It Is Yesterdayʼs Tomorrow
Yesterdayʼs post generated the most hits my poor blog has yet allured. I guess I should feel happy. However, it was a post that, as I indicated, arose only with some desperation as a mere rant when I faced repeated intermittent outages of my internet connection. I wasnʼt even attempting to be fully coherent in my writing.
I was intrigued that my rather random swipe at crude-spewing BP generated the most reaction that I have garnered here as well. Thanks, Ted, for continuing to take an interest in my floundering opinions. And I feel somewhat sapped in my writing ingenuity for today, having taken time to compose replies to several of the comments there. Perhaps I should just refer everyone to that as todayʼs post…
Most interesting to me, however, was that somehow my little blog, hidden blushing away in its tiny, darkened (and relatively unvisited) corner of the digital universe, was able to the draw the attention of personnel from Qwest Communications itself in response to the actual issue discussed in the post — my rather tentative internet connection. I do appreciate the interest and really rapid (and unexpected) response of Steph Lake, Manager, Talk To Qwest Team (shouldnʼt “Talk to Qwest” be hyphenated in that usage, by the way, as one massive adjective modifying “Team?”), for taking the time and trouble to notice my little rant and then actually respond. As I noted in my reply, I sent her the requested e-mail ASAP. As my normal action in response to the interruptions was originally a suggestion from not-very-interested Qwest support technicians, I wait breathlessly to discover how different this exchange may be. (Unfortunately, I fear the need to mow the lawn may interfere with my receipt of a phone call this afternoon.)
I am genuinely grateful that (although unpaid at this particular activity) I have found some readers (including whoever all it is that has created that large dot on the ClusterMap in Southern California that I donʼt personally understand).
I was saddened this week to learn that a teacher of beloved memory had died this week, aged 92. Mrs. Barbara Anderson was my sophomore English teacher, a powerful influence upon me and my life, whose tender direction and inspiration helped me to decide to become a teacher myself. Mrs. Anderson taught me Julius Caesar (coincidentally quoted yesterday), the first time I had (I redden to admit) read any Shakespeare. She also got me to take charge of my writing (and I think I will post the oldest piece of writing I still possess, an essay that I composed for her class). I hope my own impact on young people was to any degree marginally sufficient compared to her encompassing intelligence, interest, care and kindness. I have been blessed with wonderful teachers at crucial junctions in my life (perhaps there is a post in that subject). She was a leader in that sainted congregation.
I thank Dave and Maureen Edwards of Mt. Pleasant, who took the necessary time to post notice of Mrs. Andersonʼs demise.
Furthermore, Janetʼs maternal grandmother passed away yesterday not long after noon. Although I had not spoken with her in a long time (too long), Virginia Kula (Grandma Kula or Granda Ginny to our generation) always made me feel welcome and at home in Janetʼs clan. As Janetʼs mother noted when she called with the news, “Sheʼs in a better place now.” And I would hope she is, reunited at long last with her beloved husband Ray (also a favorite Janet-relative of mine).
Death does make us reflect. We shouldnʼt be too callous or casual in our personal relations. After all, who knows what may be the last word or action you exchange with someone? Thanks to my father, my own motherʼs passing was well organized, even staged, while he was ripped away from us unexpectedly in an icy accident. Although, as I noted here, he and I were getting on closer terms (and he adored Janet and my first apartment together), too much was never said, never apologized (on my side), never healed or understood. Or forgiven.
My sophomore year in high school feels like it wasnʼt that long ago. But it was. My lifetime has intervened since then, and now so much is gone, lost, I hope not forgotten (yet). I have done so much reflecting on my experiences here, but all of that belonged to a young guy that isnʼt me really. I evolved out of him. We all do. Still I treasure all the moments that I retain, revealed and unspoken, sensing the kernels of myself and the treasured gleams of brightness from all those who have touched my being with their presence and their care.