Sometimes, A Bolt from the Sky

There are times in one's life, as I'm sure you've experienced, when something hits you like a bolt from the sky. Something like that has bridged the last two days.

Yesterday, I helped pay tribute to a former teaching colleague, Ron Jacobson. Sadly and undeservedly, but perhaps because of the pandemic and the emerging lack of reliance upon a dying newspaper culture, there weren't many people there. I do know there were tributes on Facebook, so Jake (as we all called him)'s passing did not go unnoticed by some of his former students.

He was a terrific colleague. Always with kind of an impish grin, I remember the way he brightened the downstairs teachers' lounge with a quip or two. He was always positive. I never, ever saw him angry, though teaching does bring with it plenty of reason to be so.

He taught science, so I didn't really know him all that well, being in the social studies department, the center of which activity was normally upstairs on another side of the high school building. But Jake impacted my life in a very clear and decisive way: He served for years on our bargaining team, when collective bargaining for teachers was a real and palpable thing in Wisconsin, back in the day when people were fair, or at least had to observe fairness through legal requirements. Upon retirement, the two major sources of my income have become my state pension and my Social Security check, both of which were impacted by the salary I earned while an active teacher. He helped grow that as far as could be stretched. So thanks, Jake, for that. Too.

I received an unexpected treat from Jake's younger son, who, besides delivering an excellent and moving eulogy at the service, spoke with me before it. He had had me for a class. He introduced his daughters to me, calling me a "great teacher," which gave me a glow I hadn't had in years. Thank you, Ross. Very kind.

Beyond that, I got to see some other former colleagues and catch up. As usual, I had to tell them about my research and travels to the places named Grafton that has become quite the project. Some of them kind of looked at me as if to say, He's going off some cliff. Others were nice enough to listen more deeply. Some, I think, rather marveled at someone who still gets that excited about something. Maybe I jolted a couple of minds into believing it's okay for them to still do so, too.

Regardless, great to see them. Many of them look pretty good, even if they're all older than me. Which reminds me--

Today is my 70th birthday. Yes, I think of it as a milestone. Yes, that and Jake's passing remind me all too well that the clock ticks for us all and time is running out.

And it's another reminder that, if there's something to do or say, I'd better get that done ASAP. Because you don't know anything. The future is a blur and a mystery. I'm reaching out and getting together with other colleagues, which should have been done sooner except I was traveling and stuff and moving around the country and people, understandably, lost track of me. You get immersed in things and conclude that nobody really cares that much anymore, anyhow. 

So you stop trying to maintain contact. Your energy goes elsewhere. Not only are you reminded how much you've missed some people, it occurs to you that it works the other way, too. Long, long ago in a galaxy far, far away, all that mattered an awful lot once.

I get a blog called "Calm," which emphasizes staying that way. It shows something each morning. Today's message was: Name three things that you have gained from growing older. Take time to celebrate.

Okay, since the number really did go up by one vital digit today (most specifically, at 1:57 p.m.), here goes, in no particular order and not necessarily inclusive:

• Wisdom, if one pays attention;
• Perspective, since hanging around long enough demonstrates that things tend to repeat themselves; and 
• The unfortunate, but necessary, knowledge that though you'll never accomplish everything you set out to do, it's never too late to leave a footprint.

Celebrate? Well, I plan on it, though not necessarily all in this day. It's also occurred to me that maybe celebration might take longer--in which case, I ought to take all the time I need. Life is a challenge, yes, but it's also a celebration. And, after all, I'm still here. I came close to not being here not long ago, and the first conscious thing I did this morning was thank heaven I have yet another chance.

And if there's something to say, I'm going to say it. But then, partly because of this blog, I'm in the process, anyhow. Sometimes a bolt from the sky, bridging over two days, brings all that home.

Be well. Be careful. If you need to do something, by golly, get out there and do it. With some luck, I'll see you down the road.

Mister Mark