What's Past and What's to Come

I'm at my annual writer's retreat and am getting a lot done, so I don't have much in the way of photos this year. I want to dedicate this blog to one of my teachers, Kenneth O. Hanson, whom I learned last night had died in 2003. When I was a young and evidently very impressionable first year student, I saw him out walking on our wooded campus. He looked preoccupied and so I didn't rush over to greet him in characteristic style. I was however perplexed by his activities so the next time I saw him in class, I asked what he had been doing walking out in the campus wilds. His reply was simple and perhaps even obvious enough and yet it was one of those things that overpowered me with its implications. Like Bernstein's story in Citizen Kane about the woman with the white parasol*, I have thought about this moment from my college years frequently and as a reminder of what it means to be a poet, a scholar and a mindful human being. I was saddened to learn that you had died, Professor Hanson and appreciate what you have taught me about what is valuable in life. Here are two images from my walk. I have only two, because I spent the rest of the time in thought and the thoughts were the more valuable of the experience.




* The comment in Citizen Kane is as follows:

"A fellow will remember a lot of things you wouldn't think he'd remember. You take me. One day, back in 1896, I was crossing over to Jersey on the ferry, and as we pulled out, there was another ferry pulling in, and on it there was a girl waiting to get off. A white dress she had on. She was carrying a white parasol. I only saw her for one second. She didn't see me at all, but I'll bet a month hasn't gone by since that I haven't thought of that girl." Cited from Wikipedia I bet a month hasn't gone by since that I haven't thought about this comment!

Age and Loss

The older one gets the more one seems to have to deal with loss. One would think that this would make the act of grieving easier, as if with each loss one was able to detach a little bit more from the world and thus make the thoughts of one own's passing increasingly easier. Perhaps it is the other way around and we fight our own mortality harder each time. Of course there is also a third possibility. It could be that this really has nothing to do with us, but is simply the pain of knowing that something beautiful and kind has disappeared from the world never to be encountered again.

It has been a hard year for the family here at Purple Worms. In the last several months a dear friend, a cherished colleague, a mother-in-law, the last uncle and now an animal member of the family have passed on. Winter is a time of death and he has claimed his rights this year in extreme.

On Wednesday we lost our beloved cat, Deja. She has not appeared too often on this blog because she is what I used to refer to fondly as a "cat without a face." A sweet and delicate soul, she was a tortoise shell Persian cat, with a face so dark, that it was nigh impossible to photograph. Not only that, but through the years as I strove in vain to photograph her, she absorbed the timing of the flash and learned to blink always at just the right moment.


We had her some 13 years and have no real idea of her age, but despite her delicacy she ran our household with an iron hand, making sure that water bowls got changed, people got up when they were supposed to and that items placed where they didn't belong got replaced.

I have a few images I would like to leave with you. None reflect the true beauty of her face and personality, but they are what I have. I have posted this image before. It is not Dejá at her most lady-like, but it shows her iron will and her beautiful green and gold eyes, so very rarely apparent in the photos I collected over the year.


Dejá now resides in the Pet cemetery on the east side of the house with Bart the dog, Hagen, Snuffy and my much missed Naphta. It's time to turn back toward the living and remember how important our interactions with others are. I know today I will think twice before I make a sarcastic comment to a colleague or continue working when someone wants to interrupt me and I will certainly hug every member of my household an extra heartfelt and meaningful time and be mindfully thankful for the blessings of each presence.