The Leaves on our Trees

Every once in awhile, if you’re lucky, you get a teacher who changes your life.

I’ve been fortunate to have had a few over the years, notably my cello and orchestra teachers, without whose influence I would be a very different person. But I also had one very special English teacher in high school: a wonderful lady by the name of Penny. All of her senior students got to call her by her first name, and I was looking forward to earning that privilege upon completing her class at the end of my junior year. It was the spring of 2004, and I had loved her English class. It was hard work – Penny didn’t take crap from anyone, and she also didn’t accept any late work. She demanded and received responsibility, attention, and excellence from her students. Through literature, poetry, and essay writing, she got us to think critically, to examine the deepest parts of ourselves, and to develop empathy and compassion for others. Imagine my dismay, then, when she told my class that we were to be her final students – she was retiring.

Not to be deterred, I struck up a friendship with Penny after she left teaching. I had connected with her on a deeper level than most kids find with their high school teachers, and I didn’t want to lose that bond. She seemed to value me too. When Penny, who had long been a single mom, got married in 2004, I was the first student at school that she told. It hadn’t been a big to-do of a wedding, and it hadn’t even occurred to her to announce it to her students. But she felt like she should tell someone, so she confided in me one day after class. Being a self-absorbed 16-year-old, this didn’t make much of an impact on me at the time and I had almost forgotten about it. But years later she reminded me of this fact and shared what it had meant to her to have a student she could trust with the details of her personal life.

Autumn foliage in Oregon

So what was Penny’s influence on me? She didn’t teach me to write. I was already pretty competent by the time I got to her class. Although she did, however, help me refine and examine my writing, and taught me the value of using writing as a means of self-reflection. She didn’t teach me to appreciate literature, either. I was already a bookworm. I read some great stories and poetry in her class, but I could have done that on my own. What Penny did was she told me I could be a writer. 

She didn’t just say it once, either. She would write it in her comments on my school essays. She would write it in her emails about my blog posts. Over the course of nineteen years, during which we kept in touch and would get together when I came back to town, she never neglected to encourage me to become an author. She said that whenever I got up the courage to write a book, she would gladly volunteer as an editor. During that whole time, outwardly, I was enjoying my career as a music teacher. But deep down, I really wanted to write.

Admittedly, until recently, I never seriously considered ditching my music career to become a writer. I had invested too much time and energy into teaching music to even fathom giving it up. And besides, a healthy dose of realism and pessimism prevented me from thinking I could ever succeed as an author. But Penny planted that seed in the fertile soil of my mind twenty years ago, and finally the first tender sprouts are springing forth. The specter of failure still sits with me every time I sit down at my writing desk, but I’ve found the courage and the confidence that Penny always knew were there.

I last saw Penny in person around Thanksgiving 2019. I brought my then three-year-old daughter with me to Penny’s house and Penny was absolutely delighted to chat with me about books, films, and travels and to play hide and seek with my daughter behind the cushions of her overstuffed couch. We had a lovely time together, but I could tell that something wasn’t quite right. When we had knocked on the door, Penny opened it still wearing her bathrobe. She had forgotten about our meet-up. No problem though; she quickly changed and we sat down to a cup of tea surrounded by the many wonderful paintings on her walls. We had a lively conversation, but I noticed her occasionally repeating statements and questions that she had said only a few minutes earlier. This forgetfulness was new to me – I hadn’t seen any evidence of it before, and it was pervasive enough that I started to feel a tiny crack in my heart when we left. This was more than just her getting older. Her memory was slipping away from her. 

A few months after our last visit, the world began its quick collapse under the weight of Covid-19. Consecutive lockdowns, coupled with our move from Hawaii to England made it highly unlikely that I would see Penny again any time soon. As the months turned into years, it became more and more difficult to get in touch with her. Not because of her memory, but because of my fear. Penny had such an incredible mind - sharp, inquisitive, insightful - that I couldn’t stand the idea of her losing those powers of thought. I decided it would be too hard to see her diminished in such a cruel way. So when we finally came back to Oregon, nearly three years later, I made the rather cowardly decision to not get in touch with Penny. How I regret that now.

I’m back in Oregon for my first Thanksgiving since 2019. I decided to become a full-time writer in September, thanks in no small part to Penny’s persistent encouragement for more than half of my life. So at this time of gratitude and reflection, it felt only right to contact Penny and thank her for never giving up on me. I didn’t know how she was doing, I wasn’t sure if she would respond, but I needed to try. I emailed her and waited. A week went by. With each passing day, I felt more certain that things had gotten much worse for her. Finally, I saw an email from her in my inbox. My heart leapt for a moment, only to be crushed in the next when I saw that the response was from Penny’s husband, offering to call me with an update.

Penny is now in a memory care facility. She was moved there about nine months ago and her husband visits her several times a week, taking her out to lunch, and bringing her back home for a few hours. But every time he takes her back to the facility, she gets upset again, which must be absolutely heartbreaking for him. Nonetheless, Penny’s husband kindly offered to take me to see her. He was hopeful that she might want to go out for coffee, or at least chat with me in the cafeteria. I, on the other hand, had no idea what to expect. Would she remember me? Would she want to talk to me? Would any of the teacher that I loved and respected remain?

The answer: I’m not sure.

Perhaps due to some side-effects from her medicine, Penny has recently been sleeping for most of the day. When we visited her, she was tucked up in bed, unable to stay awake for more than a minute. She hadn’t had breakfast, hadn’t gotten out of bed at all that we could see. She was so drowsy it seemed like she was struggling to come out of general anesthesia. When she briefly sat up, I could see that her gray hair was longer than she used to keep it, and was unusually untidy. She looked old and depleted, not the petite firecracker of wit and wisdom that I was accustomed to.

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But when she saw me, for a brief moment her eyes lit up, her wan face transformed with a radiant smile, and it was just like old times. Her husband asked if she remembered me and her response was a quiet but enthusiastic “Yes!” I felt replete with hope, my heart so happy to see her smile.

Then, just as suddenly, she flopped back down on her pillow and closed her eyes as if we weren’t even there. After a few more attempts to wake and engage her, Penny’s husband went to the cafeteria to procure a bit of food for her breakfast. When he returned, she and I shared a small chuckle when, with a sassy shake of her head she replied “ppfft” in response to an offer of strawberry yogurt. It was a very Penny-esque gesture, and I felt a moment of relief that some element of her was still there. 

But that was as much as we got from her. Not long after, she wanted us to leave so that she could sleep again. With tears in my eyes, I walked away from my dear friend and mentor, leaving her to waste away in a place that projects a false cheerfulness to hide the profound sadness of the inmates who are experiencing memory loss.

A good teacher leaves indelible marks on her students, helping them to grow and to overcome the obstacles in their path. Penny achieved all of this and much more in her decades of teaching. I only had one year in her class, but was lucky enough to get nineteen years of her friendship. I am beyond grateful for her love, encouragement, and support, and would give anything to take away her present afflictions. But even now, I’m still learning from her - learning how to have courage and strength in the face of difficulty. And of course, she’s still inspiring me to write too. 

Here’s to you, Penny. Thank you for everything.

Pregnancy and the Baha'i Month of Fasting

As many of you know, Rory and I are Baha'is, and in the Baha'i Faith there is a prescribed period of fasting where we abstain from food and drink. Fasting is common in many religions; some Christians fast or give up other material things during Lent, Muslims fast for 30 days during Ramadan, Jews fast on Yom Kippur. There are many other examples of fasting for religious reasons, but often a common desired outcome of all these periods of fasting is nearness to God and the nourishment of one's spiritual self. By practicing self-control and sublimating our physical desires, we find ourselves in stronger contact with our own noble souls and with the world beyond our little bubble of daily life.

"Happy is your condition for you have executed the divine command, and have arisen to fast in these blessed days. For this physical fasting is a symbol of the spiritual fasting, that is, abstaining from all carnal desires, becoming characterized with the attributes of the spiritual ones, attracted to the heavenly fragrances and enkindled with the fire of the love of God." - ‘Abdu’l-Bahá

The Baha'i month of fasting is a period of 19 days—the Baha'i calendar is composed of 19 months with 19 days in each month—and this special period happens during the final month of the Baha'i year. It takes place around March 2-March 20 every year, and Baha'is celebrate the end of the fast and the beginning of the new year on March 20 or 21 with Naw Ruz, the new year's celebration.

A sunny early spring day at the Parc Montsouris. 

Baha'is between the ages of 15 and 70 are exhorted to fast from all food and drink between sunrise and sunset for these 19 days. We wake up early in the morning, have breakfast before the sun comes up, and eat dinner after the sun sets. There are a few exemptions from fasting, however. Those who are traveling long distances, who are ill, or who are engaged in heavy labor do not need to fast, as well as women who are pregnant, nursing, or menstruating.

I have been fasting for the last 14 years of my life. The Fast is something I always greatly look forward to as winter draws to a close and spring begins to peek through the gloom. This year, however, I get to trade the privilege of fasting for the privilege of growing a human inside my body. Although I usually enjoy the Fast and find it challenging and spiritually uplifting, I am loving the experience of pregnancy and the increasing connection and love I feel for the banana-sized baby curled up in my tummy.

Even though I'm eating (like a horse!) during the Fast this year, I still wanted to use this special time for my own spiritual growth. For me, fasting at its most basic level restores self-discipline and routine to my life. Rising early despite tiredness, staying focused despite hunger; these are some of the more mundane aspects of fasting, but ones that promote balance and productivity.

The first daffodils I saw in Paris--in January.

So in lieu of forgoing food, I have been getting up before sunrise with Rory every morning for breakfast, partly for my own edification and partly to support him in his fasting. After we pray together, I make time to meditate, read the Baha'i Writings, and write some reflections in my journal. These are activities that I try to do all year long, but the self-discipline I manage during the Fast is what makes it work every day. I don't look at my phone or computer until after I have completed this morning routine. And I removed Facebook and games from my phone so I wouldn't be tempted to waste time on them. Two other elements of my fast this year have been regularly practicing the cello (which is harder to do when you have no impending orchestra concerts and no students to teach), and exercising and getting out of the apartment every day. These sound like simple tasks, but to an introverted pregnant lady with no regular job living in a foreign country, it's harder than you might think to motivate yourself out the door and up and down those five flights of stairs.

Happily, taking these simple steps during the Fast has increased my productivity, gratitude, and joy, brought me out of my technology-induced fog, and made me feel more connected not only to God but also to my husband, family, and friends. It's like I had been treading water for many months, barely able to keep my head above the surface, and suddenly I realized I could just get out of the pool.

Today is my 29^th birthday, and normally, having a birthday during the Fast means having lots of positive energy to carry you through the day, but also often means having to turn down offers of birthday lunches or having to save a birthday cupcake for eight hours before I could eat it. The positives outweigh the negatives, so I never minded too much, but it was admittedly a very pleasant change this time around to have a birthday lunch for the first time in 14 years. One of the best birthday presents of all, though, is that tomorrow I fly to Oregon to visit my family and friends for the first time in ten months. I can't wait!

Despite the challenges of moving to a new country and navigating a foreign language, pregnancy, the health care system, French bureaucracy, and all the other things I have complained about, the Fast has helped me to realize just how blessed I really am. I have grown more this year than any other (and not just my belly!) and I'm so grateful for the opportunities I have been given.

My first birthday lunch in 14 years!
And the first gluten-free pizza I've found in Paris. http://biospherecafe.fr/en

Coming soon: Moving to a new apartment...on the ground floor!

Happy fasting to our dear Baha'i friends and happy spring to all!