In my own little corner...

Inevitability

I'm thinking that some things are inevitable as we get older.    Like the white hairs that are sprinkled across my head (only sprinkled, not frosted yet), or the reading glasses that are now almost always necessary for me, or the multiple re-exams due to abnormal test results.

Stunned

Dear Mom...

You remember Karen, my friend from college? The one who lived just down the road from us, but I never met her until we were both 300 miles away from home?  I just found out that she died, back in 1996.  That's all I know, right now.

I immediately hit the internet, and Googled for her name. There was only one hit, and while it was about her, it didn't tell me anything.   Since those folks knew her, though, I shot them an email asking if they could share any details. We'll see if they respond.

Makes sense to me!

Every act of conscious learning requires the willingness to suffer an injury to one's self-esteem. That is why young children, before they are aware of their own self-importance, learn so easily; and why older persons, especially if vain or important, cannot learn at all. -Thomas Szasz, author, professor of psychiatry (1920- )

Papal Musings

In 1978, I was a freshman in college, away from home for my first-ever extended absence, and still learning to fit into my new world.  The dormitory where I lived was a temporary building, built to handle the influx of students following WWII, when the GI Bill swelled the ranks of America’s colleges and universities. In my alma mater’s case, “temporary” apparently means about 50 years, because it was only in the last decade that my old dorm was finally torn down.

At any rate, the dorms were divided into wings, and there were maybe 10-12 rooms per wing.  In these rooms lived 20-24 freshmen women, and  one senior, who was our Resident Assistant (R.A).  We were from all over, but had a heavy concentration of mid-westerners, due to the college’s Midwestern location.  Mostly Protestants or agnostics, but one of our dorm-mates was a devout Catholic.

One day, she came into the room and announced: “The Pope is dead.”  This meant nothing to me, although it obviously meant a lot to her.  With the others, I followed the news about the Papal funeral, and the election of a new Pope.  Several days later, she came into the room and announced again: “The Pope is dead.”

We told her that was old news, but she said no, the *new*  Pope was dead, and they would be selecting another one.

This was different. This was interesting. And then the newest Pope, only the third Pope that I had ever really known about in my life (and the knowing had only begun with her original pronouncement) was elected.  A Polish Pope.