Imagine

“Imagine there's no countries
It isn't hard to do
Nothing to kill or die for
And no religion too
Imagine all the people living life in peace, you

 

You may say I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope some day you'll join us
And the world will be as one”

    John Lennon, “Imagine”

 

Dave performed “Imagine” on piano and dedicated it to Toni. As a kid, he’d play our piano in the basement rec room to relax, learning by trial and error.  A recent rightwing Facebook post called the song “Marxist” - can you imagine?  If it is a pipedream to imagine a world without war, government and religion, it is certainly not to be treated as dangerous enemy propaganda, only the wise words of a musical shaman too fragile for this world.

 

I had a relatively busy day compared to most during this pandemic.  Mike and Janet Bayer spent the night after visiting son Brenden and is family.  After breakfast I donned a face mask and got my toenails clipped at nearby Aqua Spa, first time in months.  They checked my temperature, squirted sanitizer onto my hands, and took me to a station that had a barrier between me and the young woman servicing me.  In the afternoon Dave and Angie stopped over, and in the evening I played Space Base via Zoom with Tom, Jef, Dave, Evan and Patti. With a scoop of ice cream I watched the news about Covid-19 spreading rapidly in Red states that re-opened precipitously and Trump denying he knew about Russian payoffs to Taliban terrorists who killed American soldiers. Also: Trump railed against Chief Justice John Roberts for striking down a Louisiana anti-abortion statute.

 

Suzanna Murphy wrote about living in a secure environment while her dad would soon be risking his life in the Korean War not long after surviving harrowing experiences in the Far East during World War II:

    The year was 1949. I was a few months past four. My mother and I had recently moved in with my grandparents in Wyncote, Pennsylvania in a beautiful old Victorian home.  We had been living in Lancaster before in an Amish home. My father had been sent overseas again and was soon to go to Korea for a very long time. I have vivid memories of my time at Grama and Grampa's home. One crisp morning, Grama was fixing oatmeal for breakfast and cooking cinnamon toast in the oven. WOR, from New York, was blaring on the small wooden radio on the kitchen cupboard. Their theme song was cheerfully playing: "Pack up your troubles in your old kit bag and smile, smile, smile." I went down in the basement with Grampa to watch him stoke the furnace with coal. I heard a new voice in the kitchen and came up to find the milk man visiting with Grama and my mother. The milk was in glass bottles of course. I helped Grama feed the birds out the window. After breakfast I went down in the basement with her and helped her with the wringer washer and then went outside to hang the clothes on the line.  She said I could watch her sew a dress for me on the treadle sewing machine too. I had been sick a few days and was home from school. Grampa was going to Beaver College to teach, as usual. Later he would work on his sermon for the church where he was pastor. I would help Grama in the garden and then go for a walk with my mother down to Station Park. Those were the morning plans I was told. One thing I always knew. It would be peaceful and quiet and orderly and I would be safe and loved.

 

Suzanna was my first serious girlfriend. We met at an end-of-the-school-year party soon after I graduated from Upper Dublin and she from tenth grade.  I drove her home and received a kiss as my reward. We went together until I left for college. That summer I caught a terrible case of poison ivy on my arms working on an estate right around the time I was ready to put some serious moves on her.  Her dad was home all the time dealing with post-traumatic stress syndrome but I don’t recall ever meeting him. At a state fair with Suzanna and her mom, I saw Louis “Satchmo” Armstrong perform.  Now platonic Facebook friends despite and her being a Mennonite and our political differences due to her anti-abortion beliefs, Suzannah prays for me and tolerates my caustic comments to her most outlandish political posts.  To one conspiracy theory labeled “scary shit,” I replied, “Shit all right – bullshit.”  She chastised my vulgarity until I pointed out that I was using the same word as the caption.

 

Classmate Connie Heard Damon, who volunteers each year at a health clinic in Africa, posted this notice:

    While walking my dog at Trewelyn Park recently, I lost my key fob and was unable to get back in my car to drive home. Despite retracing my steps, I was unable to see the black fob in the advancing darkness. Several people stopped to ask if I needed help. One man even offered to drive me home to get my reserve fob. While I was waiting for my sister to come "save" me, a female runner stopped to ask if I needed help. She quickly offered, despite my protestations, to look for me and headed back through the woods.

    The next morning at daybreak I returned to the trail and started looking again- to no avail. When I got back to my car, there was a note on the windshield: I FOUND YOUR KEY. There next to the note was my key fob which I never thought I'd see again. I was in tears. No one was around.

    I wish I knew who found it so that I could express my gratitude. In these days when we seem to hear of so much negativity, what a joy it is to know there are generous, kind people who are willing to help a stranger. So, whoever you are, I hope you read this.  Thank you, and God bless you!!!

 

Nic

Gabriel

Ezkiel

Several Kenyans who appreciate Connie’s work were among the many commenters.  Gabriel Wafula responded: “What a good testimony.  When you plant goodness you will reap goodness.  You have been good to people who were strangers.  You have touched lives in Kenya.  The water borehole in Living Hope High school is serving a whole community. Don’t be surprised, a lot of good things are coming to you.  You shall flourish!” Nic Simiyo wrote, “Wonderful testimony, mum; good work rewards.” Ezkiel Shimbira added: “You always help many, you’re reaping what you plant.”

Valparaiso University curator and artist Gregg Hertlieb’s drawing elicited this comment from Sandy Appleby: “For sure . . . Covid the dreadful in the Southern swamps looking for those who believe they are invulnerable.”  I first met Sandy Appleby when she worked for Tri-City Mental Health Center in East Chicago and asked me to be an oral history consultant on a grant funded project dealing with Aging.  That led to similar collaborations on projects dealing with ethnicity, Alzheimers caregivers, and laid off steelworkers. Along with her colleague Olga Velazquez, who later became mayor of Portage, we took part in several scholarly conferences.  I hadn’t heard from Sandy in years. She introduced me to matriarch Maria Arredondo family, which led to the publication of “Maria’s Journey.”

Sandy and friend