Oh, Neato!

The Life and Times of Marion E. Sevigny

March 12, 1922-May 29, 2009

By Sharon Lakey

“Sev and I were in Florida, retired in a nice, clean development. Every morning, we would sit at our breakfast table and watch the ambulance go by--in for someone and out with someone. We looked at each other and knew this wasn’t for us. That’s when we decided to come back to Danville and give the time we had left to our own community.”

That’s how I remember Marion’s story about how she and her husband Paul--who she often referred to as “Sev”--felt about retirement. We were on our way back from a library meeting in Montpelier, chatting in the car. She was dressed in her usual attire—a skirted dark suit, white blouse and heels. Not a hair out of place. When I dropped her at the library, she took her powder blue file box from the back seat, and we said goodbye.

That’s the most intimate conversation I ever had with Marion. Her veneer could be intimidating, but under that impeccable surface lived a thinker and a doer, and that conversation helped me understand why this woman and her husband were at the epicenter of all things Danville.

Marion was the first of five children born to Howard and Alice Calkins: Marion, Roy (Deke), Paul, Leland (Gus), Carmen and Zana. “Marion was A+, you know,” points out her brother Deke, “I was down the alphabet some.” He also went on to explain that while Marion was hitting the books, he was doing the chores, something he says he didn’t mind doing.

Her penchant for neatness probably came from her mother, Alice. The family still tells of their mother’s memorable trip to school to fetch daughter Zana, who had failed to make her bed! Carmen laughs, telling a story about her sister Marion’s neatness. “She was watching me as a baby, and I dirtied a diaper. Horrified, she plunked me into a pillowcase to avoid the mess but waited for my brother Paul to come home and change me.”

True to her studious nature, Marion was named the Salutatorian of her class in 1940. Classmates and staff were already in awe of her organization and ability to keep books. From the yearbook Danville Hi-Ways classmate Nathan Morrill wrote in the class gifts: “To Marion Calkins I present this law book, hoping it will give her the exact points she can prove her arguments by.” Classmate Frances Roberts wrote in the class will: “To the next School Comptroller, we will Marion Calkins’ ability to keep books—alone!” Principal Manning added: “All class treasurers will please meet Marion Calkins after school so she can check up on your bank books.”

And in class epitaphs:

“Marion Calkins,

Here we see,

Passed away,

When she got a D.”

Classmate Donald Douse, in the same yearbook, wrote an interesting essay that questioned our country’s ability to remain neutral in the European war. Just over a year later, after Marion graduated from Champlain College, it was no longer a question, and her life would take a new direction.

Her boyfriend at the time, Paul Sevigny, had joined the Air Force and was determined to fly. In his memoir, he writes, “In May, 1943, I wound up back at Sheppard Field, Texas, to learn how to assemble the new gliders we would get overseas in five crates. While there, my girlfriend from high school days asked her parents if she could come to Texas to see me. Her dad said, ‘Sure, go ahead, but don’t marry that little Frenchman. He will never amount to a tinker’s damn.’ Well, she came down and we got married the day she arrived.”

That was the beginning of Marion’s life as a military spouse, who traveled the world with Paul throughout his 24-year career. Sister Zana explains, “She was an involved military wife. While Paul was away, she never complained, and she always worked.” That life had its high points, especially in the 50’s when Paul got into racecar driving.

From Paul’s memoir, he writes of the couple’s trip to Los Angeles, “We [he and Marion] went to the sales place and saw this beautiful XK-120 M Jaguar, bright red, and it had been clocked at 142 miles per hour at a trial in Belgium. Well, we…drove out with this Jaguar. When we got to the race …we ended up in the pit area where all the race drivers were…We had a ball there with many people looking over our new Jaguar. One movie star, Paul Newman, who was racing said, “Hey, take it around a few laps!”

Two of Marion’s siblings credit the globetrotting couple as instrumental in their own careers. Zana, the youngest said, “They were my mentors. One trip back home, they took my friend and me to Boston to see the Ice Follies. It was my first trip to Boston. And as I neared graduation, they convinced my parents that I needed to go to college. After college, they convinced them I needed my masters.” She did both, with an undergraduate degree from the University of Vermont and a graduate degree from the University of Michigan in the field of special education. Carmen credits Paul and Marion with encouraging her to join the US Air Force, where she worked as a nurse.

Paul and Marion were thinking about a future in Danville when Paul wrote: “In 1954, I was promoted to captain and my wife and I had a chance to purchase Diamond Hill Cabins in our hometown of Danville, Vermont. [We] drove the Jaguar back to Vermont and purchased the 14 acres and 12 cabins. It was a summer business, so we planned on Marion running the business in the summer and join me in the winter.”

The couple continued to manage the cabins for a few years after Paul’s military retirement. He left the Air Force with a rank of major. After their short attempt at full retirement in Florida, they returned to Danville with their newfound goal of “community” before them. Marion went to work for Bruce Corrette at his accounting firm, where she remained for 40 years. During off-hours, Marion joined Paul in their dedication to community. As her good friend and co-worker Irene Trudholme said, “I never saw Marion and Paul socially, because they were so civic-minded. I think that defined their life together.”

One cohort in her activities was Steve Cobb, who owns and runs the Danville Restaurant and Inn. He called his relationship them as a “close friendship,” one they developed over 30 years. Paul and Marion became two of his best customers. Stories of their selfless gifting abound, and Steve shares this one. As chair of the building committee for the Danville Methodist Church, she would ask him yearly to be thinking about something the Church really needed. “When we were working on our handicapped accessibility remodel, Marion ordered a dozen donuts from me. When Paul came to pick up the donuts, he handed me a check for $2,000, written to the Church. They did things like that,” said Steve.

Marion offered him advice, too, in his own role as community volunteer. When he was President of the Pope Library, she told him, “’Always choose your helpers by what they can offer either physically or financially.’ It’s a piece of advice I’ve often thought about.”

The “neat thing” never left her, either. Steve remembers Marion showing up on a Sunday for a library cleaning in a blue blazer, matching pants, white-collared shirt, heels, and yellow rubber gloves. Former Town Clerk, Ginny Morse, remembers going on a cemetery clean up with her in a similar outfit, and Carmen and her daughter, Chelle, still laugh about Marion gardening in pantyhose and pumps.

This joy of tidiness is best described in Marion’s own words. Carmen shared the story of how Marion reacted when she showed her older sister how she had fixed up a basement room for her young daughter. When she beheld Carmen’s handiwork, Marion stopped mid-stair and exclaimed, ‘Oh, Neato!’”

“Neatness was one of her bugaboos, alright,” said Ginny. “She would order a dozen donuts and pound of coffee from Steve for the town garage crew every once in a while. It gave her an excuse to down there to see if everything was in order. She didn’t like to see a lot of spare parts lying around. Marion took a lot of pride in the Town and wanted it to be shipshape.”

As a Town Selectman for 18 years (Selectman being the designation she preferred) Ginny said, “She was a peacekeeper, but very firm. If she had an issue, she held to her position-- very calm, very determined and very steely. She was one of the most delightful people I’ve ever met. Danville is going to miss her in so many ways.”

In 1993, Marion and Paul celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary at the Danville Restaurant and Inn. It was a joyous occasion for the couple, and Paul lived another seven years before passing away in 2000. After his death, Marion continued in her service to the community and her job. According to family members, she and Paul had decided that upon their deaths their legacy of community service would continue. Always well prepared, Marion made plans that the estate would be divided up and given to community organizations in percentages that she and Paul had previously identified.

Over the last several years, Marion’s health began to deteriorate, though she was able to work through it. Her eyesight was difficult and there was a circulation problem in one of her legs. A stint, put in to improve circulation, brought on a staph infection that complicated her recovery. Her doctors told her an amputation was a necessity.

Though she had fought long, she made a decision at that time that “enough was enough,” said Zana, who was honored to spend the last week by her side. “She never wavered in her decision. Dartmouth Hitchcock was outstanding in meeting her request to be kept as comfortable as possible. There was no fear of death on her part, no delusions. She and Sev had talked this over. She said it was her time to go, and she was ready to rejoin him. Whenever Marion set a goal, she went for it.” She died with dignity on May 29, 2009.

Marion’s eulogy was read by her niece, Marion E. McHugh, Zana’s daughter from Raleigh, NC:

“Being her namesake has come with responsibility, and I am honored to rise to the occasion. My prayer is that the legacy of Marion E. Sevigny transcends time. Here is what I believe MARION stands for:

M is for Mighty in spirit and work—no one can deny that Marion was a hard worker.

A is for Always generous and kind—with her possessions and time.

R is for Right choices—doing the right thing. The things we learned when we were young still apply when we are old.

I is for Integrity and accountability.

O is for Oath—she was a woman of her word.

N is for Negotiator of peace—Jesus said on a hill long ago…blessed are the peacemakers for they will be called the sons and daughters of God (Matthew 5:9).

On this day, we have the peace of God that passes all understanding. We love you Marion E. Sevigny!”

This article first published in the North Star Monthy, July, 2009

To view the accompanying photo album, click here:

The Dream of Dairy Farming is Alive in Danville

The new Carson Family Farm is up and running

By Sharon Lakey

Twenty-five-year-old Casey Carson leaned forward in the chair, his eyes lit with determination. “I don’t consider it a risk. I went into this with the attitude that it is going to work.”

Striking out on his own as a dairy farmer in tough economic times is daring in anyone’s book. It is also a hopeful sign that dreams still flourish in an industry that has been in decline in our state for a long time now. Presently, only nine Danville farms are shipping milk; the Carson Family Farm, the newest, began shipping to Horizon Organic in March.

Dreams take a lot of work and support from many corners to become a reality. For Casey, the idea generated from a love of place. Many Danville residents may remember him from his youth; he and his brothers, Brett and Asa, were those handsome boys driving a pair of young oxen in Danville Fair parades. The Carson land lies between the villages of Danville and North Danville. Beautiful rolling acres spread out on both sides of the road, and the stately Kittredge Hills stand guard in the distance.

Grandparents Leonard and Helena lived just down the road from Partridge Lane where the boys grew up under the watchful eye of Janet, their mother. Though they never milked, they raised beef, and the whole family got together in summers to do the haying. This effort kept 114 acres of Carson land free of forest.

After graduating from Danville High School in 2002, Casey found work milking at two local dairies: the Webster farm in Danville and the Kempton farm in Peacham. In the fall, he entered Vermont Technical College to study dairy, but it was always a “hands-on” education that compelled Casey. He sought and landed a job at Sprague’s Dairy Farm in Brookfield, VT, an operation milking 400 head, three times a day. “I was spending a lot more time out there than in class,” Casey admits. He quickly decided college wasn’t for him.

In the back of his mind was a burning question, one that was put to him by two older mentors when he was hiring out as a milker. Don Moore of Peacham and Matthew Lindstrom of Molly’s Pond asked him, “What are your long term plans? Where are you going from here?”

Hoping to answer that question, he decided to try his hand at milking on his own. He rented a farm in 2005 from Melvin Churchill in Cabot. Finding the barn too small, he looked for a larger space and moved his cows to an empty barn owned by Betty and Albert Ackerman, where he milked through the winter of 2007. But when the Ackerman grandchildren decided they wanted to milk, he was out of a barn and ended up selling his herd to them.

Without a barn, what was he to do? “My Grandfather and Mom were very supportive,” says Casey, and the thought of placing a new barn on Carson land took hold. When he expressed self-doubt, he remembers his mom’s reflective words, “Money worries everyone.” Fellow Danville dairyman, Everett McReynold’s encouraged him as well, and Casey came up with a plan. The Vermont Economic Development Authority (VEDA) thought the plan sound and family support worthy, because they offered him loans to build the barn and start operations. “They’re working with me,” said Casey, who will begin to pay back the loan this fall.

Those driving the road between North Danville and Danville last summer saw the dream-barn emerge, stick by stick. With added muscle from Jesse Kittredge, Geoff Pelletier and Ryan Ward, who helped set the posts and carrying beam, the big barn gradually appeared. It’s located in the field just behind his boyhood home, set at an artistic angle to the road and painted red. The free stall design was chosen for the convenience of a one-person milking operation. “I think it’s better for the cows, too,” said Casey, “because they can walk around.” The design also allows for lots of airflow, keeping the barn fresh during Vermont’s long winters.

Leonard got to see the barn, but didn’t get to see it in action. “It really hurt me when he died; he was a big support for me,” said Casey of his death in early January. In spirit he is there, though, in the form of a portrait hanging in the tank room and his red tractor sitting beside the barn along with Casey’s yellow Caterpillar Challenger. The skid steer, used to clean the barn, is yet to arrive.

Casey decided to go organic because of the size of his farm and a higher price for the product. He likes the management style that comes with organic, too, because the cows must be able to pasture. To accommodate their range, he will work to clear more of the pastures that have grown up. Grain is purchased from Morrison Custom Feeds in Barnet, who handle organic feeds in the area. “I trust them,” he says. Fieldwork is hired out to Matt Gilman of Wheelock.

His favorite cows are a cross between Holstein and Jersey. “Holstein for the production and Jersey for the milk quality,” said Casey. He purchased young cows that had never been milked this spring from John and Beverly Rutter, who were downsizing their herd. The bank considers a cow viable for three to four years, but “they can go longer if organic, because you aren’t pushing production so hard,” said Casey. For the next few years, he plans to milk around 60, but his eventual goal is to milk 80, a figure he feels is economically sound and matches the size of his barn and acreage.

Though there is no set schedule, a typical day for Casey might go like this:

5:00: up for morning milking (1 ½ hour job)

7:30-8:00 feed the cows

Break: never set, but sometime between 8:00 and 9:00

Fencing and odd jobs

12:00: lunch

More work around the farm

4:30: get ready to milk

5:00: evening milking

7:00 to 7:30: finished

On the day of this interview, Casey was hard at work with a very important partner—two-year-old Taylor, his daughter. It was the evening milking time, 4:30 in the afternoon on a cold April day. “She loves the barn,” said Casey, and it was apparent from everything she did. The child was in perpetual motion. First, she used her little pink shovel, then loaded a bucket for feeding the calf, then practiced using the cups for the milking apparatus, then moved a few cow piles from one place to another with a hoe in the unused side of the milk parlor. Finally, she asked her dad if she could lie down, and he escorted her into the front room where there was a couch for Taylor’s well-deserved nap.

“It only takes about an hour and a half to milk now,” said Casey, moving easily from one cow to the next in the milking parlor. Perhaps all those hours working the oxen as a kid helped, because everything went smoothly for the young cows. Two were confused when entering the parlor, but in short order Casey was able to talk them through it without raising his voice. “I used to yell a lot, but yelling doesn’t really get you anywhere,” he said.

What kind of person does it take to dairy? “It’s hard to tell,” said Casey. “You have to like to work, especially outside. You never know what’s going to happen, and there’s always something to do. It takes the right kind of person to want to dairy.”

To view other photos related to this article, click here.

This article was first published in June issue of The North Star Monthly.

The Little Cape That Could

Danville Village House to Open Its Doors on May 2

By Sharon Lakey

“It’s been a labor of love, but I’m not a patient woman,” said Mary Prior, President of the Danville Historical Society.

She’s had to learn to be patient, though, as the charming cape, now known as the Danville Village House, has slowly reappeared in its original form beside the statuesque Danville Congregational church on Hill Street. 

The project began in 2006 with a letter sent to various organizations in Danville. In it was a stunning offer from a lawyer, announcing that an anonymous donor wished to gift substantial money to a group who had a good idea about how to use it. 

Impatient Mary, never lacking for an idea, jumped at the thought of establishing a restored building dedicated to the collection and sharing of history in the center of Danville Village. Margaret Springer, who had worked for 30-plus years as president and archivist of the Danville Historical Society, was ecstatic about the idea, and the thought began to gather momentum.

Time was of the essence, and Mary immediately contacted Paul Chouinard. “He is an architectural perfectionist by avocation,” said Mary. He’s a real estate agent to boot, and they set out to find a house that would fit the bill. By luck or grace, the little cape by the Congregational church became available. 

“I like where it sits,” said Paul. “It is near the center of the village, and it has historical integrity.” Paul describes it as, “a prototypical Cape Cod style home mirroring the austere simplicity of early nineteenth century, rural Vermont homes.” 

Oddly enough, Mary found that the lineage of the people connected with the house were among the long-standing families of Danville: Sias, Choate (the builder, a cabinet-maker), Currier, Cahoon, Peck and Gadapee. It was a perfect match. “All the work the historical society had done under Margaret’s direction and tireless efforts made it possible for me to research this house,” said Mary. 

With Paul’s knowledge of early construction and Mary’s deed research, a detailed history of the house, proposed budget and projected use of the building was sent to the lawyer of the donor. Imagine the excitement when Mary received a letter that related the donor would pay the purchase price of $198,000 and another $200,000 for restoration. “The donor had some good suggestions as well,” said Mary. “For example: Weren’t the proposed cedar shakes a fire hazard? The donor was also adamant that the house would have a meeting room and parking lot.”

Together, Mary and Paul, conferencing with the Historical Society, worked out the renovation plans. Paul, a real stickler for detail, was chosen as clerk of works. They visited Sturbridge Village. “The buildings there were built in the same time period as the house,” explained Paul. “It helped to visualize what the house looked like back in 1838 when it was built.” In their planning, they designed for historical correctness as well as compliance to the Americans with Disabilities Act..  

In keeping with the desire to use as many local artisans and builders as possible, Paul began the painstaking job of putting together contracts. The list of chosen contractors included: Harold Lunnie, foundation; Garren Calkins, driveway excavation, parking area, and seeding; Michael Walsh, garage restoration, single story addition, clapboard siding, flooring, and shed storage room; Joel Currier, wood for flooring and wainscot; Paul Dussault, heating; Hollis Prior, landscaping; Luke Colby, wiring; Sally A. Fishburn, replacement doors and windows; Phil Beattie, stonework; Lucian Avery, blacksmith; Steven Towsley, chimney; and Frank Siebenbrunner, finishing details. (This list doesn’t include the red-hued Mary and her husband, Hollis, who could be watched for weeks as they voluntarily painted the whole building.) 

Meanwhile, Mary continued her historical research, this time in a more communal way. Her Grammie Tennie was a social historian. In writings for Vermont Life and the Burlington Free Press, she published stories told by those still living about people and events of the past. “I spent a great deal of time driving her to remote locations throughout Caledonia and Essex Counties,” Mary remembers. “I’d wait, sometimes for hours, while she interviewed someone for an article she was writing.”

In Grammie Tenney’s tradition, Mary searched and wrote some social history of Annie and Sam Currier, who were owners of the house from 1933 to 1960. Sam died in 1943, so for most of that time, it was known as Annie’s house. The interviews include some wonderful stories, two of which follow. 

Janette Langmaid Morse, Mary’s second cousin: 

“Annie Currier looked like she wouldn’t like children, but that was not the case. She had a sort of scowl for an expression, but she was the nicest woman. My mother and father lived next door. My son Alan used to go visit her often. She would have a nice, sweet pudding for him. One day, she offered him his pudding; he didn’t like it very well, because it wasn’t sweet. 

‘Why doesn’t the pudding taste like usual?’ he asked.

‘It’s Indian pudding,” Annie replied.

‘Where did you get the dead Indians to put in the pudding?’”

Winona Gadapee, former owner of the house:

“I loved that house. I would still live there if I could, but my breathing required a brand new house. While we lived there, the key to the Congregational church hung by the kitchen door inside the sun porch. It was available to anyone who needed it. When we sold the house to the Grayecks, the key still hung there for use by all. Once, Mr. Grayek, who was Jewish, laughed in telling me that the key to the church hung right beside the doorpost that they would touch on their way in as a Jewish blessing. 

‘Only in Danville,’ he would say.”

In a way, the tradition of the key still exists. But this time, the house itself has become a key. All those who paid with money and time offer the residents of Danville a lovingly restored place to meet, research, chat, and remember their dear ones and the community in which they lived. 

Besides the May 2 Grand Opening, programming ideas are starting to stir. Mary plans for the building to be open from 1:00-8:00 on Tuesdays and Thursdays and Saturday mornings. “We need to spread the work into the community, so Danville Village House becomes alive and vibrant,” she said.

To see the picture album related to this article click here    

To enjoy a video walk-through of the Danville Village House, hosted by Paul Chouinard, click here

This story was first published in April, 2009 issue of The North Star Monthly

What the World Needs Now

Is a good belly laugh

At the height of laughter, the universe is flung into a kaleidoscope of new possibilities.  ~Jean Houston

By Sharon Lakey

One day my daughter, who lives in Waterbury, called. “Mom, you’ve got to come with me to the next Laughter Yoga class. It’s free,” she enticed. Her voice sounded full of smiles.

I answered with a half-hearted “Maybe,” and a “thanks for the invitation,” but really I never intended to follow through. First, it was a long way to drive to Richmond, VT, and second, the idea of laughter yoga seemed a little forced.  Maybe it was watching night after night of grim news reports that finally pushed me over the edge, because early the next Tuesday morning, I found myself braving snow-covered roads for a chance to lighten up a little.  

And, it was fun. I mean—really fun.  

There were six of us that first day, including leader, Dawn Decker. We met on the second floor of the Richmond library in a beautiful space--hardwood floors, tall church-like windows and walls painted a restful yellow. 

In a short introduction, Dawn explained the basics behind Laughter Yoga, including this piece of research: an average adult laughs five to seven times a day; a child laughs over 300 times, and for no reason at all. I was taken aback by the statistic, and felt sad about my own rusty laugh mechanism. But as Dawn briefly explained it, “Just fake it till you make it.”

Wishing to turn loose my own inhibitions, I entered willingly into the group laughter. Dawn is a superb laugher, and I found it surprisingly easy to join in. With a variety of prompts, we shared everything from titters to guffaws with Kleenex in hand. And the more we laughed, the happier and more relaxed I became. Dawn incorporated gentle yoga stretches into the program, and as our time came to a close, sitting in a circle touching toe-to-toe, I felt warmness toward these women. It seemed as if I had known them all my life.

Later I found out that Dawn, a yoga teacher of 25 years with international certification, is fairly new to laughter yoga.  “I’ve always used laughter in my yoga practice, but this is more focused.” In August of 2008, she attended a two-day workshop in Burlington. “At the end of the workshop, I found I was exhausted, but exhilarated by the possibilities.” Wanting to share this gift with others in her new community of Richmond, she offered free weekly sessions to all-comers.

With just a little research back home, I discovered I had totally missed out on this worldwide phenomenon. The movement began in Mumbai, India, in 1995 by a medical doctor, Madan Kataria, who was writing an article about the connection between laughter and good health. Kataria had studied the writings of American Norman Cousins, who suffered from degenerative, painful arthritis. 

Cousins set out to cure himself with a combination of Vitamin C and laughter, which he stimulated by watching old Marx Brothers movies. He recorded his method in the book Anatomy of an Illness where he reported,  "I made the joyous discovery that ten minutes of genuine belly laughter had an anesthetic effect and would give me at least two hours of pain-free sleep. When the pain-killing effect of the laughter wore off, we would switch on the motion picture projector again and not infrequently, it would lead to another pain-free interval." 

Wondering how the medicine of laughter could be spread to the general population, Kataria decided to go to a local park and ask people there to join him in laughter. Five strangers agreed to join in the experiment. At first, they laughed by telling each other jokes, but Kataria noticed several things about that; they ran out of good ones rather quickly and not everyone thought a particular joke was funny. But, he noted, it only took one person to laugh at a joke to get the rest of the group to join in.

He decided they should try laughing for no reason at all. It worked. People could laugh at nothing and soon his group of five had grown to hundreds laughing in the park on a daily basis. Laughter clubs were soon to spread infectious good will throughout the world. Information from the American School of Laughter Yoga reports, “At the last count there were an estimated 6000 Laughter Clubs in over 60 countries, the vast majority of which are free and public.” 

Kataria’s wife, a yoga teacher, was the first to introduce gentle yoga stretches into laughter clubs. It was a natural fit. Breathing is one of the five principles of yoga and laughter is an especially good exercise for the breath. According to an article from the American School of Laughter, “It effectively flushes the 2/3 of ‘stale air’ that most people unknowingly keep inside. Repeated practice teaches us to become more and more consciously aware of our own breathing pattern.”

Soon, Kataria felt the unmistakable power and good will generated by laughter could be of help in our world. In 1998, he organized the first World Laughter Day in Mumbai. It caught on and was given a permanent date--the first Sunday of May.  Imagine the sound created by the 10,000 people laughing in the Town Hall Square in Copenhagen, Denmark in the year 2000. Steven Wilson, psychologist, author and head of the World Laughter Tour brought it to New York City in 2001. 

This year, World Laughter Day has made its way to Richmond, Vermont. Dawn invites you to a gathering on May 3, 2:00 p.m., at the Richmond Free Library, 201 Bridge Street. She hopes for at least 100 souls to join her in laughing for world peace. In the words of Steve Wilson, “Regardless of the reason you laugh, the primary purposes of laughter have to do with reducing the terrible effects of stress, and connecting with other people; laughter plays a huge role in maintaining relationships. Actually, we need laughter more now than ever!”

Amen.

For more information about Dawn go to http://dawndeckerbodywork.com/ 

See more pictures

This article was first published in the May issue of The North Star Monthly: http://northstarmonthly.com/

 

 

To See the Universe in a Ruffle

Mathematicians and Artists Team Up to Recreate the Coral Reef 

By Sharon Lakey

Nancy Lewis dreams of a coral reef—right here in the Northeast Kingdom. In the dead of winter, when our color scheme consists of variations on gray, this sounds intriguing but farfetched. Not so. All it takes is a crochet hook, yarn dyed in the bright colors of the sea and a little math instruction. “Math?” you ask. Hyperbolic geometry, to be precise, but don’t run to the exits just yet. 

On a camping trip in 1997, Daina Taimina, a Latvian mathematician who was working at Cornell, discovered she could crochet a hyperbolic plane, something that had never been seen or felt in 3-D. This simple act shook the math world as it gave tactile expression to a geometry that challenges Euclidian concepts. In fact, hyperbolic geometry challenges former views of our universe. Under Euclidian concepts, our universe in flat and infinite; under hyperbolic concepts, it is round and finite. (See note at bottom of article.)  

It turns out that hyperbolic planes, the basic structure of the coral reef, have been crocheted for centuries. To an untrained math mind, though, they are seen as ruffles. Nancy, who grew up in Lewiston, Maine, was instructed in crochet by her grandmother, who was avid about it. In Danville, she points to a lovely potholder hanging on her refrigerator, a circular piece with plump red strawberries nestled in the center. “I made this from one of my grandmother’s patterns,” she said, thumbing through some paper patterns she has inherited. 

The patterns didn’t hold her interest for long, though. “I was curious about shapes,” she said. “I became fascinated in filling space with structure.” This curiosity made its way into fanciful creations that became strange crocheted shapes on top of hats, reminiscent of an undersea adventure. She was unknowingly creating hyperbolic planes. 

When Nancy moved into our area, she put a few of these hats on consignment at Uniquity in St. Johnsbury. The Wool Away shop is located at the back of the store and when owner Mariam Briggs saw them, she immediately connected them with a new fiber arts movement that was storming the country. She encouraged Nancy to submit some of her creations to the project, which she did through photos.

The project originated with ecology minded twin sisters in Los Angeles, Christine and Margaret Wertheim. They founded and are co-directors of The Institute For Figuring, which educates the public about figuring techniques using the underlying principals of physics. The plight of coral reefs was of particular concern for them and when they connected with Daina Taimina and her hyperbolic crochet models, they went into action. 

Inviting crochet artists to submit from all over the world, they created the Hyperbolic Crochet Reef in figures. This exhibition has toured museums and raised the consciousness of the reef in cities from west to east, including Los Angeles, Chicago and New York. Nancy’s pieces are included. “I don’t know where they are now, but I keep getting these postcards and brochures in the mail letting me know of new openings.” Her name is listed prominently among the contributors with a simple “Nancy Lewis (VT).” 

That’s all fine and good, to have her pieces out there traveling in style, but her dream is to bring this into the Northeast Kingdom. Enter Newcomb Greenleaf of St. Johnsbury, a math professor at Goddard College. “I retired once,” says Newcomb (from places like Columbia and Harvard), “but I’m back to it.” Besides teaching math, Newcomb also teaches Buddhist meditation, and that is how Nancy showed up in his life as a student. Chatting together one day, he found out about her hyperbolic crocheting and before long they had designed a workshop course at Goddard. 

Under his direction, Nancy created hyperbolic planes like Daina Taimina’s so he could explain to students the underlying math principles, then the group moves on to crocheting under Nancy’s direction. Nancy is pleased to say, “Everyone but Newcomb has been successful at it. It’s very freeing, because there is no set pattern.” 

Newcomb sighs, “My fingers won’t work like that; I think I’m too old.” But it is easy to see that he enjoys this teaming experience. “The work is so tactile,” he says, lifting a wormy looking figure that is lying on the Nancy’s kitchen counter. And indeed, it is so enchanting I had to scrunch it, too, and wondered aloud how difficult it was to create. 

“Not hard at all,” says Nancy, smiling. These are simple crochet models, and anyone can do them. She’s going to get her chance to prove it. Catamount Arts is offering a four-hour local workshop on March 28 to all comers who would like to learn the basics. The cost is $35. “People should come with a hat body,” says Nancy, showing an example of a simple ribbed tube. If you haven’t done your homework, you can purchase one from me for $5 at the workshop.”

Maybe a few people will get hooked. That is what she is hoping. “I would like for a group of us to work together to form our own collaborative coral reef. Right here. Do you think we could do it?” 

Notes--A simple and excellent description of hyperbolic geometry can be accessed at this address  http://theiff.org/oexhibits/oe1f.html 

Nancy’s website address is www.medusahats.com 

For more pictures and this article click here

The article was published in The North Star Monthly, March 2009

  

Firsthand Account of the Inauguration of President Obama

Gabi and Lauren hold The New York Post photo of the inauguration ceremony. The arrows represent where both of them were standing during the event. 

View Gabi's photo album

View Lauren's photo album

By Sharon Lakey

On the morning of the swearing in of the 44th President of the United States, Danville senior Gabi Potts arose at 2:30 a.m. from her bed in the Marriott Conference Center in Washington D.C.  At 4:30 she arrived at Union Station. She felt safe, but intimidated by the four Secret Service agents standing there with their assault rifles. At 5:30, she walked to a designated Silver Gate on 3rd street and presented her ticket. 

Once inside the Mall Standing Area, she was nearly knocked over by Jesse Jackson, who was bustling to the ABC broadcasting booth. At 6:30 she had made her way to the front, near the right side of the Reflecting Pool. She elected to stand against a concrete barricade where she felt protected from the pressure of the crowd that was already beginning to flow into the area. During that walk she had tripped, skinned her knee, and lost and recovered a shoe. 

At 5:30 a.m., Danville freshman Lauren Peterson arose from her bed at the Best Western in Tysons Corner, Virginia. At 6:30 she boarded a shuttle bus with other students in her group and was brought into the city. They were dropped at a point near the National Museum of the American Indian. After going through a security checkpoint at the Museum, similar to what airline passengers are sent through, they attended a hot chocolate reception. 

But, as the time neared for the ceremony, her group of five decided they wanted to go into the crowd. Once more they cleared security and worked their way toward one of the Silver Gates. Having no tickets, they waited near the fence, surprisingly close to where Gabi was waiting. Lauren  remembers  feeling a strong sense of anxiety about what could happen; all the show of force in Washington made that possibility obvious. She could see where Barack Obama was standing, but the large crowd made actual viewing of the event impossible. Wanting to see and hear the ceremony, her group returned to the Museum to watch it on the Jumbo Tron. 

Gabi felt a frightening surge in the crowd behind her as the ceremony neared. The fence and lack of tickets were no longer an impediment; the people simply moved forward, and the fence was gone. But she stood her ground, one of two million who were there to personally witness the swearing in of America’s first African-American President. “I could see his silhouette from that distance, his hand raised for the oath,” she said.

Lauren remembers that moment as one of silence, a stopping, a collective holding of the breath. “A perfect moment,” she said. “All of our history of division was behind us, and we were looking into the future. And there was hope.”

Gabi describes the sound that followed after his hand dropped. “People cried and screamed. Words like, ‘finally’ and ‘yes we can’ and ‘thank you.’ It was a passionate and natural outpouring of emotion that rose all around me.”

“We felt like one family, not separated,” said Lauren. 

The moment that had brought people of all ages and colors to the White House was over quickly. Gabi remembers that many turned after the oath and began crossing back over the lawns, not even staying to hear President Obama’s speech. They had come for one reason--to watch with their own eyes the defining instant when America became truly a land of opportunity for all.

The girls arrived in Washington on January 17, Lauren by air and Gabi by land, to participate in the activities planned by each of their respective student groups. Gabi’s group, The Presidential Classroom consisting of 350 students, was housed in the city; Lauren’s group, The National Young Leaders Student Conference consisting of 7,300 students, was housed outside the city. 

Gabi’s agenda included student caucuses, tours to Mount Vernon, the Jefferson Memorial and the Pentagon Memorial, which honors the 184 dead from 9/11. It also included speaking appearances by two well-known men: Dr. Ed Smith and former President Clinton. “For three days we were surrounded by Secret Service agents and didn’t even know it,” she said. “It was all in preparation for President Clinton.” After the inauguration, a celebratory ball helped her group relax and enjoy each other’s company in lovely clothes and a feeling of multicultural good will.

Lauren’s agenda was different from Gabi’s. “There was less time in the classroom,” she said. There was more touring: the Washington Monument, Lincoln Memorial, Jefferson Memorial and the Capital Building. A trip down the Potomac on a dinner cruise was an outstanding moment for her. “I guess we must have been a terrorist risk, because the boat was crawling with guards,” she said. Her speakers included such luminaries as Colin Powell, Archbishop Desmond Tutu and former Vice President Al Gore. On the Lincoln Memorial steps she saw a performance that included Stevie Wonder, U2, Garth Brooks, Sheryl Crow, Bruce Bringstein, WILL.I.AM, Usher and Beyonce. Her celebratory ball was held at the Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum where she enjoyed dinner and was treated to a performance by Daughtry.

Both girls were thoroughly entertained by The Capital Steps, a group who bills themselves as  “the Washington-based troupe of Congressional staffers turned songwriters. We put the MOCK in Democracy.”  “I bought all three of their CDs,” said Gabi with a mischievous smile. 

They returned from their trip by car on Friday, driven by Lauren’s mother. It was a long 10-hour trek that inched them along the clogged highways and bridges that President Obama speaks of in his plan to rebuild America’s infrastructure. 

There was the usual letdown from the shining moment they experienced firsthand, but the trip gave them time to unwind and reflect on their experiences. “A huge hurdle has been overcome,” said Gabi. “There’s a lot of pressure on him. I worry about that.”

This story was published in The North Star Monthly, February 2009

Gabi and Lauren Go to Washington

Two Danville High School students, Lauren Peterson (l) and Gabi Potts (r),  jumped at the chance to attend this historic inauguration. 

By Sharon Lakey

On January 20, 2008, the world’s eyes will be turned on Washington DC as Barack Obama is sworn in as the 44th President of the United States. Two Danville high school students will be there in person. Gabi Potts, senior, and Lauren Peterson, freshman, have been planning this adventure long before they knew the historic magnitude of the event.

Gabi came to it through a program called The Presidential Classroom. Its mission has been to provide outstanding high school students with a first-class civic education using Washington DC as a classroom. The program was created in 1968 when a strong youth voice surfaced in America. Having attended one of their weeklong institutes in Washington, Gabi received a postcard in July that listed the inauguration as one of the upcoming events. She applied online and was selected. 

Lauren came to it through another door—the National Young Leaders State Conference (NYLSC). This group’s goal is to foster and inspire young leaders. It was founded 23 years ago and tailors programs to specific age groups. Having been through that training in Cambridge MA, she received a letter in June telling her of the inauguration opportunity. Like Gabi, she jumped at the idea.

Interestingly, the girls come from opposite sides of the political spectrum. Gabi, though a stated independent, tends toward the more liberal, Democratic point of view; Lauren comes from the Republican. After graduation, Gabi hopes to major in aerospace engineering and minor in politics and has her fingers crossed on acceptance into a major university. Lauren, with three years left in high school, is focused on building her skills as a student leader.  

This summer, as part of her senior project, Gabi received an education in door-to-door politicking when she helped Jane Kitchell and Kitty Toll with their re-election bids. “I, personally, knocked on 100 doors,” says Gabi. She was more in tune with Hillary Clinton’s campaign at that time, as she is especially concerned with women’s issues. Lauren says she was focused more on McCain’s policies. “Probably, I was influenced by my parents,” she says candidly. “But since the election, I’ve been studying some of Obama’s ideas,” she says. “I like them,” she says, but adds, “not all of them.” 

Now, as President-elect Obama prepares his team for the coming term, both girls are excited about the possibilities. Gabi feels his election has “opened a lot of doors, especially for minorities and women. There is new ground to explore,” she says. Lauren hopes “we will wake up and fix what we’ve done: wake up to the pollution, violence and war, and learn how to spend more wisely as a nation and individually.” 

Most likely, the girls will not see each other at the inauguration after they reach Washington, but the itineraries for Gabi and Lauren in Washington are well planned. They will travel on January 17 and return on January 21.  Both agendas include keynote speakers, tours, debates, and will culminate in all the inaugural festivities, including attendance at one of the black tie gala inaugural balls. They have been informed of a strict dress code requirement for all the events and are planning to pack accordingly. Gabi’s inaugural gown is in the making and Lauren is planning to wear the dress she wore at eighth-grade graduation.

Both girls need to raise approximately $3,000 to cover expenses for the entire event. They have already completed some individual fundraising, but are planning to host a Mexican dinner before a basketball game sometime in early January. They wish to thank the many donors who have already given and hope to see many at the Mexican dinner. 

North Star readers are in for a treat. Look forward to the next issue to get a first-hand view and insight of one of the most historic inaugurations in America’s history from two very perceptive young women.            

This article was published in the January 2009 issue of The North Star Monthly

A wintry, welcome retreat at The Sundance Mountain Lodge

Letter to the Editor: The Colorado Springs Gazette

It took four hours of stop-and-go traffic through Colorado Springs to Monument on Sunday, November 30, before we considered pulling off I-25. The Mustang spinning in the lane to the left, the depleting bars on the fuel gauge and impending darkness urged our taking of County Line Road exit. Blowing snow made it difficult to find the access road that led back to the red "Hotel Now Open" banner that I had seen out of the passenger's window.

My husband dropped my sister and me off at the front door. The light, warmth of the fireplace, and the sight of a man busy with his computer at the front desk gave me hope. A young man from Santa Fe, standing with his wife and small daughter in front of me, told the story. "We're on a kind of waiting list," he said. "They just opened this hotel four days ago, and there aren't enough rooms. They've got a team trying to open as many as possible."

I looked around. There was a quiet sense of relief in the room among the bundled travelers. Dave (the man's name at the desk) multi-tasked between the computer, the people leaning over the counter and the phone. All this he did with an affable smile. "Initiation by fire," he exclaimed. My husband took our spot in line, and my sister and I checked out the bar and restaurant area. The Broncos were trouncing the Jets on television, but the same sense of peace reigned in this room where a lone waitress was filling orders from a limited menu of soup, sandwiches and drinks.

When my husband joined us, we were visiting with a couple who had offered to take a room with no bedding since they had sleeping bags in the car. "We have a room," he reported. "But there's only one king-sized bed!" The woman across from us laughed and told us of the time in Mongolia when she slept in a common bed with eleven others.

Before retiring to our room, Gary, one of the owner's, spoke with us in the lobby. He was dressed in work clothes, having been point-man for the team that had been opening rooms. "There will be some sleeping on the floor in there tonight," he said, pointing to the restaurant area. Like Dave, Gary was charged-up with the honest task of serving those who truly needed a safe night's rest.

In the morning, with the same good humor that marked our entire experience, we were served a continental breakfast. Sun poured in the big windows as travelers checked out. The young son of a couple from Aurora was chided by his mother for opening the front door, the cold air sneaking into the lobby. "I want to see the snow," he said, regretfully letting it close. I smiled, remembering the night before when it was a wide and welcome open door.

Rt 2 Vanpool Celebrates 30th Birthday

Thirty Years and Three-Quarters of a Million Miles

By Sharon Lakey

Picture this. It’s the summer of 2008. Gas prices are at an all-time high. Ending our vacation in Salt Lake City, my husband and I are entering I-15 during morning rush hour. We spot a black diamond lane sign that reads: 2 PERSON MINIMUM PER VEHICLE. There are two of us in the car, so we move into that far-left lane, and, shockingly, mile after mile we discover we are the only car in it. To our right, I watch as we move past a multitude of cars and trucks, all bearing one person, drivers’ eyes focused dead ahead.

Now picture this. It is November 5, 2008. Gas prices have lowered some. It is 6:25 a.m. in Danville, Vermont. Three people, standing in front of the Dole Block building, are chatting about the election, waiting for their ride. Soon, a GMC 15-passenger van pulls up bearing the license plate “Route 2.” The three disappear inside, greeting the driver and fellow passengers, and the van eases back onto the highway.

America has just elected a President whose talking points have included the need to change an energy policy that makes us dependent on foreign oil. But the much larger issue, as Obama describes it, is a “planet in peril.” Consider the two opening scenarios above and the following statistics from an air quality report published by the State of Vermont: in one year’s time, the Route 2 commuters vanpool saves an estimated 3,875 gallons of gasoline, thereby reducing nitrogen oxides by 690 pounds, volatile organic compounds (some of which are carcinogenic) by 604 pounds, and carbon monoxide by 5,002 pounds. And this has been going on for 30 years!

In 1978, as part of its effort to encourage fuel conservation and help the environment, the Vermont Agency of Transportation made it possible for groups of like-minded people to obtain a van at 0% interest. Enter the Route 2 commuters vanpool, made up mostly of State workers traveling daily from the Northeast Kingdom to Waterbury. In those days, the group was required to form a non-profit organization, following all the regulations that go with that designation. They had to purchase a van and handle all of their own business. This program is still available today, but the State has also partnered with VPSI (Vanpool Service Inc.), a national organization that leases vans. Under the new system, a group does not need to become their own non-profit, and VPSI will coordinate maintenance, insurance, and fare collection.

On November 5, Route 2 Commuters, Inc., members were invited to gather at the home of Nancy and Dan Lewis on Sugar Ridge road in Danville to celebrate the 30th birthday of their organization. It was a charming event for the 18 who attended. Good food and drink was enhanced by the many stories to share. With three-quarters of a million miles on the road behind them, there are bound to be stories.

Richard Boulanger of Lyndonville, who has been riding and driving for 26 years, shared the story of the moose accident. The commuters and van survived despite the fright and flying glass shards. “There was about $4,000 worth of damage,” noted Richard.

“No,” interrupted Gary Gulka of Cabot, who has been riding for 22 years and is the organization’s business manager, “it cost us $6,000!” Richard acquiesced and went on to tell of the time he was a victim of “Abandonment by the Van.” His audience burst into laughter as they imagined Richard chasing after the van on foot with a blissfully unaware driver avoiding all contact with the rearview mirror.

Gulka shared the story of Laser, the seeing-eye dog that rode with one of the passengers in the front of the van. “Yeah,” broke in Tom Dimatteo of Marshfield, “remember when that dog ate Jim’s lunch!” Dimatteo, a driver and rider for 22 years, went off on a few of his own stories--black ice and a near miss with a clueless pickup driver. Most fun was the telling of the hair-raising ride when they went “4-wheeling” with Bob Taplin at the controls.

One of the big questions in my mind was how difficult it might be to organize a vanpool. “At first,” said Boulanger, “we worried about trying to make it fair, like maybe reducing the riding fees for those who drive. But we gave that up, and it just worked its way out. Those who want to drive, do, and those who don’t, that’s okay. We quit worrying about that.”

According to Gulka, in all 30 years, only one rider was asked to leave because they weren’t paying the fees. Maybe that is because it is so much less expensive to ride the van than pay the expenses of driving one’s own vehicle. As the business manager, Gulka remembers the exact cost of all three accidents. Luckily, the reserve of dollars built up in the treasury managed to cover the repairs to the van without raising extra rider fees.

The question, “Why do you ride the van?” was asked of all, both new and old riders. Surprisingly, the answers never wavered from the following: it saves a lot of money (the most common first response); it is easier than driving yourself every day; there is time to “read,” “knit,” “sleep;” and, it helps the environment.

However, the response that brought a smile to everyone’s face and was most often said at the end of the interview was “camaraderie,” the connection between people in a daily activity, the team-ness of it all. “That is what makes it fun,” said Dimatteo.

For those who may be interested in accessing commuting options of all kinds, there is information available through Go Vermont, ConnectingCommuters.org. Their website url is http://www.connectingcommuters.org/

To view photos related to this article, click here

To hear Tales from the Van, click here

This story was originally published in The North Star Monthy, December, 2008

Feted in Fantasy Land

Story published in The North Star Monthly
November, 2008
Danville, Vermont

Winona Gadapee brings her experiences in Nashville back home

By Sharon Lakey

At midnight on October 10, Winona Gadapee was still flying high as she and her husband, Arnie, touched down at the Burlington airport. In a few short hours, she would be sharing the experiences of two whirlwind days in Nashville while leading a “Music with Winona” session at the St. Johnsbury Health and Rehabilitation Center.

Dressed in the same turquoise dress and jacket that she wore at the Volunteer of the Year award ceremony, Winona arrived at the Center at 10:30 a.m. sharp. The piano she has played for the last nine years awaited her in the great room, and a small group of residents were already gathered there in expectation of her arrival. As she greeted them personally, more wheelchairs began circling up, and a caged ring-necked dove came to life with throaty cooing and bowing. “He loves music, too,” confided Milly Whitney, who was seated beside me, holding an open book of songs in her lap.

When the room was filled, Winona began by speaking. “I feel like I’ve been to Fantasy Land!” she exclaimed. And then, pulling a note from her bag, she shared some of the interesting points of the Gaylord Opryland Hotel where the event took place. “It’s all under a glass dome that covers 4.5 acres and houses 824 rooms. We were on the fifth floor with a balcony overlooking two waterfalls and a jet fountain that shot up 85 feet in the air. Arnie heard from one of the 3,000 employees who work there that the rooms run about $400 a night!”

There were “oohs” and “ahs” from the appreciative audience as she passed around some postcards. Bob Woods, who sat in the back of the room with his wife, Iva, smiled broadly. “Hey, Bob,” she said, “those roses you gave me before I left still look good on my counter.”

And then she sat down at the piano. A music teacher of many years, Winona’s hands moved comfortably to the keyboard, and a flurry of notes floated out across the hardwood floor. Her soprano voice led the group through “It’s a Grand Old Flag,” followed by a number of old, familiar songs like “Roll Out the Barrel,” “Home on the Range” and “I’m a Yankee Doodle Dandy.” She has made up six different sets of books for her singers, so they have a variety of tunes to enjoy.

Breaking between songs, she shared highlights of the convention: a spellbinding luncheon speaker, Chris Gardner, who is the author of the book and subject of the movie The Pursuit of Happyness; cocktails and a steak dinner, cooked to perfection, for 1800 people; and the topper, a concert by Wynonna Judd. “People had an easy time remembering my name,” Winona joked.

But perhaps it was the people she met, the other volunteers who were being honored, that impressed her the most. There was the 13-year-old girl who had already devoted three years to writing letters, doing nails and hair, and being a chatty adolescent friend for residents of her center. There were the four Girl Scouts, who earned their Golden Badges, by interviewing, photographing, and publishing the stories of 40 residents in their center. There was the car salesman who took charge of a float and transportation for challenged children in his center. Forty-eight states were represented, each with their own compelling stories of love.

Near the end of the session, Winona rose to show her award, an impressive engraved plaque. “I understand the Center will be getting one of these, too,” she said. She shared that the awards ceremony was carefully choreographed, requiring several run-through practices until perfection was reached. Then she let the residents know that she had volunteered to speak briefly before the large crowd.

Holding her award in front of her, she personalized the words that she spoke that day to the crowd: “I am amazed that anyone can be recognized to this degree for something that I enjoy so much. Thank you. I gain as much from you as you receive from me.”

Winona received the Volunteer of the Year Award from the American Health Care Association. She was nominated by St. Johnsbury Health and Rehabilitation Center’s activity director, Cindy Davidson, for her “Music with Winona” sessions held at the Center every Wednesday, 10:30 a.m., rain or shine. Cindy invites community members to visit the Center at any time. She would be glad to speak to you about possible volunteer opportunities, or you might just stop by some Wednesday morning to enjoy the music and company. You will be warmly welcomed.

Click here to view photos of the "Music with Winona" session:

Retirement

Here I am on October 29, 2006, a lame duck teacher. I've officially notified the players in a letter: the superintendent, the school board, the principal, and the union. I let the core know, with whom I've been working for twelve years, and teachers who have asked. The word is definitely getting around.
Friday, Ms. Thurston the librarian caught me on the way through after lunch. She was behind the fiction stack and peeked out.
"Ms. Lakey, is it true? Are you not coming back next year?" she asked. I could see her eyes were shining and it set up an immediate reaction in my own.
"Yeah," I said, holding onto her elbow.
"But, I won't be giving your classes any more booktalks," she said, ducking her head.
"Oh, there'll be booktalks," I assured her. "We'll get someone who wants booktalks," and then I had to excuse myself. "If I don't go, I'll cry," I said, and pushed my way through the library doors.
It's not that I'm not ready to retire, because I am and I know it's important for our lives at home and I will grow into it, but it is the relationships that I have with people at school that I will miss. In Ms. Thurston's case, I depended on her to feed me good books. It is one of the reasons that I like coming back to school. I've been without her for a whole summer and there are new stories out there. "What should I read, now?" I ask when I turn in the one I just finished.
"Oh, let me think," she says, smiling. "I'll put one in your box."
And then, not too long after, I find a new book, tucked in my mailbox, looking prim in its new dust jacket. I take it out and read the title. I run my hand down the slick surface and wonder what she has steered me to this time.
Oh, Ms. Thurston, I am going to miss you.

Birthdays are big at my house

Birthdays are big at my house. When your day comes along you are king or queen for a day, week, or maybe a whole month depending on your age. Month-long celebrations are for important events, like becoming a teenager or the change of a decade.
I think this all started when I was a kid growing up on a wheat farm in eastern Colorado. I had five sisters, both parents and Grandma down the road, and since there were so many of us, we were treated to wondrous things on each birthday.
My mother would spend time figuring out what to give as a gift, and then she would create it from her own handiwork. (She was a superb seamstress, often winning the champion sewing ribbon at the Kit Carson County fair.) Most memorable for me were the Native American clothing she came up with.
The most treasured one I received was a chief’s feathered headdress. I don’t know where she got a pattern for that one, but it was something! A red band held individual white turkey feathers that flowed around my head and down the back. Silver buttons were at my temples, and strips of real leather hung from them. I thought I had died and gone to heaven, and I must have worn it to shreds because one day it just disappeared. I suspect Mom removed it from our house while I was asleep.
Hand-decorated birthday cakes were part of the celebration, too. She would ask us what we wanted, and there was no disappointment, because our wish was her command. I always chose chocolate and loved to watch her decorate it. She could create all kinds of decorative ornaments with a silver decorating tube. First, she would mix up a bunch of white frosting and divide it into little bowls. Then came the tiny bottles of food coloring. “What color do want the flowers?” she would ask. Often, my answer was yellow because I think yellow looks great on brown icing. Of course, there was green for the leaves, and maybe one bowl left white for some ribbons. She would fit the flower head on the tube and fill it with the yellow frosting before the plunger was screwed on the bottom. Then, poised over the cake, I would watch as flower after flower appeared on the chocolate palette before us. On she would go, changing the head of the tube from flowers to leaves to ribbons, and ending with a grand flourish of spectacular ribbons around the bottom and top.
Candles. Song. Wish. Blow. Gifts. Queen for a day.
Yep, birthdays are important at my house.    

At his request, I made a strawberry pie for Dwight's birthday. 

Old films

I am working on turning old family films into an edited video. The first few days, when I was sorting the information on the computer into different files, I cried more than once. It hurt. Do you remember the play Our Town by Thorton Wilder? In the third act, one of the lead characters dies in childbirth and you see her sitting among the dead onstage. There is a point at which she realizes that she can go back into the living at anytime she wants, but she is warned by those around her that it really isn't a good idea. She still wants to go, so they suggest that if she must, she should go back on an unimportant day, one that won't hurt too much. She chooses her 12th birthday.

During the next scene, she goes back. She sees her and her family moving through time in everyday actions--her mother in her apron, for example. As an observer, she is appalled about how they each are taking the moments for granted; they don't really look at each other and marvel at how beautiful they are. She returns to the cemetery and the audience knows she will not return to the living again. That is how I felt looking at the films. I saw us all moving through time, lovely, moments spinning by, ordinary moments that are extraordinary.

Nancy Nurse, My Sister

In pictures, eyes of serious intent
look into the camera's aperture--
A world glimpsed from inside out and bent
on straightening the path to health with fervor.
"Kind, but firm," say her respectful patients
"with a nurse like that you're self-directed."
No funny business--its importance
is clear if you are to be perfected.
Knowledge of academia meets with
knowledge of human heart and emotion.
Life depends not on medicine alone;
instead, she teaches that life comes from One
that joins hands with you and urges along.

Sharon Lakey, June 27, 2005
On Nancy's 50th birthday

Recent photo of Hildur and daughters

Back row, left to right, Nancy VanEtten, Claudia Stallings, Waynette Yarmer, Sharon Lakey, and Kathy Thorson. Front, Harriet Warren and Hildur Schiffner

Gap Man

The Gap—Store 2529
7301 South Santa Fe Drive
Littleton, CO 80120

RE: Wonderful Service—Cashier 1536999 & Crew

To the Management & Staff:

Just after 5:00 PM on Saturday evening, July 2nd, I found myself standing outside of the Aspen Grove Starbucks drenched in Earl Grey tea and a wedding to attend within the hour. Looking left and right, I spotted the Gap sign and ran to the door.

The staff on duty sensed my dilemma and rushed to my service. “The shirt should be easy; you look like a large.” After matching the shirt to my belt and shoes, one of the crew rushed it off to be steamed. The chinos were next, “Pleated or flat? Cuff or none?” If I hadn’t been vain and tried for one waist size too small, that step would have been as quick as the shirt. I walked out of the dressing room—one crew member snipped tags off my new pants and took my credit card, a second stood with my newly-pressed shirt and a third held out a bag for my old clothes. “You fold; I’ll sign,” I said as I strided toward the register, buttoning the crisp, steam-warm shirt.

Only when seated among the beautiful Hudson Gardens, listening to the violin play the processionals in anticipation of the bride did I sneak a fearful peek at the slip I’d signed for my new clothes and found a pleasant surprise—a discount to boot!

What a wonderful experience and what a sales crew! My faith in the young adults of our time was reinforced twice that evening: by the cheerful professionalism of the sales crew at the Gap and by the charming, intimate smiles of the bride and groom as they danced on their wedding night.

Sorry I didn’t get your names gang, but my gratitude is just as sincere,


Dwight Lakey

Left behind

Several years ago, I got into scrapbooking. My first book is about me, about growing up on the farm in Burlington, school days, college, marriage... But, it's those first years of memory that have a golden glow about them. Is it the the constant sun of the place, the wheat, or just the beginning of life that was so golden?

When Mama was closing the house and buildings after the auction, Dwight and I happened to be there for our summer vacation. It felt strange at the lawyer's office as the daughters stood in support of Mama as she was instructed through the pile of legal papers. The lawyer and realtor seemed callous, all paper and no heart. We watched somberly as she put the final pen to paper. When we opened the door to leave the office, Burlington had never looked so bereft.

We rode out to the farm in a somber mood and took our goodbyes. Near sunset, the yard was quiet except for the wind in the trees. Weeds had grown up in the corral and around the carport. Inside the house, we walked one last circle through the rooms, only the fading sun sifting through the windows to give us light.

It was in the middle of the living room where I saw a small, dark form against the carpet. What is here, I wondered, reaching down and lifting it. Soft feathers on a lifeless bird, a sparrow caught inside somehow in the bustle of the auction. I set its holiness back down.