood and sinew describing its form. It is a highly structured body, athletic and gracefull, powerful and swift, with all the requisite rules to bring order to its movements as they are performed. Yet, within that structure, chaos is the presiding imp. Anything can happen and usually does. Despite the prevailing order that those statistics and rules imply, a baseball game is an improvization in the theater of the absurd. There is no predicting what will happen, only that something will. And that something is what gives baseball it's enduring attraction, it's excitment, it's hold on us fans in the stands.

One of the greatest charms that accrues to baseball is the lack of an official timer who decides when the game is over. Baseball games are never over until one team has scored at least one more run than the other after the end of nine innings of play. If both teams have the same number of runs after nine innings, they play another inning, and another, and another until someone wins. Baseball has no clock watchers, unless as a fan at a night game, you have to get up early for work the next day. But the players have to have no sense of time elapsed. They are free to move within the rhythems of the game without concern for the passage of gametime. And so you see the batter rearrange his footing while excavating the batter's box, step out of the box between pitches, adjust his gloves, tug at his sleeve, poke at his cup, and then raise a hand to signal he is ready for the pitcher to try to throw the ball past him. After every pitch the hitter will perform his ritual no matter how much time it takes. And so the game eases into those moments of frenetic activity that happen when bat meets ball, batter runs, fielder catches,
the throw to first, the catch made by the first baseman a tenth of a second before the runner tags the base, and the clear eyed, omniscient umpire signals safe or out. And that is only one set of an infinite group of possibilities that can occur when the pitcher pitches, the batter hits, and ball is in play.

Listing all the possible things that can happen in a game is impossible. Expecting the improbable, anticipating the possible, seeing the inevitable, accepting the incalculable, resigning to the conclusive is at the heart of every baseball fan. Baseball boring? Not on my watch.

uncertainty

In just a few minutes I have to leave to go see my Neurologist. This is a Parkinsons check up, but I'm not really sure why I'm going. I just saw him in March so it seems a bit to soon to see him again. I did try some new meds for a couple weeks after seeing him in March, but discontinued them when I didn't like the effects they had. Maybe that's why I'm going to see him, to keep him up to date on my medications. I don't really know. Maybe I just need to hear him say that I'm doing fine, that the PD hasn't progressed any further. Mary thinks I am going to see him for a reason that I am not sharing with her. She thinks I may be hiding from her how I'm really feeling. But that is nonsense. I tell her everything because I need her to know what is going on so she can help me cope with this crap. I guess the doctor mainly serves as my security blanket. I go to see him for much the same reason that I carry a cane--just in case I need it. I could probably get along fine without the cane to lean on, just as I could probably get along fine without the doctor to lean on. But I may be too cautious and uncertain to go it alone without cane or doctor to support me. So what harm can it do if I go to see him or use my cane if it makes me feel better to do either? Am I rationalizing? Am I just a big sissy? Shit, I hate this uncertainty.

books and me

I am an avid reader. I don't feel complete unless I have a book or two at all times on hand to read. Sometimes I'll have two books going at once, but usually only one. If I find myself for some inexcusable reason without a book, I tend to panic. I need to have something to read or I go crazy. Magazines are ok as fillers--I subscribe to 6 different magazines--but they don't fulfill that basic need I have for reading material. I read magazines for information; I read books for entertainment. I don't feel the same contentment sitting in my chair with a magazine as I do with a book. Magazines are ok for breakfast and lunchtime reading and looking at pictures, but a book is far more enjoyable when sitting in my chair, or lounging on the couch in front of the fireplace, or falling asleep with in bed.

Some people I know will only read nonfiction. They are looking for enlightenment and clarification of issues and opinion about the world they live in. While I will occasionally pick up a nonfiction book (usually a history book and particularly a book about American history), my first love is fiction. I love a good story. I love to escape into the pages of a good tale well told.
I can lose myself for hours in that make-believe world created by a good writer.

I first developed a taste for books as a kid, probably 10-12 years old when I discovered the Sherlock Holmes strories of Arthur Conan Doyle. I read every one of them and when they were consumed, I moved on to other stories of the same genre. John D. MacDonald and his Travis McGee whodunits were favorites. I still have the complete collection of that series in paperback sitting on the shelf downstairs. From that early experience, you can probably tell I favor mysteries. I love trying to figure out where the clues are heading and love being surprised by the author's cleverness. Ok, so I'm easily amused. Remember, I said I read for entertainment.

I don't belong to any book clubs, preferring the freebies I can get at the library. I also get books from friends who have read them and enjoyed them and then passed them on to me. When I finish with them I pass them along to someone else. Books are meant to be read, not posessed. Although I do have few books that I won't part with, even if I never intend to read them again. Just seeing them on my bookshelf reminds me of the enjoyment I got from them. I get the titles of new books that interest me from newspaper and magazine reviews and sometimes word of mouth. I have a number of favorite authors whose complete output I have read. I am always discovering new authors whose work delights me and spurs me on to reading more of their stories.

In case you think I am overdosing on the candy of the literary world, I can assure you that I have had a healthy dose of "literature" as well. I delve into the headier stuff from time to time to exersize the intellectual lobes of my brain instead of just feeding the pleasure centers. In fact, some of those more literary offerings are the favorites I won't part with. And, of course, I was exposed to the usual fine reading from the purveyors of education, who insisted that I would be incomplete without the excrutiating experiencce of wading through the muck of unintelligble, self indulgent "art." Still, if I hadn't been bogged down by those murky maunderings at some point, I would be less capable of appreciating the books I do like to read. Honey is so much sweeter when you've tasted the brine.

I'm sure there are some readers who are overwhelmed by the reading choices out there. I know I was at one time. But I eventually realized that I would never be able to read everything ever printed, so I narrowed my focus to include only those works I know I have a resonable expectation of enjoying. To that end, I keep a list of titles and authors that helps me to decide what to check out of the library. The fact that my list is currently 9 pages long and growing, assures me that I will not run out of reading material in the near future.

So many books, so little time. A delicious dilemma, indeed.

mother

"Making a decision to have a child--it's momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart
go walking around outside your body." ----Elizabeth Stone

She cultivates the seed planted within her and patiently awaits the right time, when with a joyous pain, she introduces us to the world. From that point on she'll cherish us, fuss over us, indulge us, minister to our needs, nurse our hurts both great and small, both physical and mental, help us develop our personalities, uphold our right to be ourselves, pamper us, spoil us, wait on us, serve us, tend to us, protect us from all harm, back our endeavors, praise our efforts, brag about our accomplishments, bolster our egos, cultivate our characters, scold us for our misbehaviors, discipline us when we do wrong, revel in our successes, empathize with our losses, educate us in the ways of the world, sustain our dreams, push us in the right direction, pull us back from the brink, guide us on our life's path, rejoice in our independance, and finally let us go, always sending a piece of her heart with us, and she does all this with unconditional love. Thank your mother now.

so call me sexist

Yesterday, after another lunch meeting with my friend Rich, I was on the way home and stopped at a stoplight at a busy intersection. Across the way there was a construction site for what looks like another gas station. Standing next to one of those huge dump trucks that are used to haul all manner of construction materials and debris, were three people, two brawny looking, typical hardhatted construction workers and petite young attractive blonde woman. My immediate reaction, since it was around lunch time, was that the petite blonde was the wife or girlfriend of one of the two guys who maybe stopped by to bring him his lunch. I know. Typical sexist stereotyping on my part.

So I was more than a little surprised when the three of them separated to go back to doing whatever they were supposed to do, and the two brawny guys walked away while the petite blond hopped up into the huge, fully loaded truck and proceeded to haul ass. Not only did she maneuver that behemoth out of the constuction site and into traffic, she did so while holding a cell phone to her ear with her left hand while steering presumably with only her right. And she wasn't taking her time. By the time my light changed to green and I started out after her, following about a block behind, I had to disobey the speed limit to catch up. By the time I came up nearly alongside of the truck in the left lane, we were both going easily 15mph over the speed limit.

So what, you say. Well, I had to revisit my initial reaction to seeing this young woman getting into that truck and actually driving it. Why it struck me as incongruous to see a female driving a dump truck, I don't really know. I've always considered myself to be enlightened about gender issues, having known many strong and capable women in my time. But apparently I still have some neanderthal attitudes about gender equity buried deep in one of the back pockets of my psyche.

I grew up with a mother who had a very strong, take charge personality, who did everything she attempted well, and who would suffer no fools or tolerate incompetance in those she dealt with, Including me. From her I learned that women can do anything. I married a woman with a strong, take charge personality, who does her job remakably well, who manages our household and finances impeccably, and who suffers no fools or tolerates imcompetance around her. (I'm not sure why she keeps me around). I have a daughter who is a Veterinarian, who thinks nothing of frequent visits to Africa where she chases big wild animals around the Bush for research purposes, and who, for recreation, runs marathons and careens down mountain sides on mountain bikes and straps on a snowboard to slide down those same mountains. Feminists all. Strong capable women all. A credit to their gender and the embodimant of female equality.

But I just can't envision any of them driving a dump truck. That seems to be the realm of the potbellied, cigar smoking, tattooed, butt-sagging filthy jeans wearing, cowboy booted, logoed sweat stained baseball cap wearing, cussing and spitting MAN. Perhaps if I saw that pretty little blonde spit out her truck window, I would have been more accepting. Maybe if she had rested her arm out the window to show off a "semper fi" tattoo on a bulging bicept, I could more readily accept her prescence in that big old mud caked dump truck. But as it is, I am haunted by the possibility that I imagined the whole thing. Women driving dump trucks? A petite, long haired blonde, attractive GIRL driving a dump truck? I must have been hallucinating.

impressive springtime

The flowering Crab in the front yard is bursting with blossoms. The blanket of blooms is so thick you can hardly see the branches. The overstuffed blanket will last for only a week and then all will turn green for the rest of the season. But right now the white petals and pink buds are the highlight of the landscape.


I took these pictures yesterday around the yard. I love the new leaves and the buds and blossoms at this time of year. They lose that freshness and are gone all too soon with the heat and usually drier summer weather. By taking these pictures I get to enjoy them longer and will probably refer back to them when the inevitable draught hits us in a couple months.


These Peony buds show only a hint of the splendor to come. In about three weeks those buds will explode into huge white and pink flowers. And then a week after blooming they will be gone for the season. There is so much promise in the air at this time. Enjoy it while we can.

legacy

Sometimes we wonder whether or not our lives have had an impact on others, whether we've left any kind of legacy after a lifetime of work. Mary mentioned just yesterday, after we had spent a couple hours at the Milwaukee Art Museum, that artists and writers and inventors and politicians and researchers and on and on, all leave a tangible or measurable legacy through the work they did. And then, with a moment of mild despair, she wondered what her legacy could possibly be.

As fate would have it, when we arrived home and she sat down to check her email, the following message was waiting for her (I've changed the names to protect the privacy of the writer):

Dear Mrs C,
Hello! It's Jane____ from a few years ago. I know it seems weird that I'm emailing you but I wanted to tell you some things. First of all, things are very good for Brian and I. Bryan is doing very well in college. He's not so crazy about it but he's doing it. I on the other hand am working two jobs, have my own two bedroom apartment, and have been accepted to Alverno College with a $7,000 a year scholarship. Originally I wanted to be a nurse. After some thought I realized my daughter is more important than money. So I'm going to major in education. I want to be there for her for everything she does. I figure that teaching is the best way to go. I enjoy it and it will be on the same schedule she will be on. I don't want to be just any type of teacher, I want to be an English teacher. I never used to like English (or reading) until you became my teacher. You have a passion for it and I enjoyed all of it. All the books, the lessons, even the movies you played to help us understand more. You really put the love of English in me. Thank you. My favorite part of high school was going to your English class. Even when I had to go to Mr W's class it just wasn't the same. You are a great teacher and I hope someday I can teach a class the way you do, with so much energy and passion in what I teach. I just thought I'd let you know how grateful I am to have had you for a teacher. You along with others have changed my life. I'm so grateful. Even Stephanie____is going to school to become a teacher too. And like me it's because of you. I hope to see you soon, but incase I don't, I thought you should know the impact you have on a person's life. Take care. Thanks--Jane

How much more of a legacy can you ask for? To have made that kind of impression on a student is a living legacy far more important and lasting than any thing I might do as an artist. And this isn't the first instance of this kind of encounter with one of her former students. There have been many occasions when Mary has run into someone who has thanked her for the impact she has had on their life. She is now teaching the children of her former students, so her importance to that school community is compounded every day. Whenever she complains about the tough day at school, or the internal bickering and politicing among the faculty, or a recalcitrant student, I like to remind her of the emails and encounters that have shown what a difference she has made in the lives of so many people. After over 30 years of teaching she has affected literally thousands of students. What a legacy!

please play along

The grass has been cut both here and at the cottage, the deck at the cottage has been stained, the plants have all been planted, the chores are done, so now it's time to play.

Today was a special day for me. My son Jonathan and two of his buddies joined me to make up a golf foursome for participation in the Wisconsin Parkinson Association golf outing. This was a fundraising effort for Parkinsons Disease research. It was a beautiful sunshiny day in the 60's with only a slight breeze. In other words, a perfect day for golf. What meant the most to me was that these three young guys were willing to spend their Saturday and a good chunk of money to participate in this fundraiser. Plus they had to put up with me, the old fart who thinks he can still play the game. We had a wonderful time, with a lot of laughs, and even a few pretty good golf shots along the way. The fact that all three of those guys are CPA's meant we had no trouble keeping score, although there were some creative bookkeeping suggestions when some of our putts failed to go in the hole. We didn't win anything as a foursome, but they each won my respect for being there. They even said they were already looking forward to next year's event.

I know that there are so many worthy causes out there that need your donations and support. I think most of the time for many people, the various diseases that need research funds are an abstract idea. We know the research is needed to help find treatments, and ultimately cures, for these conditions. But I think that until you know someone who has Parkinsons or one of any of the other diseases we hear so much about, it's difficult to put a human face to it, to realize that these diseases are real and affecting real people. In that regard, I think it was good for these young men to see me shuffle along and struggle to play along. I put a human face on Parkinsons Disease for them today. And I hope that it will make them more sensitive to the need for fundraising and ongoing research. All I can ask of any of you, is that you look around and see the people who suffer from those conditions and and put a human face on those diseases. And then open your wallets and give what you can.

working at it

I'm off to the cottage for a few days of chores. The deck needs staining, the grass needs cutting, and I have dozen Hostas taken from home cuttings to plant there. If the weather gods will smile on me, I can get all that done and maybe steal a few guilty hours for a round of golf. Staying busy occupies my mind with trivial thoughts and keeps me from pondering the heavier questions that have dwelled there for the past week.

I only wish that Mary would be able to go there with me to help her escape the demons that are messing up her brain. She has her teaching to occupy her daytime hours, but once home for the evening, she has too much time to ruminate on the desperate actions of her brother. I'm hoping that with passage of time, she'll come to an understanding and acceptance and regain her sense of humor and go back to making fun of me and my wide variety of foibles. I need her to laugh at me and with me again. Time heals all wounds, they say. We'll see.

green and getting greener

Spring has arrived with all its usual drama. Wild flucuations in temperature and abundant precipitatioin are the order of the day. Now that it is the first of May, April showers have already given way to the greener landscape we all associate with full fledged springtime.

Yesterday we were treated to an all day rain, one of those springtime showers that goes on and on, one gray cloud after another. Consequently, today, even though it is still cloudy and threatening more rain, you can see the grass growing. Actually, I think you can even HEAR it growing. All that rain and the generous supply of fertilizer I applied a few weeks ago
has the grass nearly exploding out of the ground. If we get a day of sunshine anytime soon, the grass will make a determined effort to take over the world.

I know, that sounds like a complaint. I really do love the vibrant green that the grass displays at this time of year. It is probably part imagination and part reality after the long drab winter that makes it seem so pleasing. And I have no right to complain since I have aided and abetted that green growth by spreading some of those chemical boosters championed by Mr. Scotts and his ilk. But with current gas prices hovering at the precipice of the $3.00 cliff, my enthusiasm for springtime grass growth is tempered somewhat by the realization that the lawnmower uses an inordinant amount of that costly fuel. I would prefer to cut the stuff once a week instead of every three days.

The other part of springtime growth that always gets my head thinking good thoughts is the new shoots of Hostas and Daylillies that emerge into the new season. The Daylillies have a strong start already with some leaves knee high. But most of the Hostas are still tentative and unsure if it is safe to show their heads just yet. Some varieties are earlier starters than others, but even they seem reluctant to test the air. Then all of a sudden one day they will be in full leafy regalia, having snuck up on us once again.

The Tulips and Daffodils have come and gone already, with a few stragglers still in bloom. All the bushes and trees are bursting with buds and cute little leaves that are in the toddler stage right now, but they, too, will suddenly mature and show fulll grown adult leaves in just a few more days. Most of the plants always seem to be in a rush to get here only to trudge through the doldrums of a hot and often dry summer. Don't they know they are supposed to slow down and stop to smell lthe roses?

One of the good things we have going for us is that, with our cottage a couple hours north of here, if we miss a bit of the reawakening here, the springtime growth there is delayed by a week or two, giving us a second chance at delight. Of course, that also means we have twice as much grass to cut. But a bit of extra work is worth the sacrfice for the reward that we get.

Did you just hear that? I could swear I just heard the grass calling me with a plaintive cry of "cut me, cut me." How can I not answer the call? The smell of newly mowed grass is one of the greatest treats available to us. I plan to overinduldge.