2013

A new year looms...and in some ways it's a scary world out there.  Fiscal cliff, recalcitrant Congress, school shootings, children who are young adults navigating the shoals of relationships, careers, and college, a Diocese attempting to close a school and open another.  It's a year without my dad, the first I've faced in 57 years.

And, so I have been thinking about this new year full of possibilities, hope, and questions.  I'm not much of one for resolutions, but, I have put together a list of things that I want to do to make life richer and fuller.

1.  I want to laugh more.  Bill accused me just yesterday of having no sense of humor.  I happen to think I do have a sense of humor; I just don't think most of what he says is funny.  But, that said, I think it is important for us to laugh at the absurdities of life, at bad jokes, and sometimes at ourselves.

2.  I want to learn to make a good pie, with an excellent piecrust.  I think I finally have the best equipment, a Cuisinart that the kids bought me for Christmas.  So, even though I'm trying to lose weight, I want to make a pie like my grandmother did.  Wow, were they good!  My grandfather Wright always claimed that he would eat dessert first so that he could enjoy it.  I believe she made a pie each week for him.

3.  I want to learn the names of the birds that I've been feeding all winter.  I know the standard ones, the Cardinal and the woodpecker; but, I'd like to know the others.  I put up dad's bird feeder and I think I would like to add another.

4.  I want to stick with the exercise regime that I've started.  Ok, I'm on day 2; but still.  I've been trekking to Legacy Park.  It is so nice to work out there, especially since I no longer work there.  :)  I would to stay in touch with my friends from there though.  They are good people doing a tough job for low wages.

5.  I want to go to Gettysburg Battlefield site this summer, for the 150 anniversary of the battle.  I would like to go with my brothers.  I don't have to go on the exact 150th date, but I think it would be good to visit there on the 150th anniversary and remember the men who died there so that the Union would be preserved.  And, despite our many problems, it is a country worth working for and committing to, as hundreds and thousands of folks in armed services do each day.

6.  I really want to learn to knit and crochet.  I finally found a place, Joanns, that actually has classes.  I learned to knit and crochet in high school home economics.  But, I need a refresher.  I want to make baby blankets.

7.  I want to visit my elderly aunts and uncles this year.  They were so important to me as a young child and I want to stay in touch with them.  So, I'm planning trips to Iowa, Detroit, Palm Desert, and Tullahoma this year.

8.  I have a whole list of ideas around books.  I am reading a biography of James Garfield and I have some others on Ford, Carter, and Nixon in my to be read stack.  And, I want to read some really good young adult literature.  I think that's the librarian in me...my secret career that got away.  And, I want to keep collecting children's books.  I don't have any little ones really to share them with, but maybe one day I will.  And, I want to read across the political spectrum, so I've ordered up a subscription to National Review, Time, the New Republic on my ipad.  I want to remember that I am a part of a larger world, so I want to learn more about the Middle East, Africa, and Asia.

9.  I want to be a better teacher.  I am trying to figure out how to better use the ipad and other technologies.

10.  And finally, I want to be more thankful, generous and kind.  I want to worry about those things that matter and let those things that don't slip away.

It's going to be a great year!

Thoughts about Teachers on the Monday after Sandy Hook

Today was like any other Monday...and it wasn't.  So many of my teacher friends were apprehensive, going back to school on this last Monday before the "winter holiday", given the tragic events that had unfolded in Connecticut on Friday.  As the details of the shooting that left 20 children and six teachers dead were revealed, I could not get the little faces (and the older ones) out of my head, or heart.  Our administrative team met early to talk about security at our school where until today the door has always been unlocked.  Our building's office is far from the front entrance, something that the architects of the 1960s never worried about I am sure; but, which today gave us and some of our parents pause.  Our security guard was posted near that front door.  Typically, he hangs out in a van, labeled "security" watching primarily our property, our student's cars which from time to time have been targets of vandalism by random passers through.  Today, he concentrated on the people, smiling as our kids entered the building, streaming in for this last half day before finals begin tomorrow.  I had wondered what I would say to my class and I worried that some of my students would be upset.  Like the other administrators, I stayed in the halls as time grew near for classes to begin, joining the students and teachers in the gym for our last Advent prayer.  And, what I reflected on, as I prayed, was how normal  everything was.  Our kids were dressed in goofy Christmas sweaters and campus ministry tee shirts, the seniors sporting big bows, the "couples" dressing as "packages" in honor of a "free day" that they had won as part of a class competition.  It bothered me for awhile that these kids were not more upset.  Where were the tears?  the worried faces?

But, as I reflected about my own worries, I relaxed a bit.  Our kids were not immune to the tragedy in Connecticut.  Their "business as usual" demeanor was due to the fact, I think, that they trusted the adults in their lives..us...their teachers, their principal, their assistant principals, their coaches, their parents...to take care of them.  They felt safe in our building, in our gathering in prayer, in the Lasallian family that is O'Hara.  I believe that they were not worried because somehow we have conveyed to them through our presence, our prayers, our tweets, our quiet conversations, that they are safe, that they are loved, that we will help those who need help, care for those who need carrying for.  And, so they packaged Christmas gifts for the needy of Catholic Charities and gathered in the gym to pray around the Advent wreath, even those who think the whole praying thing can be overdone sometimes....and they played games on their ipads when they should have been taking notes and they were blissfully, thankfully, normal.  And, I gave thanks for them as I grieved for those students around the country who didn't feel safe or protected or loved.  And, although my heart is heavy with the tragedy of the deaths in Connecticut, I am overwhelmed with the outpouring of love and concern that I have heard from friends and from strangers.  Good does conquer evil. And, although tragedy can strike anywhere at any time, it is good thing that my kids were normal today, even as their parents and teachers were quieter and more appreciative and more watchful.  That is how it should be.  Adults take care of children,as they did in Connecticut and as they do each day in every school in America.  Hug a teacher and give thanks for those who teach. 

Tragedy in Newtown, Connecticut

Like the president, and like all parents, everywhere, my heart is broken today by the news from Newtown, Connecticut.  I cannot wrap my mind around the tragedy, the horror.  Who would be so disturbed as to attack without warning a school, focusing on a classroom of kindergarten children?  I cannot understand how my God of peace and love can allow this to have happened?  And, I am reminded, as Father Martin, SJ, tweeted earlier, that God, too, had a child who died and I think perhaps that God is as appalled and as hurt as I am.  I believe He is there with those parents who wait...with those teachers who did the best they could to save as many as they could...with those children who somehow escaped the carnage but will forever have to live with the memory of what happened today.  God walks with us and He weeps with us.

The answers cannot be found in fear or hatred...in a retreat to homeschooling and the purchase of your own gun to keep your loved ones safe.  The answer lies in changing our society where violence is endemic, where it is okay to make fun of others, where it is acceptable to make excuses about behavior.  We have to hold each other accountable...to be kinder and gentler...we have to speak up for the voiceless, for the quiet kid in the back of the room, for the student who is bullied and for the bully.  We have to find ways to help families in trouble, to reach out to those who need resources....food, mental health care, friends.  We adults have to reach out to the kids that we know and even to those we don't know.  We have to be less absorbed in what we have and more absorbed in what we can give. 

We cannot change the world, all at once, in a big way, or at least most of us cannot.  We can, however, change our little piece of the world by giving more of our time and our money.  Smile.  Talk to someone who is lonely or afraid or lost.  Don't be afraid to ask, "how are you?" and mean it.  Buy fewer things at Apple and Target and give more to the Salvation Army and Catholic Charities.  Write your Congressman.  Volunteer. Be actively in the world so that when people see you, they see the face of God.  If each of us does what we can, when we can, we can bring about change.  We must be the change that we want to see in the world.  

And, if you know a teacher or a principal or a school nurse, hug them and pray for them.  My heart goes out to the teachers at Sandy Hook Elementary who shepherded their kids to safety as they could.  I cannot get out of my head the first grade teacher who hid her children in cabinets and told the gunman that they were in the gym.  That young, brave teacher, only 27, is my newest hero.  Each day teachers make a difference for good in the world.  Sometimes we, they, make mistakes, but mostly they do a difficult job for not enough pay.   Like policemen and social workers and nurses, teachers make a difference.  Encourage young people to teach, to take up the challenge of reaching kids who are troubled and afraid and lost and alone.  We can bemoan the world we live in or we can make an effort to change it for the better.  Let's do that.

I loved this article from Thomas Friedman who is likely to write more about the Middle East than the current election. I have always objected to the labels "pro life" and "pro choice". Who isn't PRO LIFE? And who isn't PRO CHOICE? These labels have been reduced to mean "pro abortion" and "anti abortion" but they are so much broader. Great article, Tom.

http://www.nytimes.com/2012/10/28/opinion/sunday/friedman-why-i-am-pro-life.html?ref=thomaslfriedman

Tuscumbia and the Dog

On Saturday, September 29,  we said goodbye to my dad in a simple ceremony at the church that he had always attended in his hometown of Tuscumbia, Missouri.  Dad was a deacon in the Tuscumbia Christian Church, affiliated with the Disciples of Christ denomination.  His mother was a member of the Presbyterian Church in town.  The girls, Betty and Barbara, attended church with her and Dad attended with his father, Homer Lee.  I even have a picture of Homer Lee at age 10 or so standing in front of the very church.  Dad was buried in the Hauenstein plot in the Tuscumbia Cemetery where countless of my relatives (and his) are buried.  He is with mom, resting there in his beloved Miller County.

Tuscumbia is a small town, located along the Osage River.  It has an "upper town" and a "Goose bottom" along the river.  Sadly, the best days of the town are in the past, at least in part but the people who live there are gracious, lovely, kind, warm-hearted people.  When Harry Truman spoke of "God's Country", I am sure he was speaking of Tuscumbia.  It is still the county seat and there's still a high school and elementary school there.  My dad had been president of the school board back in the day and chairman of the Annual Homecoming Picnic for many years.  He was proud of his community and the people who lived there.  He worried about the cemetery and even in his papers I found some figures that he had put together on the costs of mowing the cemetery grounds, $5000 annually, according to Dad, and the annual Memorial Day donation, $3,000.  The cemetery is a private entity.  Dad's records indicate the land was deeded by a Goodrich (of some family connection) as a cemetery.  One of my earliest memories is accompanying my grandmother to the cemetery with some 30 plus containers for "Decoration Day".

On Saturday, I drove to the funeral services by myself.  We had been asked to get to the church early.  I made a trip from Jefferson City that I had driven many times, most recently at Memorial Day.  I was struck by the beauty of the morning.  The first early hint of fall has arrived in Central Missouri and the trees were beginning to turn hues of yellow, orange, and red.  The sumac that grows along the road was already a fiery red.  In places the trees almost touch over Highway 17 and it was peaceful, lovely drive.  As I reached Tuscumbia, nestled by the river, I saw the sign, Population 218.  It hasn't changed much.  I think when I lived there it was 258.  People who have never lived in a small town have a hard time understanding why anyone would do so and further HOW anyone did so.  Even then, I was a bit annoyed by the fact that cell service is intermittent at best.

I learned that it was a tradition in Tuscumbia for mourners to walk to the cemetery from the church.  It's a short walk, perhaps a half mile, and many of the people at Dad's service walked through the school yard and around the corner to the cemetery.  There, they picked up a dog, or rather a dog picked them up.  He was healthy looking dog, but obviously a mutt of mixed parentage.  As the military honor guard fired the guns and blew Taps, the dog nosed among the mourners, rubbing up against my leg and those of my brothers and wandering among our friends.  I smiled and thought how my dad would have loved that dog being there among us.  It was almost as though dad was there, checking out who was attending the services, reassuring us that everything was okay.  My girls are convinced that Bamber sent the dog or perhaps was there with us through the dog.  Later, after the lovely luncheon provided by the church, as we stood in the street, ready to leave Tuscumbia, the dog reappeared.  Becca wanted to take him home but I am sure he belonged there in Tuscumbia.  At least that's what I choose to believe.  I left another piece of my heart there on Saturday.  I'm so glad Dad is there, among his family in the community that he lived in and loved for most of his 93 years.  Welcome back, Dad.

Bamber Hauenstein Wright, 1919-2012

My dad died yesterday.  I don't think he was in any physical pain and I hope that he was not afraid or sad.  I want to think that he died with my mom welcoming him to heaven in that gentle way that she had.  I can hear her saying, "gees, Bam, what took you so long?"

I have been most blessed in my life by the generous and good men who have filled it.  From my childhood, Dr. Jack Gunn, Phil Smith, Clayton Smith, Dr. Paul Howard, Floyd Ouderkirk, Denzel Kallenbach, Dewey Kallenbach, Bill Lawson, Jim Clark;.my teachers, Dr. Charles Jones, Mac Green, Charles Kendrick, Dr. Jesse Wheeler, Ted Tarkow, Walter Schroeder...my friends, Dale Schmidt, Larry Habel, Walter Bowman, Stuart Bintner, Bob Mobley...my family, Uncles Carroll, Cecil, Sam and Bud, my brothers Phil and Jack.  The best of these good and gracious men from whom I have learned so much was my dad, Bamber Wright.

In many ways he was a simple man.  He worked for Anchor Milling Company for over forty years, under the thumb of his wealthier, older cousin.  He enlisted in the Air Force at the dawn of WWII, dropping out of the University of Missouri.  He dreamed of becoming a pilot; but, he became instead a part of a combat mapping squadron in the little known China, India, Burma theatre.  When he returned from the war he meet and wooed my mom, Marcella Schell.  Their courtship last seven years and was in many ways tumultuous; but, somehow they persevered, despite his parents' misgivings about marrying a Catholic.  He watched as mom took us each Sunday to church at Sacred Heart in Eldon.  Dad went his own way, a deacon at the Tuscumbia Christian Church.

He was a faithful son who visited his mother each night.  My brother Jack repaid these visits, in part, during the last year when he faithfully trekked each evening to the nursing home to help dad with his teeth and to turn down his bed.   He was a devoted brother of Barbara and Betty, Betty who called each night when he could hear, ending their two minute talks with "I love you little Sister."  "I love you, Big Brother," she always responded.

Dad was a good husband.  He and my mom were married for fifty-six years.  He missed her desperately in the last few years.  When mom wanted to move to Jefferson City, dad moved, even though we all knew it was hard for him.  He missed the house he and mom had built before they married, pouring the foundation as he always told me on July 4, 1952.  Mom shared that more than once as their wedding date approached she thought of calling off the whole thing; but, then she remembered she had $2000 invested in the new house.

Dad was a terrific father.  I don't remember that he ever spanked us and he rarely raised his voice.  I never heard him swear in anger at my mother or any of us.  Somehow, we always wanted to please him.  We were good kids; how much trouble could one get into in Tuscumbia in the 1960s?  Dad took us on endless "cat arounds" to give our working mom a few minutes of peace on a Sunday afternoon.  Often these trips ended at the "station" under the hill with an ice cream for everyone.  Almost every summer night, Dad took us to the Eldon Pool where he and Vic Luetkemeyer talked and we swam for hours.  Dad and Vic undoubtedly consumed a fair amount of Jack Daniel in these sessions.

Dad liked butter brickle ice cream, red roses, Old Spice cologne, the music of Jim Reeves, and the stories of Louis L'Amour.  He always drove a red pick up and he drove after he retired for Belt Chevrolet in Eldon.  He loved to drive and when he couldn't, he didn't complain, although I know it bothered him and dampened his irrepressible spirit.

Dad took us on vacations that are still some of my best memories of time spent with him.  We traveled to Disneyland, Boston, Colorado, Wyoming, Michigan, Tennessee, visiting friends and family.  Every summer we trekked to Iowa and even as late as 2009 he made the trip in his pick up, me worrying at every mile.

Dad was a great story teller.  He could remember everyone's name, thinking that we would remember them too.  "You know", he would say, "X was the salesman for Lone Star Cement, Weyerhauser, etc."  Even recently, dad could remember long lost family from Tuscumbia and Miller County.

Bamber was a good friend and he had friends of all ages.  The closest friends of his youth, Judson Berry, Phil Smith, Omer Goode, are gone now too...I have an idea that they are sitting around a celestial fire ring, toasting each other with a good glass of bourbon, dad's "bellywasher."  Other friends were faithful visitors to dad in Jefferson City and later at the nursing home.  He would regale me with stories of visits by Jim and Nancy, Jimmy Mays, the family of Lessie and Bill Jenks, Alan Wright and Joe Pryor.  Children loved my dad and he loved children, especially his eight grandchildren.  Even last week when I visited he wanted to know "how are the kids?" and he smiled with pleasure as I reported the antics of my three and their respective jobs and romances.

It is difficult to sum up the rich, full life of my dad.  He lives in my heart and in the smile of my son, Matthew. I see him in the hug and wry humor  of my brothers Phil and Jack.

Say hello to mom for me.  I miss you.  I love you.  My dad, the best man I've ever known.

Mary and Marla

It's Labor Day weekend and I have been reminded, once again, of the fragility of life and the sadness that loss brings to family and friends.  Mary Downs and Marla Harris never met each other but they died on Thursday and I knew them, albeit not well.  Mary was the wife of long time teacher, Terry Downs, and over the past twenty years (or so), I have talked with Mary at the odd faculty gathering.  I remember when she gave birth to Sara and her son, Brian, a current sophomore at O'Hara.  Just last May I marveled at the fact that she was driving the kids to and from O'Hara, having suffered for many years from some kind of a neurological, seizure disorder.  I talked last with her at the faculty gathering in May.  Diagnosed with cancer in July, Mary had only a short battle with the vicious disease.

Marla was the mother of  Megan, Becca's first college roommate and still dear friend.  I bonded with Marla over the travails of moving our two freshmen into a 8 x 10 room at Creighton and shared stories that first semester at Parents Weekend.  Megan decided to transfer at semester and Marla and I shared a Mexican meal with the girls at Habeneros as they parted.  Megan and Becca have remained fast friends with numerous road trips between Sedalia and Kansas City by both girls.  And, I kept up with Marla through Megan, from the devastating diagnosis of leukemia, through last Thursday.

And, so, although I did not know Mary or Marla very well, I do know their children, and I happen to believe that it is possible to learn a lot about a woman when one knows her children.  I know that Mary had incredible determination and faith because her daughter, Sara, showed that each day at O'Hara as she took the stage for various plays and served as a leader for our senior Kairos retreat.  That determination and faith live on in Sara and in Brian, who is just beginning his sophomore year at O'Hara.  And, I could see the enormous capacity for love that was Marla's gift to Megan.  Throughout her battle with leukemia, Megan started "Hope for Marla", a prayer campaign complete with wristbands.  Megan carried on at Mizzou and spent as much time as she could with her lovely mom.  A warm and caring woman, Marla had a quick smile for everyone she met and it was like meeting an old friend when I learned that she had grown up in Jefferson City.  So, we bonded about growing up in a small town in central Missouri.

I feel so deeply for the Downs and Harris families.  I so cherish my adult time with my own mom, and I feel sad that Sara, Brian, Megan, and her brothers have been cheated of that experience with their own moms.  But, the gifts of their moms will live on in them.  And, so I am reminded of how precious and fragile life is.  We are here but for a short time.  Please don't waste that time arguing with your mom or wishing your child could be this way or that.  Hold on to each other.  Cherish each moment, even the arguments over hair length and curfew.   I know that I will do so.  It's especially important on this weekend.  Twenty years ago I gave birth to my last child, Matthew.  His name means "Child of God" and each day I thank God for bringing him (and his sisters) to us.  I plan to spend a little more time with these "gifts" because none of us knows what the future might bring.  I hope to live to be a very old grandma, but that is in someone else's hands.  What I can do is live life fully, in appreciation and joy.