I promise myself that I will enjoy every minute of the day that is given me to live. –Thich Nhat Hanh, Anger: Wisdom for Cooling the Flames

Earlier this week, I was in a car accident. I was quite shook up by the experience; however, it was my car, not me, that sustained significant bodily damage. Though I didn’t know it at the time, the other driver would accept full responsibility for the accident.

As I sat staring across the road at the Thai restaurant I had been heading to for lunch, hanging on the phone for an interminable length of time to speak with one or another agent I needed to complete my accident claim, I was building up a nice dose of self-pity. Had I not had enough trials? Crap! Now my car is wrecked, I might find myself physically struggling from effects of the force of the blow to the car, which was powerful enough to deploy the passenger side airbag. No few thoughts about all the traumatic brain injury survivors I have worked with over years came to mind. I love to talk about how I understand that things can change in the blink of an eye. Be grateful for each moment. At that moment, though, I was just shook up and pissed off.

After a while, the tow truck arrived. Out stepped a rather cheerful man, probably in his early 60’s. He chattered away as he processed the tow, and though I tried to be engaging, I don’t think I hear as well under stress as I do under normal conditions. So I smiled. He kept talking and eventually, as I climbed into the cab and we drove off, I began to tune in. Talking about work, and traveling, he turned to stories of how he loves to wake up in the morning and say things like “honey, I am in the mood for some Kansas City barbeque”, and the next thing they know, they’re on a road trip. He talked about a television commercial (which I have not seen) having to do with a paint varnish and Niagara Falls. Or something like that. He told his wife, “they are lying; they cannot stop that river from flowing to do what they say they can do”. Or something like that. J  He went on to tell her that he would prove it to her, and besides, he has wanted to visit that part of the country. “You want to drive all the way up there to show me that?” she reportedly replied, which at that point seemed funny to me as I am now aware that they have been together since she was 14 and has likely made quite a few of these road trips by now.

I love to travel. I have traveled quite a bit but there is a very long bucket list awaiting me. I travel light, and have no problem packing a bag and hitting the road with little preparation. So by the time we got to the repair shop, I did not want to get out of the truck. I was thoroughly taken by this charming man telling me stories of adventure and love and a partnership with his wife of 45 years.  As it became apparent that it was time to move on, he became very serious, and he said this: I don’t believe in waiting on things. I don’t know if I’ll be here tomorrow. I don’t even buy green bananas. I don’t know if I’ll be around to eat them.

This morning I woke to the memory that on Friday a man walked into an elementary school in Connecticut and massacred 26 children and adults before committing suicide. At this writing, no one knows why he did this, and a whole county is in mourning over the fact of and complexities surrounding the event.

I am filled with grief at the needless loss of life. I am chomping at the bit to see this latest tragedy having some meaning in the form of real movement toward addressing the issues of mental illness and gun control in this country.

I have also decided that from this moment on I will only buy yellow bananas.

It was with great sadness that I received the news that Kermit Schroeder died this morning. Kermit was in his mid 70’s, and spent the last 5 years of his life battling Amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (ALS). Often referred to as Lou Gehrig’s disease, it’s a progressive, neurodegenerative disease in which the brain loses the ability to control motor function. There is no cure, although stem cell research is somewhat promising for future treatment. It’s a horrible disease.

Kermit was an integral part of my life through my 20’s and well into my 30’s. I was engaged to his younger son during college. Though we did not get married, Kermit, his wife Betty, and Dan’s siblings and various other relatives continued to make me feel like family and I participated in a wide range of activities and events with them. The impact he and the family had on me is many layered and complex. I think the fact that several of them drove many hours to come to my wedding speaks volumes about who they are to me–and I suppose, who I was to them. Though we do not now have the strong connection we once did, the love is everlasting.

In addition to making me a part of his family, Kermit played another role in my life. An inorganic chemistry professor at my college in Brockport, NY, he also had a degree in mathematics and taught some math courses at the school. I had put off taking the one required math class for my liberal arts degree, having brought with me to college the internal message that “I don’t do math”. Nervous about the possibility of looking like a dunce in front of him, yet wanting to have a chance to take a class with Dr. Schroeder, I took the math class with him. At 8:00 in the morning. Yeah.

I did well enough, getting a B or B+ as a final grade. At the end of the class, he pulled me aside and said “Deb, if I’d gotten to you sooner, I’d have persuaded you to become a math major.” I was STUNNED and told him so. He explained that he could see that though I had little experience with various formulas I understood concepts and played well with numbers. I thanked him profusely, but I regret not telling him what a powerful message he’d given me to share with myself: I can do math. I can. I love numbers. I am not brilliant, I will not be giving the world complex puzzles and formulas never before imagined. But on the strength of one message from a trusted, knowledgeable friend, my self-perception began to shift. It took two decades to get back to school to see about learning all of those formulas. Better late than never. It’s a pretty sure bet it would’ve been never if he hadn’t come into my life.

The reason for the title of this post? The man could whistle long classical pieces without stopping for a breath. His was the last whistle I remember hearing and enjoying before my hearing took the plunge and I heard no more whistling until about 5 years ago thanks to my cochlear implants. I can still see him, long and lean, gliding down the hallways of the science building on campus, the whistled tune announcing his presence even before he came into view. Now that he is free of the paralyzing effects of ALS, I see him out there, gliding all over the Universe, whistling his beautiful tunes again. I can almost hear it.

I think about definitions. A lot. I am of the opinion that the proper defining of a word, an intent, a rule, a law, sits at the crossroads of communication and perception. It does not make me popular, this insistence to fine tune definitions. Many of the people who I come into contact with each day seem to make rather broad assumptions that when they apply meaning to a thing everyone else sees in it kind. When I ask “how are we defining this thing, what are the parameters?” I often see a mild annoyance in the expression of the other. It slows a conversation to a near halt while we work at understanding whether we are all talking about the same interpretation of a situation or concept. Not infrequently, my comrade finds a way to either dismiss the concern, or move on to another topic.It’s too much work when all they really wanted to do was voice an opinion, get either agreement or dissenting point, and move on. I am very uncomfortable with quick assumptions. Every once in a while I find a friend who is not only willing but is eager to strip to the core what it is we’re about to discuss. Then, and only then, do I feel at ease, ready and willing to tackle discourse. Which leaves me talking to myself quite a bit. 🙂