Education is wasted on the young.......

Not really. Of course, education is for the young but, having spent over 30 years in middle school (I'm a VERY slow learner!), I'm immensely aware of all the developmental, emotional, social, and physical aspects of growing up that sometimes get in the way of learning.

Teaching adults who want to learn is nirvana.

I'm in the middle of teaching a five week series on the Art of Spain at the library of a nearby town. The people, a mixture of middle-aged and younger senior citizens, come because they want to learn something about El Greco, Velásquez, Goya, Picasso and/or Dalí. Most have traveled to Spain. Many have done some research on the artist prior to coming to the class. They ask excellent questions. They ask me about how "my" artist compares to another artist of the time. They ask for book suggestions to follow up on the class. A few try out their Spanish on me. They even came last week in spite of a violent, scary downpour that knocked out power in most of their homes.

I'd do this even if they didn't pay me, but don't tell them that.

Too bad we have to wait until our 40's or later to be able to learn without the adolescent's fear of tripping over too-big feet, embarrassment over the zits, or the agony of looking foolish in front of a girl or boy they like. How sad we have to wait to learn without the little child's fear of leaving mommy at home, of not having the coordination to cut or hold a pencil easily, of the uncertainty of making friends.

Oh, the adrenalin rush of teaching those who are past all that growing up stuff!

God, I have a question...or two

I strongly agree with a former pastor who says that his first question when he meets God will be, "Why mosquitos?".

After that issue is settled, my second question will be much more complex and involves the whole "why" of our existence on earth.

My cousin died last week. At only 58. Don had a very rare form of cancer called Waldenstrom's Macroglobulinemia.

Don was perhaps the smartest person I've known and also one who doggedly followed what he believed. He had a free ride to Stanford, but chose not to parlay his education into a lucrative career. He became interested in a movement called "Co-Housing" and worked with that organization for many years. In co-housing, groups of people choose to own their own residences, but live in community with neighbors sharing several meals a week, maintaining common living areas and acting as family to each other. Don and his wife have lived in a co-housing community in California for at least 20 years. As a side-bar to co-housing, Don and his wife were passionate about organic food and healthy lifestyles long before they became mainstream concepts.

Don and his wife traveled in Latin America often until recent years. Without any formal instruction in Spanish, Don just set about to master the language and embarrassed me with his fluency that surpassed mine acquired in more traditional ways. Passionately, they saw the poverty in Guatemala and set about working to help the rural villages. Later passions included astronomy and anything scientific he could lay his hands on, becoming an expert in field after field. Don, however, never drew attention to himself remaining gentle, calm, and positive.

When Don was first diagnosed about ten years ago, he made the disease his business. On the personal front, he found the very best medical care available to him, happily undertook experimental treatments, learned everything possible about his rare disease, exercised avidly and ate carefully. He became active on the board of the Waldenstrom's research foundation...a plus for us as he came to Chicago for board meetings every year or so.

For most of those 10 years, Don lived a pretty normal life, seeming to bounce back from occasional setbacks. Then last November the disease took his sight, in August it took his hearing and much of his feeling. Thinking of Don's active mind cut off from communication was beyond understanding. I rejoice that he is riding his bike and google-ing like crazy again in God's presence.

When someone dies in their prime as Don did, we are so aware of the achievements of their lives. We mourn the future years on earth that will not be.

The day after I heard about Don's death, I attended a memorial for the mother of a friend. I have only know our friend's mother as a very depressed woman in her 90's. At the service, however, her son talked at length about the joyous, faith-filled woman of her younger years.

At my mother's nursing home, I see so many people who no longer are aware of their surroundings, I see people like Mom who have their intellect but struggle with physical woes, I see people who weeks ago seemed totally "with it" beginning to lose "it".

And I try to remind myself that, just as my friend described his younger mother, all these folks have professional and personal histories unknown to me.

We learn from someone like Don whose lifetime achievements are so apparent to us. I fear that too often we are so involved in the struggles of the final years of folks like those at the nursing home that we forget the lessons they, too, taught through their earlier lives and achievements.

And we ask why people die young and why some old people linger for years in sad circumstances.

Someday we'll understand....right after we understand why mosquitos were created.

When the Ordinary Becomes Extraordinary

We didn't take an official vacation this summer, but during this first summer with an iPhone I found myself taking pictures of some ordinary events that previously would not have been photographed. It struck me that these ordinary photos really reflect some very extraordinary events.

4th of July: Ordinary: Picnic on the golf course before fireworks. Extraordinary: Sharing this annual event with the same people for about 30 years!

Mid-August in Fond du Lac, Wisconsin: Ordinary: A steam engine on display in the park.
Extraordinary: The latest in a long stream of steam machines I've seen with Ken over thirty years. The chance that we'll run into a steam engine, steam tractor or other cool steam-driven machine is why I always carry a book, but watching one's spouse get excited every time is cool!
August: North Lake, Wisconsin: Ordinary: A visit to a Wisconsin Lake. Extraordinary: Being welcomed "as family" at dear friends' lake home for about the 30th time...and drinking my annual beer(s) on their patio. This time, even a local egret joined us.


Downtown Chicago: Ordinary: a walk down State street. Extraordinary: Enjoying the giant eye ball! A reminder of how much I love living in this large city where there is always something unusual going on!



Chicago Botanic Gardens: August Ordinary: Visiting these beautiful gardens on a sunny Saturday. Extraordinary: Being able to enjoy them with an 88 year old mother who has her intellect and sense of humor fully in place.



July: Ordinary: Having painted walls and bi-fold closet doors in upstairs bedrooms. Extraordinary: Finally having painted walls and bi-fold closet doors after 20+ years of 60's fake
wood paneling and impossible to open closet doors!



September: Ordinary: Friday morning walk with friends. Extraordinary: Being blown away by the early fall beauty of the suburban walking path near my home!

The Apple folks probably didn't design the iPhone so that we'd become a little more aware of the small miracles and extraordinary sights around us, but it looks like it has had that affect on me!

A Teacher's Influence

I had an incredible gift today. I was able to sit across the table from a former teacher and thank her for changing my life.

In 1963 I began college at a new, very small public teachers' college in Chicago. In many respects it was an extension of high school - everyone lived at home and commuted, everyone knew everyone, we all followed the same set curriculum, we all were destined to be elementary teachers in Chicago public schools. And, by the way, there was about one boy for every hundred girls enrolled.

As part of the set curriculum everyone had to take either Spanish, Chinese or Russian. Having not excelled at my high school Latin, I chose the supposedly "easy" language and hoped to get through the required semesters with "C's". As freshmen we were assigned our schedule and I ended up in Dr. O's Spanish class, an experimental section. Dr. O was piloting a new and unusual curriculum and would be our teacher for all four trimesters. Little did I know that this roll of the scheduling dice would shape my future.

After a few weeks I discovered that I was enjoying Spanish. When I came to the end of the required courses, I took a Spanish elective because I wasn't ready to give it up. I "tried on" several other subject areas as my "area of concentration", but kept coming back to Spanish. Finally, I gave up and signed on in Spanish. Then "stuff" just started happening.

First Dr. O, as department chair, needed some assistance and offered me a part time job working in her office. Later that morphed into a job in the language lab (think putting the right reel to reel tapes on the recorders). Later somehow I ended up as president of the Spanish club and putting on a huge international night at the school and meeting lots of native speakers. Somehow that morphed into working with high school students who came to the university for a city wide Spanish club. Somehow that morphed into being recommended for and accepted at a summer government sponsored institute for future Spanish teachers in Texas (think post-Sputnik emphasis on catching up with those Russians). Somehow that morphed into a summer studying in Mexico. The final undergraduate morphing was being the first student at our college to be assigned to student teach in the (gasp!) suburbs. (At that point, Dr. O effectively handed me over to my next strong female mentor, Mrs. B, who eventually got me into publishing and presenting...but that's another story.)

Along the way, my relationship with Dr. O morphed from scared freshman/teacher to friend. She got to know my family when they attended events at the college. She came to my house with her young daughters one Saturday so that I could teach her daughters how to sew doll clothes. She introduced several of us to Cuban groceries, restaurants and Spanish language movie theaters. I was invited to her home and knew her family.

Then I got busy with teaching, got married, had a family and we rarely saw each other. In the early 80's Dr. O retired and, at her retirement dinner, several of us who were at home with young children made plans with Dr. O to meet monthly for Spanish conversation. So, once again, I was taught by Dr. O. We'd get baby sitters and spend an afternoon talking in Spanish, being gently corrected when necessary, and being sounding boards for each other.

Then I went back to teaching and we lost track of each other again. Last fall I read her husband's obituary and felt terrible that I didn't even have an address so I could send a sympathy card.

Time passed. Out of the blue I got a call from an acquaintance who happened to have Dr. O's address. I wrote her a condolence note and suggested lunch. She called and today we got together.

And I was able to say those exact words, "You know, you changed my life."

Too bad she had to wait until her late 80's to hear those words. I feel very blessed to have been able to say them!