Walrus Time and Memories of Ms. Karen

I saw it in a little shop while on vacation in Icy Strait Point, Alaska – five years ago – and I had to have it. It was a hand-carved figurine. Specifically, a little marble walrus with tusks and all. For such a small item it seemed a tad expensive – about $50. But hey, it was hand-carved. And cute.

But that’s not why I bought the walrus. My purchase was far more reminiscent than that. As soon as I saw this little fella it took me back to my childhood – fifth grade, exactly. I remember that in fifth grade – and in sixth grade too, because I had the same teachers – when the class would congregate we would not refer to this time as “gathering time” or “group time.” No, class gatherings were known as “Walrus Time.”

Why was it called Walrus Time? Alice in Wonderland inspired the name. Namely, it came from Lewis Carroll’s epic book Through the Looking Glass and What Alice Found There. Remember Walrus, and the Carpenter, and those poor unfortunate oysters? The one famous stanza in the poem goes like this:

“The time has come,” the Walrus said,

“To talk of many things.

Of shoes – and ships – and sealing wax –

Of cabbages – and kings –

And why the sea is boiling hot –

And whether pigs have wings.”

For those unfamiliar with the story, Walrus and Carpenter turned out to be antagonists instead of friends, having tricked a mess of oysters into becoming their next meal. But that’s beside the point. The stanza by itself hints at the value of good conversation.

Hence, the time to talk, the time to discuss, the time to laugh, the time to scold (this one reserved for the teachers, of course) or the time to share all fell within the confines of “Walrus Time.”

Actually, memories of Walrus Time in of itself do not make me sentimental. It’s the memories of who was there. That would be my favorite teacher, who we called Ms. Karen.

She would be my teacher for two years, during fifth and sixth grade. She was young – only a mere 30 years old or so when I entered into the fifth grade. And she was a woman who was genuinely – if not painfully – human. She was passionate and compassionate, yet fallible and flawed. Her temper was fierce. More than once she scared me with her rage in the classroom. Her emotions often overwhelmed her to the point of tears – particularly when her students disappointed her or fell short of expectations. Perhaps her standards for us were so high because she cared so deeply. I do believe her mission in life was to make sure that we all reached our fullest potential, or at least had the best life possible.

While her moods were intense, the endless devotion she demonstrated to her profession and to her students was enough for me to look past the occasional outbursts. After all, I was one of those students who reaped the benefits.



Ms. Karen and me, around 1976.
By the way, I still have the shirt!



Her encouragement led me to become involved in the community children’s theater. Her “you can do it” attitude gave me the confidence to explore my own creativity through writing stories and poetry. And it was her belief in me that ultimately made me the county spelling bee champ. The spelling bee, in particular, was a multi-year effort. The first year I finished fourth; the second year I finished third; and the third year – my eighth grade year – I emerged victorious.

I remember that night. Ms. Karen was no longer my teacher and had not been for almost two years. But she was there that night – there to watch me finish what I had started. How fulfilled I felt! I had worked so hard for so long and finally achieved my goal. And Ms. Karen was so proud of me. Did I do it for me? Yes. But I did it for her, too.

Sometimes I wondered if maybe in some small way Ms. Karen would push her students so that she could live vicariously through them. I did not know the details of her life, but I did know that her life had not been without pain. I vaguely remember her alluding to difficult times when she was young, one being that her father was an alcoholic. I really didn’t know much more than that. But it was enough for me to sense that in some ways she may have been a tragic figure. Or maybe she was just a survivor who had missed life opportunities due to her own unfortunate circumstances. Perhaps her students’ achievements became her own. I’m sure that’s a small consolation for lost opportunities.

One year was particularly painful for her. She was no longer my teacher, but I still greatly valued her counsel. In December 1977 I went to visit Ms. Karen in the hospital. She was sick, but I wasn’t quite sure what ailed her. It was a Saturday afternoon. I was in the process of preparing an essay for a contest sponsored by the local Daughters of the American Revolution. I wanted to visit my favorite teacher, but also I wanted to bounce some ideas off of her about my essay. When I entered the room I found her with the nurse, visibly upset and tears streaming down her face. What was wrong, I wondered. Whatever it was it didn’t matter, as her spirits quickly elevated once I got there. It wasn’t long before she was spouting so many ideas off for my essay, so fast, that I could barely write them down!

I won the essay contest. And she went to another hospital. It was a special hospital several hours away. By this time her condition had been diagnosed. Today it is referred to as bipolar disorder. At that time people called it manic depression.

Fortunately, treatment seemed to be effective and lithium stabilized her moods. She continued teaching and we stayed close. Through my high school years we would see each other on occasion, maybe do lunch or dinner. A few times after I started driving I would just show up unannounced at her house. She would welcome me and we would chat into the night. As Walrus would put it, we “would talk of many things.” Maybe not shoes or ships or sealing wax. But instead of our futures, and of relationships. And many other things. I even recall her describing her world of bipolar when she detailed some of the delusions she had when she was sick.

On the day I received my letter of acceptance into college, I went straight to McDonald’s – where I knew she would be working at her second job – to show her the letter. And that summer after I graduated I worked with her at McDonald’s.

And then I went away to college. That’s when we lost touch. Shortly after I graduated college, I bumped into her during one of my visits home. She hugged me tight and whispered into my ear, “Call me.” I told her I would.

But I didn’t. Yet I thought about her. And one day a feeling came over me that I should write her a letter – one that expressed how much she meant to me. I wanted to let her know how much of an impact she had made in my life. Yes, I was going to write her that letter. Sometime. At some point, I thought, I would get around to it.

But I never got around to writing that letter. And not long after I found out that I would never have that chance. Some 20 years or so ago, during a routine telephone conversation my mother broke the news to me. Ms. Karen was dead. It was an overdose. Was it accidental? Was it intentional? I don’t know. I don’t care. But oh, how I wish I would have written that letter.

When I lost my job a few months back, I remember that the things that gave me the most strength to get through that first week were the heartfelt notes that I received from my coworkers. Such small gestures, yet so powerful.

Karen deserved that powerful gesture from me. If she was in pain, perhaps I could have eased it. At the very least, I could have touched her with my words for just a few minutes. I just wanted her to know that her life had been worth it, because she had made a difference in at least one person’s life – mine. But she didn’t hear that from me, because I didn’t have the time.

As I near the age that she was when she passed away, I find myself reflecting more about her, the relationship we had and the impact she made in my life. And I think often about the letter I never wrote, the closure I never got. I don’t know whether she was buried or cremated. I never saw her obituary. And I really have very little that shows that she ever existed or was part of my life. A couple of class pictures. A very grainy black and white photo of the two of us on a field trip. A couple of “good luck” bookmarks that she gave me prior to my spelling bees. And a Webster’s word guide – one that she gave me after my first spelling bee, with my name engraved on it. On the inside front page is written a simple sentiment – “I love you. Ms. Karen. March 17, 1977.”

And then there’s the little marble Walrus. She didn’t give it to me, but it sits on my desk. And every time I look at the little guy I think of her and pleasant memories of Walrus Times past. In what has been a time of transition for me, I wish Karen was here now to tell me “You can do it.” When I look at the Walrus, I feel that in some transcendental way she is with me, cheering me on, boosting my confidence and assuring me that success is mine for the taking.

Karen, I never had the chance to say goodbye. But please know that I say hello to you every day. Though you have been gone for so long, you remain in my heart and will forever. Someday when I reach the hereafter we’ll get together, you and I, and we’ll catch up. We will chat like we once did, into the night.

And it will be Walrus Time once again.

Up in Smoke

The Civil Rights Act of 1964 came into being before I was born. And even though I was born a little later on in the 1960s, I obviously don’t recall the struggle of those who fought for equal rights during that crucial time in this country’s history.

Part of Civil Rights Act dealt with the federal government’s right to regulate interstate commerce in order to guarantee every individual’s equal rights under the fourteenth amendment. This gave the government license to enforce anti-discrimination laws in places of “public accommodation.” This applied to not only government facilities, but also to privately owned businesses.

I can only imagine what some Southern business owners thought of that. I’m guessing they feared it might mean the death of their businesses. Perhaps some would claim not to be bigots themselves, but would argue that if they were to allow non-whites to patronize their businesses then the “regulars” (e.g., the white people) would stop coming. I don’t doubt that many resented the government interference. I would guess that many claimed that these were their businesses and that they could operate them any way they desired.

So what happened to these business owners’ rights? Not that business owners don’t have rights. But in this case they were trumped by a need to serve the greater good – equal rights for all. It was simply the right thing to do.

This game of trumps actually happens all the time. Take food establishments. Government regulations prohibit them from serving rare hamburgers due to food safety issues. It seems if we lived in a totally libertarian society, a restaurant owner would be allowed to serve his food off the floor if he liked – as it’s his business. But again, the government regulates how food is prepared in food establishments not to deny the owners of their rights to run their businesses how they please, but to preserve the best interest (and safety) of the public.

I could argue that the government interferes too much in my life as well. For instance, I own a home. I should be allowed to put two or three junk cars up on cement blocks in my back yard, right? After all, it’s my property. But damn – the dad-blasted interfering government (in this case local government enforcing local zoning laws) tells me I can’t. Apparently the greater good here is the interests of my neighbors. If I junk up my yard it brings their property values down. Plus, they shouldn’t have to look at my eyesore of a back yard. So I do have rights, within limits. But if exercising my rights adversely impacts the greater good, then my rights are trumped. As they should be.

These points that I make bring me to my real reason for this post. This week the neighboring county, Kenton County, became the first area in Northern Kentucky to put into effect clean-air laws (or as those against them would call them, smoking bans). So with a few exceptions, all of the restaurants and businesses in Kenton County are now smoke-free. I say good for Kenton County for having the courage to make the hard choice in what became (but shouldn’t have become) such a controversial issue.

Initially the other two Northern Kentucky counties were also on board with the clean-air laws. Campbell County actually passed a comprehensive law in late December that would have gone into effect last week. Unfortunately it was overturned by a newly elected fiscal court earlier this year. And the county in which I live, Boone County, dropped out of the discussions the middle of last year. Apparently there was not enough support from the fiscal court to go forward with any clean-air laws here in Boone County.

To me it would be a no-brainer to institute clean-air laws, especially with what we know now about the effects of smoking and second-hand smoke. Also, even in Kentucky – the state with the highest rate of adult smokers – there are still approximately 75 percent of us who don’t smoke. So wouldn’t it be in the best interest of the majority to go ahead with these clean-air laws? Even Lexington and Louisville have them. But the politicians say no. And the reason: business owners’ rights. (Unless you ask the vocal public minority. They may say the issue is smokers’ rights.)

While many (of both politicians and business owners) may say that they themselves don’t smoke, they are concerned that to institute a “smoking ban” would keep the “regulars” (in this case, smokers) away, thus hurting business.

Perhaps there are those that feel it’s inappropriate for me to draw parallels between this law and the dictates of the Civil Rights Act. But I do spot some similarities. Just with Civil Rights, business owners do have rights. But there is a greater good here. We’re talking about a public health issue. It’s not about stepping on business owners’ rights. And it’s not a measure to force the 25 percent of people who are smokers to give up their cigarettes. Rather, it’s a measure to allow the rest of us (again, that’s the other 75 percent of us) to be able to breathe clean air instead of toxic pollutants. Where do the rights of nonsmokers come into this discussion?

The other side argues that nonsmokers don’t have to frequent places that allow smoking and that they have the choice to go to non-smoking establishments. The problem is that I have to physically travel to a place to find out if it allows smoking or not. What about children who accompany their parents into such places? Do they get to choose whether or not they want to be there?

To business owners who fear their businesses might perish due to such clean-air laws, I would say hey, you’re probably missing out on reaching a pretty significant clientele due to your smoking policies. That would be many of us within the 75 percent of nonsmokers. As for me, my husband and I will probably do a lot more eating out in Kenton County. I don’t doubt there are others like us who will do the same.

And to the business owners who worry that their base of Ohio customers will leave them (as Ohio is a nonsmoking state and the smokers come across the river to smoke) I would say hey, Ohio hasn’t been smoke-free that long – only since 2006. Where did your customers come from before 2006? Just start thinking of all the new non-smoking customers that you’re going to get when you go smoke-free.

As for me, I have to believe that I’m part of the silent majority on this one. Are my views snobby, or pious? Some might think that.  I would respond that even the silent majority should be heard every once in a while. I don’t disrespect those who choose to smoke. But why should the choice for me be one of patronizing a public facility or jeopardizing my health?  Honestly, even if I was a smoker I think I would feel this way. I may have the right to ruin my own body by consuming the all-fried sampler platter at the local hangout. But I would never have the right to put somebody else’s health at risk.

I’m calling trump on this one. The greater good (public health) should trump business owners’ rights. The politicians should recognize that and act to protect the majority. However, at least here, the argument appears to have ended up in smoke. Except for in Kenton County. At least for now.

Some day, though, I’m confident that the big, bad “gub-mint” will intervene (or interfere, as those who are against big government might think) throughout the rest of Northern Kentucky. Not today, maybe. But when it does happen, rest assured, the actions will be justified.

Why? Because of the greater good.  And it will simply be the right thing to do.

Listening for God

Am I a person of faith? Well I guess it depends on what day you ask me. I always say that I am. I go to church. I taught Sunday school. I’ve taken part in my share of pot luck dinners (an act of true faith, as you never know what you’re going to get on those occasions). But there have been times, I concede, that I found myself merely going through the motions.

In fact, a few years ago I was so much in the cycle of going through the motions that I didn’t even want to go to church anymore. I found myself overcome with vast amounts of guilt because I didn’t feel “spiritual” enough when I was in church. It was a time in my life when emptiness trumped all other feelings I may have had. I couldn’t get into the whole religiosity thing. As a result, sitting in church turned out to be a weekly struggle to prevent the tears from flowing. I wanted so desperately to feel the Holy Spirit inside of me. And because I couldn’t, I deemed myself a hypocrite – one not worthy to be sitting in a place of worship. I eventually shared these feelings with my pastor, who assured me that it was normal to feel the way I did during various times in my life. Most of all, she told me I was not a hypocrite. She knew, she said, because true hypocrites don’t get upset (like I did) about being hypocrites.

That thought comforted me, and with that I was able to resign myself to the fact that the Spirit was within me, but buried beneath all of the stresses of life.

And those stresses were numerous, going beyond the rat race of juggling a family and work. There were extended family members who needed care. There was graduate school. And the job was one where I was constantly swamped. And to beat all, health problems started to creep into the picture, no doubt because my busy life had adversely impacted my immune system. There were the ruptured discs in my neck in late 2009; then a couple of rounds of the flu in early 2010, followed by a two-month bronchitis-type affliction that I couldn’t shake to save my life. By last summer after surviving a three-week intercession graduate course (in health communication, believe it or not), my primary goal was to regain my health and emotional well-being (as I was completely burned out). Taking up yoga helped some with that. But I admit it never occurred to me to look to God to help me make things better. Being the lukewarm fan of faith that I am, I don’t normally think of God first.

It wasn’t until last August when I decided that I might want to strengthen my relationship with God. (And, of course, like any lukewarm fan, it was because I needed something.) It was last August when my job abruptly went away and I suddenly found myself unemployed. Wow, how scared was I then? Initially, I worried about so many things – supporting my children, keeping a roof over our head and getting another job. I was collecting unemployment benefits, but what would happen if the unemployment runs out and I’m still not employed? Essentially, I freaked out. But as I calmed down and tried to apply some logic to what had happened, I decided everything happens for a reason. God simply had another plan. Could it be I was supposed to spend more time with my children? Do a better job at keeping up with the laundry? Or was I just meant to do something else? It was up to me to just be patient and wait until God revealed His plan to me.  

I also decided that these trying times were meant to be. After all, isn’t that when we truly fall in love with God – when we really need Him? Perhaps God wanted me to fall in love with him again, much like when I was a little girl and would write letters to Him while I sat in my bedroom closet. I remember I would share my deepest feelings with Him and when I signed those letters it wasn’t enough to sign my name. I wanted to make sure He knew who was writing to Him. I would not only sign my name (Lisa), but my planet (Earth), my country (U.S.A.), state, city and neighborhood. You’d think since those letters never left my bedroom closet that He would know they were from me. But I included the rest of the information just in case.

One thing that I really hated about being jobless was when I had to pare back our financial contributions to the church. My husband and I had always considered ourselves “joyful givers.” (This was in spite of being a lukewarm fan of faith.) I hated to pull the plug like that. Particularly painful to me was reneging on a three- year pledge to help fund a major renovation and additional wing to the building. As the three-year period wrapped up last month (when everyone was supposed to have their pledges paid) we were still in the hole, even though we would put a little bit toward the pledge whenever we could. But hey, you can’t draw blood from a turnip, right?

This brings me to a sermon that my pastor preached just a few weeks ago. She talked about how God never promised that we wouldn’t suffer or have bad things happen to us. Instead, God just promises that we don’t have to suffer alone. She also talked about how God is always watching and often uses other people to help us. She cited a time when she was collecting donations one Sunday on behalf of a woman who was about to have her heat turned off because of a delinquent bill. Throughout the day the pastor collected an astounding $1,840. And the next day when a member of the church went with the woman to pay her bill, how much was the bill? Exactly $1,847.

Coincidence or God-incidence? My pastor would say the latter. Since I am the lukewarm fan, I would say it could have been either.

But then the other day something happened that made me wonder if there could be something to these God-incidences. I have this credit card, you see. It’s one that I’ve had for probably 10 years. And it’s one where you earn a few cents here, a few cents there for each purchase you make. I don’t use it much, but normally I put big dollar purchases on it – such as vacation expenses – just for convenience’s sake. A couple of weeks ago I logged on to my rewards account and noticed I could send a written request to be sent a check for the rewards I had earned. Okay, sounds good. I mailed a request. And last week they sent me an email confirming my request and that they would be sending me a check in the mail.

And how much will the check be? My eyes widened when I saw the amount -- $940.96.

It’s money I didn’t know I had – popping out from nowhere. I instantly thought about the pledge that we had fallen short on at the church – the one where we still owed $910. It was as if God was saying to me right then and there, “Okay, you didn’t have the money. Here it is. You know what it’s for.” And knowing God’s sense of humor He probably said, “Oh, here’s an extra $30 so you guys can go get a bite to eat after you pay off your pledge.”

Coincidence? Or God-incidence? This time I lean toward the latter. I think the heat has just gone up a notch beyond my usual lukewarm setting. And yes, I know where that money is going.

For some reason, I see it as a sign that God will continue to be with me and show me the way. I still am not completely sure what my mission is or what real purpose I have on this earth. But I think I’m past the really thick fog. Perhaps I’ve wandered into a little lighter fog– one where I can at least spot some fuzzy outlines on the horizon. What’s the plan, God? I still don’t know. But I can be patient as long as I know there is a plan.

On His time, though. Not mine.

You tell me when, God. And in the meantime, I’ll keep the faith.