Wild Flowers

Here's another maudlin observation about getting old, but stick with the tale because I want to speak of the sad loss of a very nice lady. One of the unpleasant things you do more often in the last third of your lifespan, besides frequent urination, asking people to repeat themselves, and occasional constipation, is going to the funerals of friends and family. I convinced my cousins to have a monthly lunch together, because, we are just about out of parents funerals to attend and get to see each other. This has really worked out well, and if you love you cousins as much as I do, I suggest you start your own monthly family reunion. I've not always been the best at paying my last respects, and I regret some of the funerals I missed, but should have attended. I'm trying to do better. Today was one of those days.

Sarah Howard was my third grade teacher. She was one of only a few, whom, I felt sincerely liked me. Every time our paths crossed, she would always, to my embarrassment, comment on how much "horse sense" I had. This, in opposition to the "mulish stubbornness" opinion that most of my other teachers had of me. I must have responded in kind. I don't remember many details of my third grade class, with the exception of singing "16 tons" in front of the class with Michael Allman, and first displaying my lifelong love of reading, but, that year I don't think I got into any fistfights (an exception for me), went to the Principal's office, or spent any time in the utility closet where I spent a good portion of my second grade. She was a good influence. She had a kind, sweet voice that, whenever I heard her, made me feel I was still in the third grade, and wish I was.

I often ran into Sarah, because her husband, Bill, befriended me when I as a high school student worked for him at the Coca- Cola plant. I worked there through most of college, and also helped him with the ice skating rink. It's always been a treat to see and talk to Bill. He grew up here and has lots of interesting stories about Concord, and about his time in WWII as a pilot instructor. He told me once how he first met his wife, and it was as they say "love at first sight".

Sarah had transplanted wildflowers into her front yard with little signs indicating their plant names. I guess I'll think of her every time I see a Trillium, Turks Cap, or a Pink Lady Slipper.

My sincerest condolences to Bill and his family.