A Few of My Very Best Memories

Yesterday, you got one of my worst memories. I need to go to bed shortly but I'd like to share a few of my very best memories - take them for what they're worth.

• I'm in college. I hadn't been for ages and finally stopped worshipping St. Mattress and got my ass out of bed to go to St. John's Episcopal where I belonged. I'd been feeling really stressed out, under the gun. I walked out of that church after the service feeling like an enormous weight had been lifted off my shoulders. That day, God ceased being an abstract.
  

• I'm in grad school in Rochester, NY, and singing with the Eastman-Rochester Chorus. We're doing Handel's Messiah (that season, we did the entire Messiah, the Resurrection Symphony, and the entire St. Matt) with the Eastman Philharmonia in the Eastman theatre. Now, you have to understand that I grew up outside of Rochester and went to this annual performance of the Messiah more than once. I remember overwhelming thrilled and astounded to be on *stage* and not in the audience. I've sung some beautiful stuff in some lovely places but that is, hands down, my favorite musical memory.

• I'm in 9th grade and the school year is drawing to a close, bringing the 9th Grade Banquet (a Very Big Deal) with it. I knew that my folks were deciding each month whether to pay the mortgage or the electric bill; I knew that we had a vegetable garden not just to teach us kids to weed. I was in Ames with my dad and we walked through the teenage section and I saw a dress that I would've killed to own. Didn't say anything, just looked at it, fingered the fabric, then followed my dad. My dad... (I'm getting all teary eyed here), my dad who is as typical a clueless guy as they come... my dad remembered which dress it was and he and my mom bought it for me to wear to the Banquet. This is my very favorite memory of all.
  

In Memory Of...

I was listening to NPR on my way to rehearsal this afternoon. As they discussed yesterday's horrific events in Virginia, the sociologist they were speaking with (I think it was a sociologist) noted that this event will become a defining moment for the kids who are in college at this point - not just the ones at Virginia Tech, but throughout the country. It got me thinking a little (always a scary thought) about the tragic defining moment of my college life - an event occurring before many of today's collegiate scholars were even born. To them, it's a note in the history books; to me, it was the moment when I realized that, sometimes, things just aren't going to be ok.

It was January and I was a freshman at Smith. It was just before lunch and I was waiting around for the dining room doors to open at Ziskind House. The day was nice enough - sunny as I recall - a pretty winter day; just another normal day as the term got underway. At 11:38 a.m. on January 28, 1986, the Challenger blew up, taking with it 7 astronauts: pilots, scientists, engineers, a teacher.

NASA to me was the domain of no mere mortals. These were people who walked among the very stars and came back to share that experience with us in the limited way possible. Gods and titans, these.

I had always wanted to be an astronaut. I watched the stars, read science fiction avidly, poured over pictures of the 1969 lunar landing. Fates worked against me: I'm awful at math, I get motion sick very easily, I'm clearly no athlete. But, in my mind, there but for the grace of God went I. And I am ashamed that part of me was still a little jealous that they got to go. That, for that one moment, before things went all to hell, they knew they were going to space.

The poor kids at Virginia Tech will bear no such shame, I am certain. I mourn with them and their parents and teachers and the police responders. I mourn with the parents of the gunman and the community. I mourn for the loss of life; I mourn for the loss of innocence and faith. I mourn with the people for whom this will ever be a moment that separates before from after.

Take this moment and make something of it. Use this to teach yourself to count every day, every person with whom you come into contact as precious and important and as worth reaching out to. Remake this undeniable tragedy into something from which something good and fresh and new springs. What better memorial for the loss of innocence can there be than renewal of purpose and spirit and love?

On My Honor

I will try
to serve God,
my country,
and mankind,
and to live by the Girl Scout Law.

And so said I, every Tuesday, with my right hand upraised in the Girl Scout sign.

I joined GSUSA as a Brownie in second grade (they didn't have Daisies then nor were first graders considered old enough yet - much has changed). I remained a girl scout till I left for college. And, I suppose, at heart, I still consider myself a girl scout.

I remember making butter by shaking cream in a jar seemingly interminably, as a Brownie. I remember us putting on a Fly Up play for the Brownies that came after us, once we were ever so old and wise Juniors. I chose the name Priscilla for my character - it just seemed so fun and girly whereas Kelley was just not feminine in the slightest (we had a boy in our grade whose name was Kelly). I remember making felt ice skate ornaments with paperclips for the blades - they are still proudly hung on my Christmas tree every year.

I remember being so frustrated when camping - my mother was one of our troop leaders and, whenever some scout bagged out on her duty, guess who got to do it for her. I still think this is immensely unfair. My mother wasn't much liked in our troop - she didn't let people get away with much and she was rather sharp-tongued and bossy about it. My dad, who went camping with us, was much beloved.

I remember sleeping with Cynthia Her-Last-Name-I-Can't-Remember in a tent at Mendon Ponds and it pouring pitchforks and hammer handles. Our tent leaked and her side flooded. I remember her trying to climb into my nice dry sleeping bag with me - humph! I remember our patrol trying to bake pigs in a blanket over a fire on another camping trip. A fruitless effort until my dad finally suggested (gently) we consider using their reflector oven and not try to do it like they were corn dogs or something. It did work much better. (Thanks, Dad!)

We didn't just camp. My Juniors troop went to Niagara Falls, my Cadette Troop went to Albany, and, best of all, my Seniors troop went to Cape Cod. What fun that was.

Not so fun was the grudge Mrs. Kuhn had against my mother that she took out on me. Mrs. Kuhn's daughter wasn't all that inclined to do as she was instructed in juniors and we've already demonstrated my mother isn't one to take that lightly. Mrs. Kuhn was one of those "my child does no wrong" kind of people and I think you can guess the rest. This came to a head when I was working on my Gold Award project. I had submitted a proposal and Mrs. Kuhn, as my advisor (lucky me) said, "terrific - that will do it for sure". Well, I completed the project and the council firmly rejected it. So, for the first time, I discovered that grownups, too, could be petty as she wanted her daughter to get an award that I didn't so as to get back at my mom. I got "held back," so to speak, and watched most of the rest of my troop get their Gold Awards from the sidelines.

I *loved* the other two of our three leaders for my senior troop - one in particular. Mrs. Schueler. Mrs. Schueler, God rest her soul as she unfortunately passed away a few years ago, was a very sweet lady who liked me a lot and understood I just wanted to be liked but wasn't of a temperment to be liked by other teenagers. She understood thatMrs. Kuhn didn't like me and she tried to make up for it. She was a saint in human garb and made a big difference in my scouting life. She took over as my Gold Award advisor and I got the award my senior year. (In case you're curious, I created a puppet show to teach kids about reading music, recruited junior and cadette girl scouts to man the puppets as part of a Music badge and took it to our district's elementary schools.)

In high school, I was lucky enough to get a campership to go to National Center West for 2 weeks. National Center West is in Ten Sleep, Wyoming, population 320 (at the time). I had never been in an airport so big (Chicago, Denver) or so small (Worland, WY). I remember that I had been supposed to change in Pittsburgh but there was a thunderstorm that hit their tower so we were re-routed through O'Hare. I had no layover - well, about 3 minutes. The businessman who was sitting next to me and who was continuing on to wherever the plane was going next, debarked with me, and talked to the gate agent to get them to hold my flight as I ran through the airport in my girl scout uniform. He also gave me his newspaper to read. (Thank you, whoever you were; I really appreciated (and still do) your help.)

But my most ubiquitous girl scout memory is the songs - oh the singing. I think the part I remember, love, and miss the most is the singing. From The Brownie Smile to the Comstock Camp Song, Music Alone Shall Live, Make New Friends, Taps, song after song after song will live in my heart until the day they put me in the ground.

On my honor,
I will try
to serve God,
my country,
and mankind,
and to live by the Girl Scout Law.

All in all, not such a bad creed.