Passages and Markers

September 10, 2016, Prescott- This was a day of gatherings and  of paying attention to “urgent” messages.  I have learned that the latter is usually a matter of perception.  The former is how we survive and thrive, as a species.

I made my usual visit to the Prescott Farmer’s Market, buying a bit more than usual, so as to bolster the contents of my evening healthy shake.  A trip over to a yard sale, organized by Baha’i friends, gave me a chance to pick up some books and other items that should capture the interest of the children in my care.

Then it was off to a memorial service for John A. Mortimer, about whom I wrote, two weeks ago.  The chapel service was solemn and done with military honours.  I found it touching and lovely.  The gathering at our American Legion Post, afterwards, was packed, as befits his memory.  One who fully lives, until the age of 96, is unlikely to be bid farewell, without fanfare.

John had the full send-off, and 87 or so people gave him all the love and respect he had earned.

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The above was part of the 70th Anniversary of the D-Day Landing, June 6, 2014.

Today is my mother’s birthday.  No one has been, and is, more of an influence as to how I have turned out as an adult than Lila Mae Kusch Boivin.  She it was, who kept after me to pay attention to my surroundings, to be proactive, to not use my affliction as a crutch, to not wait for an invitation to be of help to those around me.  She it was, who did everything on my behalf- from getting after a hard-edged teacher and a know-it-all school counselor, when she felt they were failing to meet my needs, to seeing that I didn’t wallow in self-pity, on any one of a dozen occasions in my adult life, not the least, when my beloved wife passed to the next plane.   On all the occasions when she thought I was tuning her out, it turns out that I was actually storing all that instruction, and have put it to full use, ever since.  She it is, who is behind my survival and relative success.

She wants to live on, fully, and no one is more behind her on this, than yours truly.  Happy 88th, dearest Mother. (My nephew is conveying our collective sentiments, in this photo of three years ago.)

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