Remembering Mary Travers

Mary, of Peter, Paul & Mary, died today at age 72. The music for which she was best known easily spans two or three generations, inspiring sing-along recognition. The New York Times obituary remembered her, including these words:

Ms. Travers’s voice blended seamlessly with those of her colleagues, Peter Yarrow and Paul Stookey, to create a rich three-part harmony that propelled the group to the top of the pop charts.
. . .

Their sound may have been commercial and safe, but early on their politics were somewhat risky for a group courting a mass audience. Like Mr. Yarrow and Mr. Stookey, Ms. Travers was outspoken in her support for the civil-rights and antiwar movements . . . .

Peter, Paul and Mary went on to perform at the 1963 March on Washington and joined the voting-rights marches from Selma to Montgomery, Ala., in 1965.

Julia Child retrospective, part 1

I haven't seen the recent movie, Julie & Julia, but hope to see it soon. The reviews and related commentary have been voluminous and enjoyable.

The L. A. Times ran this slideshow of photos looking back at the life and career of the famed gourmet cook who brought French cooking to America's kitchens, dining rooms (and living rooms via her television series).

Here's the accompanying caption to the slideshow:

Meryl Streep's mesmerizing performance in "Julie & Julia" had one downside -- walking out of the theater, it was hard to remember what the real Julia Child looked like anymore. That's because Streep was magnificent at channeling the endearingly awkward mannerisms and high-pitched voice of that master chef. So we decided to comb the L.A. Times article and photo archives for Julia Child highlights. And when we did, we were struck once again: No offense, Meryl, but the real Julia Child is absolutely unforgettable. Bon Appetit!

Ted Kennedy: "a lasting impact on the lives of other human beings"

Today was the funeral for Senator Ted Kennedy. Various news stories in the few days since his death relayed the details of his family history, his personal and political story, and the many accolades from people of all persuasions. As just one example of the news coverage, here is the compiled coverage from the Washington Post.

As part of the funeral service, President Obama delivered a eulogy of Kennedy; here is an excerpt from the Post's account:

"We can use each day to show those who are closest to us how much we care about them, and treat others with the kindness and respect that we wish for ourselves," Obama said. "We can learn from our mistakes and grow from our failures. And we can strive at all costs to make a better world, so that someday, if we are blessed with the chance to look back on our time here, we can know that we spent it well; that we made a difference; that our fleeting presence had a lasting impact on the lives of other human beings. . . . This is how Ted Kennedy lived. This is his legacy."

New cemetery marker--thanks but no thanks

A former student and admirer of Frank Lloyd Wright placed a marker on the grave of Wright's famous love interest, without approval of the cemetery board. Ultimately the board decided to return the unauthorized marker. The news story from the Wisconsin State Journal begins this way:

A gravestone for Frank Lloyd Wright’s professional inspiration and personal sorrow, murder victim Mamah Borthwick, placed without permission in a family cemetery at Taliesin outside of Spring Green one late night in May, will be returned to a well-intentioned admirer.

A beautiful example of a life for others

Eunice Kennedy Shriver died this week; here's the New York Times obituary for her. Most notable in all the tributes was her founding of the Special Olympics (the site is now transformed into a wonderful tribute to her).

In pleasant contrast to the current health care reform fervor, which seems to be motivated by fear and self-interest (frequently exaggeratedly so), Shriver's concern for others, especially those who historically were marginalized because of disability, is a bright example.

We typically think of the Kennedy family as politicians, often with some ideal of public service. Shriver reminded us that we can all undertake public service for the common good.

Elvis week is coming soon

A local Madison artist will have her portrait of Elvis Presley featured in a art contest and show at Graceland, August 8-15. Robyn Kaftanski greated a velvety looking "blue suede shoes" image of Elvis. Check out the full story in Madison's arts news publication, 77 Square.

Find out more about Elvis Week at elvisweek.com.

A couple years ago, I was in Memphis for the 25th anniversary of Elvis' death. The crowds, impromptu shrines, and tributes were amazing. The line to take a candle to Elvis' gravesite at Graceland wound back and forth through the street for probably a mile!

And that's the way it was...

Last week Walter Cronkite passed away at age 92. Nearly everyone over the age of 30 has some living memory of the august newsman. The New York Times included this obituary, which noted the following:

As anchorman and reporter, Mr. Cronkite described wars, natural disasters, nuclear explosions, social upheavals and space flights, from Alan Shepard’s 15-minute ride to lunar landings. On July 20, 1969, when the Eagle touched down on the moon, Mr. Cronkite exclaimed, “Oh, boy!”

On the day President John F. Kennedy was assassinated, Mr. Cronkite briefly lost his composure in announcing that the president had been pronounced dead at Parkland Memorial Hospital in Dallas. Taking off his black-framed glasses and blinking back tears, he registered the emotions of millions.

Also, in another historical note, July 20, 2009 is the 40th anniversary of the U.S. moon landing. Here's the New York Times' segment, "Our Moon," on that historic first. Oh, boy!

Living to 100 and beyond

I just finished reading If I Live to Be 100, the 2002 book by Neenah Ellis, based on her public radio series. She recounts numerous interviews of Americans from across the country who lived to be 100 years old or older.

In addition to meeting a fascinating variety of people, Ellis reflects on and reveals her own personal thoughts on aging, relationships, and self-identity. Here's a short sample from the introduction:

As I was listening to their life stories, I realized that I was being given the chance to choose my own future . . . . By lining my life up alongside theirs, I got a better idea of where I might be headed. I'd always had a sense of my life as a leaf floating down a river, on a course that seemed unalterable, but suddenly, in my mid-forties, I felt the need to make more choices: I could decide what sort of old person I wanted to be.

In a similar vein, check out the Dallas News piece on 30 ways to live to be 100. All of the suggestions are great, but my favorites are "dance, sing" and "find passion for the little things in life."

Passing of an ukulele virtuoso

As noted in the New York Times, John King, a renowned ukulele player, died at the age of 55.

Here's an excerpt from the Times' obituary:

Mr. King resurrected a guitar technique from the time of Bach to play a piece that was almost certainly never before tried on a ukulele, Bach’s Partita No. 3, and went on to play other difficult classical works with dazzling mastery.

. . .

The foundation of Mr. King’s achievement was reviving a Baroque guitar technique and applying it to the ukulele. The technique involves playing each succeeding note in a melodic line on a different string. The ukulele — which is tuned so that the four strings go not from the lowest to the highest note but instead run G, C, E, A — turns out to be great for doing this. . . . The result is a bell-like quality of sound in which individual notes over-ring one another, producing an effect that some compare to a harp or harpsichord.

I'm feeling inspired to pull my ukulele out of the closet and practice!

A bittersweet Civil War story

Errol Morris, in the New York Times, wrote a five-part series on Amos Humiston, a Civil War soldier who died on the battlefield in Gettysburg. Humiston, unknown when his body was found, was clutching a photograph of his three children when he died.

The series, "Whose Father Was He?" looks at the initial history of identifying the fallen soldier (part one).

In part two, Morris interviews Mark Dunkelman, the author of a book about Humiston, including how Dunkelman found the current Humiston descendants.

Next (part three), Morris explores Gettysburg war photography and the attempt to assist the orphaned children of the dead soldiers.

Part four discusses the uneven (to say the least) administration of the orphanage and the enigmatic character who founded it.

Finally, Morris attempts to discover who Amos Humiston was as a person by piecing together all the known information about him (part five).

Remembering a champion of a disability theology

Most of us have not heard of Nancy Eiesland, and I had not until I read her obituary in the New York Times. Her theology sounds fascinating and her life sounds amazing. Here are a couple short excerpts from the Times:

By the time of her death at 44 on March 10 [,2009], Ms. Eiesland had come to believe that God was in fact disabled, a view she articulated in her influential 1994 book, “The Disabled God: Toward a Liberatory Theology of Disability.” She pointed to the scene described in Luke 24:36-39 in which the risen Jesus invites his disciples to touch his wounds.

. . .

Ms. Eiesland’s insights added a religious angle to a new consciousness among the disabled that emerged in the 1960s in the fight for access to public facilities later guaranteed by the Americans with Disabilities Act of 1990. The movement progressed into cultural realms as disabled poets, writers and dramatists embraced disability as both cause and identity.

According to her husband, as referenced in the obituary, Ms. Eiesland's death was not caused by her disability.

(Photo by bunnyandcoco; used by permission.)

The Very Hungry Caterpillar is as lively as eight 5-year-olds (that's 40)

For anyone age 45 and younger, the children's book, The Very Hungry Caterpillar, was part of growing up. Its author and illustrator, Eric Carle, is profiled in a recent Newsweek story.

His 200-word story about a caterpillar who devours a sausage, a cupcake, a watermelon and more—there are holes drilled into the book to represent all that nibbling—celebrates its 40th anniversary this week. "

In addition to discussing Carle's literary work, the Newsweek story tells of his childhood in Nazi Germany where he was able to connect with art in spite of Hitler's reign of totalitarian control. Ultimately, Carle ended up in the United States, working as a graphic artist and illustrator.

[At 80 years old now,] Carle seems to have reached a sweet spot in his life—he posted a picture on his blog recently of him eating breakfast with a spoonful of his favorite food: Black Forest honey. "I'm very happy," he says. "In fact, I told my wife I've never been so happy." It might have taken him 40 years, but Eric Carle is finally as free as a butterfly.

Memories and metaphors after good-bye

In this reflection on Slate.com, Meghan O'Rourke tells of her metaphor for her mother immediately following her mother's death:

I went outside onto my parents' porch without putting my coat on. The limp winter sun sparkled off the frozen snow on the lawn. "Please take good care of my mother," I said to the air. I addressed the fir tree she loved and the wind moving in it. "Please keep her safe for me."

. . .

The truth is, I need to experience my mother's presence in the world around me and not just in my head. Every now and then, I see a tree shift in the wind and its bend has, to my eye, a distinctly maternal cast. For me, my metaphor is—as all good metaphors ought to be—a persuasive transformation. In these moments, I do not say to myself that my mother is like the wind; I think she is the wind. I feel her: there, and there.

In a similar vein, Alan Jones wrote a reflection upon his retirement as dean of Grace Episcopal Cathedral in San Francisco. He commented that writing one's own obituary is an interesting exercise to gain clarity of one's priorities and purpose in life. Here is a poem he wrote about his own obituary writing exercise:

Pescadero--on Writing My Obituary

The instructions read,
"Only two hundred words."
The music of the movie, Shadowlands
contradicts my old dislike of Lewis,
his moralisms always hitting where it hurt.
Now--writing of my death--
I think he's right.--
At least he saw
glory in the noche oscura.

The dying sun
here in Richard's house
softly lights the Buddha's way,
filling me with an unbuddhist ache
of contented longing,
in the cycle of attachment.

The Zen bells ring,
telling me that while no meeting
in my life was insignificant,
the past is past.

Alone in the nunc eternum
of this moment,
I am surrounded
by clouds of witness.
My obituary written,
I live, for this moment,
on the other side of death,
with Buddha and his consort
in this Japanese retreat.
Mary and her Son
still keep me company,
teaching me to hope--
loving all sentient beings,
and being loved in return,
I see karma and providence
marry in the light of the fading sun.

(Photo by annia316 ღ ; used by permission.)

This year is the 200th anniversary of Lincoln's birth

To celebrate the 200th anniversary of Lincoln, the Smithsonian Institution website offers a wide array of history, photos, and videos. Check out the special section of the website.

(Photo by dbking; used by permission.)

Obama, art, food

Recently, the Smithsonian Institution displayed a portrait of Presidents Obama and Lincoln--made from cupcakes. Here is the New York Times post on the exhibit, which became a party where everyone ate the cupcakes.

Also, here is the Smithsonian's video of the artist telling her story about how she created the "mosaic" of the presidents.

(Photo by Luce Foundation Center, Smithsonian American Art Museum; video by Meredith Bragg.)

"Happy Obama Day"--January 20

Last week after the inauguration of President Obama, I heard someone greet a friend on the street, "Happy Obama Day!" What a way to begin a fresh start.

For me, the historic inauguration was summed up with this story from NPR's Morning Edition about a 105-year-old woman who was on the national Mall for the event. Ella Mae Johnson said, "We were all there; we were there waiting. It didn't matter what my color was. It didn't matter what your color was. And I could not ask for anything better."

Also on the topic of President Obama, check out this story from Smithsonian magazine about the graphic artist, Shepard Fairey, who created the now iconic images of Barack Obama.

A man famous for his amnesia passed away

Last week Henry Gustav Molaison, known to his medical and scientific observers as H.M, died at age 82. At age 27 Molaison was the subject of surgery to treat severe seizures he experienced, but ultimately the surgery left him with amnesia--he could not remember anything beyond selected memories of his pre-surgery life.

Here's a snippet from the New York Times obituary for him:

For the next 55 years, each time he met a friend, each time he ate a meal, each time he walked in the woods, it was as if for the first time.

And for those five decades, he was recognized as the most important patient in the history of brain science. As a participant in hundreds of studies, he helped scientists understand the biology of learning, memory and physical dexterity, as well as the fragile nature of human identity.

From the Times account, it seems that he led a pleasant, if not traditionally fulfilling, life.

In conjunction with noting Mr. Molaison's death, Slate.com offered a brief explanation of amnesia, including this description:

There are two main types of amnesia: retrograde and anterograde. Retrograde means you lose your memories from before the surgery, injury, or whatever incident caused the memory loss. . . . Anterograde means you lose the ability to form new memories but can still recall things from before the inciting event. That was the case with H.M., who could remember scattered childhood memories.

(Photo by erat; used by permission.)

Pearl Harbor anniversary

The anniversary of the bombing of Pearl Harbor was December 7, and the Honolulu Advertiser had this piece about the annual remembrance and the dwindling number of veterans who were there. Most surviving veterans are in their eighties and nineties, and the last official reunion was held in 2006.

Here are comments from one of the veterans at the remembrance:

"I feel very proud that I've survived," said [George] Smith, of Washington. "I'm very honored by all these people. I'm no hero. I was simply doing my duty."

In a related anniversary, on December 18, 1944, the U.S. Supreme Court decided Korematsu v. U.S., which upheld the racially discriminatory Japanese interment camps during World War II. Here is a link to the ABA Journal's short piece on Korematsu.

(Photo by Andrew Shimabuku / The Honolulu Advertiser.)

Father Damien's leper colony has come a long way

In 1873, Father Damien, a Belgian priest, arrived in Hawaii to begin a mission for those permanently exiled from society, patients suffering from leprosy, now known as Hansen's disease.

As the New York Times reports, a community of patients remains in the village on Molokai where the mission began. "Today, just 24 patients are left: 24 people who experienced the counterintuitive twinning of loneliness and community, of all that dying and all that living. Here, you may have grieved over the forced surrender of your newborn; you may also have rejoiced in finding a life partner who understood. "

The story of the survivors is a testament to their dignity, which was first championed by the nineteenth century missionary who lived, served, and died among them.

Dirge Without Music by Edna St. Vincent Millay

I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground.

So it is, and so it will be, for so it has been, time out of mind:

Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely. Crowned

With lilies and with laurel they go; but I am not resigned.

Lovers and thinkers, into the earth with you.
Be one with the dull, the indiscriminate dust.
A fragment of what you felt, of what you knew,
A formula, a phrase remains,--but the best is lost.

The answers quick and keen, the honest look, the laughter, the love--
They are gone. They are gone to feed the roses. Elegant and curled
Is the blossom. Fragrant is the blossom. I know. But I do not approve.
More precious was the light in your eyes than all the roses in the world.

Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave
Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind,
Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave.
I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned.

(Photo by dbking; used by permission.)