the z, y, x's of life "T" teaching

these 26 entries from z-a are meant as a tandem collection of short essays.  instead of the abc's of life, i'm writing backwards for two reasons.  t.s. eliot said that to make an end is to make a beginning, which i find true.  that and my grandfather could say the alphabet backwards faster than i could say it forwards.  now that's some wit.

it's not lost on me that "T" teaching follows "U" unlearning in these, my interspersed essays.

today i just want to tell you a story as if you were sitting across from me at a coffee table. i've done alot of challenging things in this life  i didn't think i could do: forgiving a terrorist, holding still-born children, glacier-trekking, carrying coffins,  and being rescued off of a mountain. all those things notwithstanding, this a tale of the hardest and best thing i've ever--or may ever--do.

how could i have possibly known as an 18-year-old freshman when i sat in the fall 1992 introduction to British Literature course taught by Professor Richmond that i would teach her last British Literature course in 2007?

life is definitely more cyclical (and not so much linear as i used to believe).  Professor Richmond asked us to write reflection papers on the assigned reading.  instead of just a grade at the top, she actually wrote notes in the margins.  notes that turned into correspondence, first in campus mail and then through the postal service; becoming a literary friendship that would span 18 years. 

to say she was witty is too flat, like only seeing a picture of steaming hot coffee instead of holding it.  i got to experience her wit live, in person.  her sly, "of Coors" response to the campus no-drinking policy (she gave me my first champagne when  i turned 21).  reverent irreverence at its most refreshing.  

her homemade Russian teacakes at Christmas. friendship in real time.  come to think of it, i don't even think we texted much, cell phones were around, but we had not yet entered the "insta"-era.  in the days of going to the campus computer lab to check emails, i tried to stifle my my laughter in a shared space.  she was just that funny.

the plays, movies, and concerts we went to as well as the authors she introduced me to are a fabric of my days i can't imagine living without. she introduced me to films like "Babette's Feast" and my now-favorite poet Gerard Manley Hopkins. together we swayed to George Benson and Neil Diamond live concerts. though she's no longer here, i've found ways these past 17 years to integrate life "with" her in new ways.

as i approach 18 years of her not being here, the same time span of our earthly friendship, i find myself asking, "why did she choose me?" but i'm getting ahead of the story.

while helping me move from my apartment to a house, she mentioned not feeling well; "stomach problems" she said.  so i certainly didn't expect colon cancer to take her life.  none of us did.  

instead of sitting in theater seats, we sat in chemotherapy chairs.  (note: reading Jane Austen out loud helps this become more bearable).  she went to Europe with her family and she kept teaching as long as possible.

then she asked me to co-teach her British Literature class in the fall of 2006.  i was already teaching middle school at the time but my principal was kind and understanding when i told him the invitation and life assignment that had come my way.  he said, "Lanette, you have to do this, we'll make it happen."  he adjusted my schedule so i could teach my regular middle school courses and then commute to teach college students.

so my beloved friend and mentor Colleen and i began what would be her last class.  we emailed and talked on the phone on her good days about the material and i would present the lectures, material, and quizzes in person on everything from Chaucer to modern day British author Margaret Drabble. 

during Shakespeare, she was no longer able to come to the phone.  and she died the day hospice arrived on January 26th, 2007 in the middle of "Merchant of Venice".  

thinking i would soldier on in her honor, i went to the next class only to realize i had overestimated myself. instead of a lecture, i squeaked out an invitation to her memorial and gave them the day off.  one of my best friends, and their beloved professor had just died and we all needed grace.  

(feeling as though i had temporarily failed my mission, a student later came to me and said my vulnerability in grief that day gave her courage in her own life grief, which i was grateful about).  at the time though it felt like a life exam that i could never pass.  

how can a 35 year-old who is not really a professor study or prepare for such a thing?  sure, i had a master's degree, but it was from seminary.  while that allowed me to be an adjunct, i felt so unqualified, like a nobody in the academic world.  

on a day i wasn't crying i drank coffee from her mug and read her PhD dissertation cover to cover.

it was, of Coors, about strong women in literature from medieval to modern times. (did i mention she could also read Middle English out loud? so cool.)

of all the people and colleagues, professional networking relationships, intellectuals, and PhD's jostling for tenure, i was definitely out of my depth. except for passion.  my passion for great literature is rivaled only by visual art--beauty of any sort and is a force that never fails me. when grief of any sort is passing through me, depositing her treasures, beauty is always right alongside bestowing hers.

passion.

we picked up the following week and we finished out the semester, somehow, sitting in her office exactly as she had left it--caramels in the dish, Mary Engelbreit post-it's, her favorite coffee mug, a McGovern poster, vanilla-scented lotion, and her PhD robe hanging on the back of the office door--the threshold of which, i noticed, no one understandably wanted to cross.

(if it were a movie starring Julia Roberts perhaps staff and students may have helped to clear said office, to a backdrop song by Billie Eilish?)

real life being what it is. the student reviews were as mixed as our grief bonding. some students couldn't wait to marginally pass, be done with assigned reading, and graduate. others still keep in touch and have become dear friends.  some thought i had been too easy on them, wanted even more challenge.  others whined i was too hard on them.  all i knew was i had done the impossible, sitting there in Minthorne Hall with it's "Victorian brothel carpet" as Colleen called it, in her swivel chair where she was supposed to be, feeling like an imposter.

sometimes i think about our complete correspondence. i saved all of her letters and cards and her husband brought the full set of mine to me--i didn't know she kept mine too! it could be a book, i suppose, one that we've written "together" in a manner of speaking.  or it could just be for me, for her daughters. 

the box. "someone i loved once gave me a box of darkness. it took me years to realize this too, was a gift" wrote mary oliver. the box has indeed become a gift.

for now the ribbon-tied bundles are in this ornate box along with cassette tapes of Mary Chapin Carpenter, Camelot, and Lady Smith Black Mambazo, eclectic sets she mixed for me--reminders of the legacy of a lifetime love of learning for its own sake and the history of one of the greatest teachers and friends i've ever known.  i don't know yet and trust i will know when the time's right to set the letters out side by side in order or perhaps share the literary snippets in a broader context. 

even though i still wonder, "why did she choose me?" it doesn't matter. a better question seems to be, "how can i inspire others with the passion Colleen and i will always share for life and learning?"  she invested and believed in me when i was only 18 until i was 35, formative years in becoming who we are in the world.  who can i invest in? she fondly referred to me as her "21st birthday present", and our birthdays are just one day apart, mine July 17th and hers on July 18th.

in my mind i've tracked when she would have retired, that she would be 71 this year.  and i've wondered what direction her essays, poetry, and life trajectory in general might have taken.  i imagine her volunteering in really cool social justice arenas and smoking an occasional Tarryton 100.  i often sigh about all the movies we haven't gone to that she would have loved, sitting in the back together like the snarky old men in the box office from The Muppet Show. 

there's not a book i pick up or a caramel latte i drink that i don't think of her.  a Shakespeare quote adorns my fridge, "above all else, to thine own self be true."

many things can be taught in a classroom.  but the best gifts, as my spiritual director says, often come disguised as our life.

thank you for letting me tell you about how the curriculum wrote me and how life taught more than any class ever could.  to take her first course and teach her last.  it's hard to put into words, even for me. this is a start, encouraged by her daughter after lunch together recently. 

thank you to both her daughters for our now also adult friendships.  and lilacs, always lilacs.