Joke, No Joke

Dear Maria,

Thanks for the birthday wishes, much appreciated. I did, and only half in jest, joke about becoming Medicare eligible at the beginning of the month. Milestones, you know. And I did once again trot out my standard line about how being upright is all right, not only for my birthday but for a friend as well—older, by the way.

Jokey, but not.

Yesterday the odometer in the truck rolled around finally to 160,000 miles. Not bad for a 2006 that had 35,000 miles on it when I bought it in February of ’07. Hit this mark as I pulled into my driveway after several errands. Made me laugh. I did think that 10 years from now I can be the old guy with that old truck in the neighborhood.

Spare me the retort—too obvious by a million miles.

I have been thinking about your—what would be the word—lament, or uneasiness, or uncertainty about the worthiness of doing the work that you gave so much time, obviously, and effort to for more than 3 decades.

You did the work earnestly and honorably, diligently and passionately. Your employers got their money’s worth, and someone—more than one, no doubt—had a better experience as a result.

And there is that whole modeling behavior element. Surely you were watched doing the job, and so you demonstrated a way of going about the work and your replacement may draw on your example.

Pointedly, I trace some of my efforts in the classroom to a particular teacher in high school. I hope that my work, my approach, served some students well. Some of those students are themselves teaching now, and perhaps they continue directly and/or indirectly under my influence and they will have students who become teachers. And surely my teacher had teachers who influenced him. A long thread reaching back, to be sure, and spinning forward I hope.

Maybe my mantra of one, one reader or one neighbor or one student being reached or touched in a positive manner seems too limited in scope. But that one-at-a-time count can add up, or so I have come to believe.

And then there is that whole example by failure. I’ll save that for another letter—or a book.

I know you are counting the days for your homecoming. Here leaves are yellowing, the grass is showing signs of slowing down—that mowing thing, and August nears its end.

Be well.

Fondly,

srk

Small Matters

Dear Maria,

Thank you for the picture of the Gambel’s quail, which was a new one to me. Take a look at the Eastern kingbird, which was a new one to me here. Two hung out on our fences in the evenings over a week or so, and then gone.

I am sorry, of course, to hear the length of your stay is now uncertain again. Frustrating for you, obviously. Maybe the kids can get out there again for the holidays—which must seem very far off and so I guess the notion is not so helpful. But, maybe.

How amazing that at Saguaro you should run into your friend from junior high days. And she, too, has two children. Sounds like that visit was good medicine.

My coincidences of late are pretty trivial. I mentioned to my parents that the goldfinches were all about the sunflowers among the apple trees in the mornings and evenings. The next week, I read Thoreau make the same observation in one of his journals—goldfinches and sunflowers. A small detail, but I found the shared experience kind of heartening across the years and miles.

The other moment happened last night. I have mentioned several times to folks that I am fortunate not to be stung given the number of bees around the lavender, milkweed, and Roses of Sharon. When I am sharing their space, I do tell them not to waste their energy coming after me—why not talk to them? Nothing lost one way or another. And so far, so good.

Except, except, wasps are also in the airspace. Last night, somehow, one managed to get underneath my t-shirt as I brought my stuff inside for night. I shook my t-shirt unaware of exactly what was under there, and then, pop! That electric pinprick. I pulled off my shirt and shook it and the little demon dropped down on the floor. Oh, yes, I stomped it into the oblivion.

Truth be told—and so no heroic spin—no swelling, not even a mark, and no soreness after 5 minutes or so.  Feel free to laugh, or at least chuckle.

The past week, more and more geese are overnighting on the lake—40-60 now. And more seem to be coming in for a break during the afternoon. Early in August, I know, but days shorten and the sun shifts a little more southward. So the shade says.

Of course, your summer is summering hard on. 

What awaits is hard to say. Do as well as you can. Many look forward to your return home.

Yours,

srk