Life Lessons: Writings from the Osher Lifelong Learning Institute at the Florida State University

Table of Contents

Grace Albritton

Roberta Burton

Roberta Burton

James Noble

Pauline Masterton

Pauline Masterton

Jane R. Opel

Roberta Burton

Joanne Taylor

Bonnie Armstrong

Mike O’Farrell

Ruth S. Garrison

Beverley E. Booth

John Van Gieson

Judy Hansen Ray

Marianne Elizabeth Ryan

Agnes Furey

Jean Ainsworth

Morris Springer

Bonnie Armstrong

Ed Barber

Eileen Sperl-Hawkins

Jenny Huston Crowley

Linda A. Wright

Judy Hansen Ray

Marianne Elizabeth Ryan

Judy Hansen Ray

Ruth Cates

Jenny Huston Crowley

Bonnie Armstrong

Eileen Sperl-Hawkins

Louise Rill

Beverley E. Booth

Jean Ainsworth

Linda A. Wright

Eileen Sperl-Hawkins

Charlene Cappellini

Eileen Sperl-Hawkins

Gail Halperin

Nancy O’Farrell

Myrtle Bailey

Nancy O’Farrell

Kate Kerr

Gail Halperin

Ruth Cates

Judy Hansen Ray

Sandra Spatz-Wiszneauckas

Charles B. Nam

Louise Rill

Linda A. Wright

Myrtle Bailey

Mary Tyler

Kate Kerr

Mike Crowley

Kate Kerr

Agnes Furey

Agnes Furey

Jenny Huston Crowley

Carla Cramer

Ellen Hamilton

Beverley E. Booth

Grace Albritton

Agnes Furey

Bonnie Armstrong

Pauline Masterton

Marianne Elizabeth Ryan

Marianne Elizabeth Ryan

Louise Rill

Pauline Masterton

Ed Barber

List of Photographs

St. Marks Lighthouse—Photograph by Jenny Huston Crowley Cover

Claude Pepper Center, Home of OLLI at FSU—Photograph by Terry Talbert Aaronson

Wading at Wakulla Springs, Florida—Photograph by Linda A. Wright

Magnolia Blossom—Photograph by Joanne Taylor

Irish Breakfast—Photograph by Jenny Huston Crowley

Bloodsucker—Photograph by Linda A. Wright

Free Ride—Photograph by Joanne Taylor

Flowering Maple—Photograph by Linda A. Wright

St. Marks Lighthouse Pond, Florida—Photograph by Eileen Sperl-Hawkins

Rattoo Tower and Cemetery, Co. Kerry, Ireland—Photograph by Jenny Huston Crowley

Lake Bradford, Tallahassee Museum—Photograph by Terry Talbert Aaronson

Boats at the FSU Reservation—Photograph by Nancy O’Farrell

Sunset at Ochlockonee Bay, Panacea, Florida—Photograph by Linda A. Wright

Untitled—Photograph by Beverly Bonner Frick

Curious Greta—Photograph by Marianne Elizabeth Ryan

Claude Pepper Center and Statue at FSU—Photograph by Terry Talbert Aaronson

Art—Photograph by Sandra Spatz-Wiszneauckas

Sandpipers at St. George Island, Florida—Photograph by Eileen Sperl-Hawkins

Wakulla Springs Alligator—Photograph by Eileen Sperl-Hawkins

Rudy—Photograph by Mike Crowley

Gardenias—Photograph by S. V. Campbell

Cactus Flower—Photograph by Ellen Hamilton

Shrimp Boat, Apalachicola, Florida—Photograph by Linda A. Wright

Timothy James and Sir Andrew—Photograph by Marianne Elizabeth Ryan

Seagulls Taking Flight, Cape San Blas, Florida—Photograph by Judy Hansen Ray

Oleander Blossom—Photograph by Nancy O’Farrell Back Cover

Foreword

You have in your hands the first anthology of fiction, memoir, poetry, and photography by members of the Osher Lifelong Learning Institute (OLLI) at The Florida State University.

This anthology has been lovingly brought into being by the 2010 Publishing Committee of the OLLI Writers’ Group, a group of poets, autobiographers, memoirists, fiction and nonfiction writers who meet each month, year-round, to share and comment on each other’s writing.

The Osher Lifelong Learning Institutes are found on the campuses of 120 colleges and universities from Maine to Hawaii and Alaska. Each provides a challenging and fascinating array of noncredit courses and activities specifically developed for seasoned adults aged fifty or older who are interested in learning for the joy of learning.

I should confess that I am a serious fan of OLLI, or more specifically, OLLI member-students. As an OLLI instructor I have taught literature and writing classes to some of the coolest, sharpest, most engaged and curious learners I have ever met, students who take classes simply because they know there’s always more to learn and explore.

The first time I taught a memoir class for OLLI, I was given a set of guidelines that included a suggestion that instructors not give homework, but at the end of our first meeting, my students clamored for assignments to do before the next class (I’m pretty sure that’s called homework). OLLI writers do their homework; they support each other and demand the best of each other at the same time, always with enthusiasm and remarkable insight. They take feedback graciously, and they revise, revise, revise. They have a breadth of experience and maturity that makes each class rich.

These seventy-two works by thirty-three authors (including three winning entries from the 2009 OLLI Writing Contest and two honorable mentions) represent a range of experience, wisdom, humor, humility, honesty, self-examination, and cultural memory.

The contributions to this anthology have been written in a spirit of generosity, not for fame or for money, but out of a desire to share with the authors’ children, their grandchildren, and you, dear readers, what they have gleaned about being human beings on Planet Earth.

The word anthology derives from the Greek word anthologia, literally flower-gathering for a garland or bouquet of flowers. Anthologia, or Garland, was the title of the earliest surviving anthology, assembled by Meleager of Gadara.

I suggest that you savor this garland in that tradition, this bouquet of writings. Whether you read them one or two at a time or all in one sitting, you will be moved by the range of voices, the depth of experience, and the talent represented here.

Laura Newton

Tallahassee, Florida

June 2010

Laura Newton, Ph.D. is co-editor of a collection of essays, Between Two Rivers: Stories from the Red Hills to the Gulf, and a collection of poems, My Last Door, by the late Wendy Bishop. Her poems have appeared most recently in Snake Nation Review, Green Mountains Review, Naugatuck River Review and Redheaded Stepchild. She teaches business communication in the College of Business and literature and writing classes for the Osher Lifelong Learning Institute at The Florida State University.

Message from the Director

October is purple and yellow.

Spanish needles along my spine.

Black walnuts in their puffy brown shells

Lie among fallen leaves.

Stretching wide the yaw, pitch, and roll of the earth.

Life recedes slowly as

Squirrels hide nuts and red roses go to sleep.

The chill ignites my brain

From the laziness of summer.

Learn, the voice whispered to me.

Greetings! My introduction into all things OLLI at FSU began during October of 2009 when the fall term of classes began. I’d recently been hired as the director of the Osher Lifelong Learning Institute (OLLI) at The Florida State University (FSU). Excitement crackled along the halls of the Claude Pepper Center as OLLI at FSU members returned for fall classes. Their voices rose and fell. Laughter was all around; I fell in love with the sounds of OLLI at FSU members enjoying a unique, fun, lifelong learning adventure.

The OLLI at FSU is a scholarly, exciting program of classes targeted to retired individuals and folks over fifty who want to continue their education in a stress-free environment where there are no tests and no homework. The OLLI at FSU is associated with the Pepper Institute on Aging and Public Policy. We receive the bulk of our funding from member dues and class registrations along with a generous grant from The Bernard Osher Foundation. The Bernard Osher Foundation funds lifelong learning institutes at over 120 colleges and universities.

The OLLI at FSU offers classes during a six-week spring term and a six-week fall term. There is also a lively three-week term during May of each year. Classes meet once a week and last for two hours. Our classes are taught by current or retired faculty from FSU, Florida Agricultural and Mechanical University (FAMU), and Tallahassee Community College (TCC). Graduate students in good standing are also invited to teach. Classes meet on campus in the Claude Pepper Center on the FSU campus and at several offsite locales. The OLLI classes educate, amuse, and challenge OLLI members, who say, We’re having the time of our lives!

In addition to academic classes, the program offers lunch lectures by some of Florida’s most well-known speakers, field trips to interesting locations, an art and culture group, a book club, and special events including trips to plays, FSU sports, and local galleries. The OLLI at FSU has a dynamic and growing writers’ group. This publication is the fruit of the labor of that group and other OLLI at FSU members. Enjoy!

Cory Burke Livingston, M.P.A., M.S.W.

Director

Osher Lifelong Learning Institute at The Florida State University

Claude Pepper Center, Home of OLLI at FSU—Photograph by Terry Talbert Aaronson

Introduction

Words insist that you write them. After writing an idea, chiseling at the sentences pushes an image into focus. Sometimes clumps of words must be scraped away to permit the story to rise to the surface. Nudging elements of the mind’s eye onto the page births expressive progeny. Then the writer grabs someone to listen.

Rudyard Kipling wrote, Words are, of course, the most powerful drug used by mankind. Hunger for words distracts you from daydreams, releasing its grip only after the words appear on the page.

This anthology spotlights our words. The members of the OLLI at FSU Writers’ Group have been sharing their stories since 2003. This group grew from informal gatherings between classes to two-hour get-togethers where writers were encouraged to share attempts in various written forms; poetry and prose readings were held. The listeners at these meetings highlighted good images, beautiful phrasing and amazing imagination.

Grace Albritton, a lifelong poet and original member of the Writers’ Group, would read her iambic pentameter and rhymes. She ventured into free form and jumped into stories of family and favorite pets that she shared with the group. Two of Grace’s poems appear in this book.

Ken Dowling, the initial organizer of the Writers’ Group and to whom this book is dedicated, wrote about his life in Wisconsin, infusing early memories with colloquial events, preserving with his words the rural, one-room schoolhouse era. Ken also experimented with fantasy adventures that took place in a little-known corner of the world. His love of writing and of this Writers’ Group gave birth to the possibility of this collection. His encouragement led to the first writing contest for our members in 2009. The winners’ submissions are found in the first section of this book.

The Writers’ Group meets monthly throughout the year. Our meetings are open to all members of OLLI at FSU in search of their written voice.

All of the members of the Writers’ Group continue to experiment with words. We write in the wee hours of the day, and we ignore our yards for a while; our pets wonder at this distraction. But we all must write. Our skills cut images and memories from thoughtful musings. As a group we complain when time refuses to stretch to make room for writing. You will see a glimpse of our writers in this book, but only a brief view; their stories are still evolving.

We wish to thank OLLI Director Cory Livingston and OLLI Program Coordinator Terry Aaronson for their support and encouragement, and the Bernard Osher Foundation, whose generosity in granting funds to the Osher Lifelong Learning Institute at The Florida State University made our inaugural anthology possible.

Eileen Sperl-Hawkins

Chair

OLLI at FSU Writers’ Group

Congratulations

The Writers’ Group of the Osher Lifelong Learning Institute

at The Florida State University

is proud to present the winners of our

inaugural 2009 Writers’ Contest.

We extend our sincerest thanks to all the contestants

for sharing their work with us.

First Prize for Fiction:

Roberta Burton, The Do it Yourself Project

First Prize for Creative Nonfiction:

Jenny Huston Crowley, Summer Smile

Honorable Mention

Marianne Ryan, We Are Not Alone

Honorable Mention

Nancy O’Farrell, Mr. Bobby

First Prize for Poetry:

Pauline M. Masterton, Class of ‘48

Wading at Wakulla Springs, Florida—Photograph by Linda A. Wright

Grace Albritton

All in a Day

I begin in the rafters observing

        Day as shafts of gold against cedar.

                My nest is silent—awaiting birdsong,

Steaming cup dissolves dreams, satisfies, bides time,

        While wind chimes sing soprano,

                Paddle fan harmonizes alto.

Blessings cover me like dew on grass, but my body is wrapped warm.

        A scarlet cardinal darts by the window

                And cries, Time’s up!

Duties romp in like pups yelping to be fed,

        Email grows an umbilical cord to stranger,

                The hydrangeas dramatically demand water,

Friends and relations beg relevance,

        And as the hours circle like bees there comes the finish—

                Life has been lived, sins forgiven,

My nest again awaits birdsong and a whippoorwill obliges insistently—

        Moon over my shoulder drenches the bed,

                I, again wrapped in blessings.

As watching dogs bark at night’s dark mysteries,

        Secure, I end at the bottom—

                Amen.

Magnolia Blossom—Photograph by Joanne Taylor

Roberta Burton

The Blizzard

With unimaginable amounts of powder dumping down across the eastern U.S., the Storm of the Century just kept on coming. Shattering snowfall records, whipping up tornadoes, the Storm of the Century sneaked into Macon County, North Carolina, on the night of March 12, 1993. Sometime during the night, hurricane-force winds knocked down trees and power lines. This story begins on the morning of March 13.

DAY 1:

Damn. No power and no fire in the wood stove. Must have gone out, too. I see my breath. I hop out of bed, rush to put on my heaviest clothes. No firewood downstairs. I put Snooky, Aunt Ev’s obnoxious Schnauzer, outside on the covered stoop, without looking beyond. The thermometer reads minus six degrees. I hurry back upstairs to get what warmth is left.

Outside the picture window, the world is covered in white. Trees, like dark toothpicks, stick out of the snow. What looks like a midget, dressed as spring, trudges up the hill.

As I retrieve Snooky, I realize he hasn’t left the stoop with its inch or two of snow. I should’ve looked beyond the covered stoop. I notice that the figure I saw earlier is coming here. Hmm? Only a woman would be wearing art for a jacket, one that looks like a spring bouquet with its bright colors. Oh, she’s not a midget; the snow is up to her knees. No wonder she’s struggling.

She arrives out of breath, her face wind-beaten. Wind chill factor must be in the negative double digits.

Hi, I’m Evelyn’s neighbor in the green house down the hill. Who’re you?

I’m Cliff Stephens. Aunt Ev’s nephew.

I wondered whose car was parked at the bottom of the hill when I came in last night. I’m parked right behind you.

Aunt Ev had knee surgery yesterday. I came to take care of her while she recuperates. When I left the hospital last night, snow had begun to fall. Aunt Ev warned me not to drive up the hill. That’s a steep half a mile. The woman nods. It seems I won’t be doing much caregiving today. Can I help you?

She furrows her brow. I’m Jackie Johnson. I have no heat in my house. I’ve not had my chimney checked out since I moved in, so I’m afraid to light a fire. I do have plenty of firewood, though. I thought maybe Evelyn would let me stay with her for the use of my wood.

Your timing is excellent. I couldn’t find any wood around here.

I suspected as much. That’s Evelyn. Doesn’t usually plan ahead.

So I’ve noticed. She called me at the last minute to come stay with her. Fortunately, I’ve six months leave. Aunt Ev needed me; I needed to get away. I wonder if I’ve left myself open for a lot of questions.

Jackie asks, Why didn’t she call her daughter? I suspect that she’s uncomfortable about staying with a strange man.

Have you met Nicki? Jackie seems to be struggling to keep from laughing. Her smile is barely detectable. You know why she didn’t call her.

Jackie nods.

Back to your offer, I’d be grateful for the wood if you’re willing to share my warmth.

Thank you, she says. I see the tension leave her face. Her shoulders drop. You may have saved my life.

And you, mine. Don’t think either of us would make the night alone, without heat. I grab my jacket and gloves. Two of us should be able to get enough wood to last through the night in one trip.

I can’t tell if we’re on the road or land until I see the woodpile. We’re staying off the road. It’s colder, even more miserable than I expected. Icy needles prick my face. The wind gusts so strong, it’s hard to stand up. Jackie looks tiny as she battles the knee-deep snow. We head to the woodpile. The air is pungent with burning wood. All homes on the mountain are using their wood stoves.

A crack, like a gunshot, then a thud. Jackie stops, startled. I think a tree just fell, she says.

We strain to get to the woodpile. We arrive out of breath, and begin picking up wood, some pine, but mostly oak. We want a slow-burning fire with plenty of heating power.

Jackie’s forehead crinkles. She asks, Are you the nephew who lives in California?

I nod. So she talked about me? What it is about this woman that makes me want to open up to her? That is, besides her magnificent ass. It’s fetchingly rounded inside those ski pants.

Not much. I just remember she mentioned you live in California. What part?

A little town in Marin called Novato.

Jackie asks, Do you know Pierce Drive?

You know Novato.

Lived there from ’69 to ’71, she says. Wonder what other connections we have. We get back to the house with our wood. I relight the fire.

Cliff, do you know if Evelyn has instant coffee around?

She doesn’t. Does have an old-fashioned drip coffeemaker, though. I can boil some water once the stove gets hot. Thank God this stove has a nice large surface. Perfect for cooking.

Great idea. While you’re restarting the fire, I’m going to check on my dog and cat. I’ll bring back a couple of bags of coffee. Do you know of anything we might need?

I’m glad that we’ve made a narrow path between the two houses. Jackie will have an easier time both going and coming back.

A battery radio would be nice.

Jackie shrugs. No can do. Don’t have one.

I’m sorry you can’t bring your animals here, but Snooky will cause all sorts of trouble.

I know. I’ve dealt with Snooky before. My animals’ll be fine. I made them a tent with a blanket and two dining room chairs. They’ll keep each other warm. I cracked the door so they can come and go as they please. My cat’ll go to her cave.

I watch Jackie walk down the hill. A dancer’s walk. Meanwhile, I get the fire going again. I look around the kitchen to see what I can find to make us more comfortable. I let my mind wander. I just might enjoy sharing this house with Jackie. So much for my plan to work through my recent news by hibernating. There’s something about her that feels familiar. I wonder if we’ve crossed paths before. Is she the one?

While waiting for Jackie to return, I check out the bedroom where she’ll stay. It’s cold, but the wood stove’ll warm the entire upstairs. If not, we’ll figure something out. Freezer is full of all sorts of good food. We’ll eat well. Boxes of steaks. Excellent. That’s good.

By the time Jackie returns, the house is warm, or at least warmer than it was. I watch her as she begins to remove her jacket of many flowers and colors. Its basic color is blue-violet. Large stems of a medium green run from top to bottom in places. A bright, lighter green fabric is sewn on for leaves. Embroidery in different shades of green adds veins to the leaves. Shades of red, fuchsia, lavender, pink, a medium blue-green, and red-violet in varying sizes make up the flowers, some of which have yellow centers.

Beautiful jacket.

Thanks. I got it in Alaska, from an artist who sewed every flower and stem on by hand. It’s one of a kind. Warm, too, she says as she shows me the hot pink fuzzy lining. She removes her boots. Forgot to bring dry shoes. At least I have on two pairs of socks.

You might step in a puddle. Snooky doesn’t seem to know what ‘housebroken’ means. Come. Sit. Enjoy the heat. As soon as the stove gets hot enough, I’ll fix us something to eat, if you’ll make us some coffee.

Jackie laughs. We may be grateful that Snooky pees in the house. At least we’ll have clean snow to heat for water.

Great sense of humor. I like this woman. I noticed that you get up and down the hill fairly easily now that we’ve carved a path.

Yeah. I do a lot of walking on hilly streets when I take patients into town.

Patients? What do you do?

Jackie says, I’m a psychologist on the staff at the hospital. Take the patients on walks when I need a break from the psychiatric unit where I work. What do you do?

Work at a state psychiatric hospital in the Bay Area. Specialize in addiction. Get all the alcoholics and addicts admitted to the hospital.

My specialty, too. How did you end up with that population? I take a breath. Damn. I walked right into that one. Can I trust her?

I just seemed to have walked into it. You?

I entered through the back door of Al-Anon. I was married to an alcoholic. I did all those crazy things like hid his booze, poured it out, screamed, yelled, and generally tried to control his drinking until I attended Al-Anon. He got sober, went to AA, and because of my Al-Anon program, I went back to school. Got my bachelor’s and master’s degrees from Western Carolina University.

That’s in Cullowhee, isn’t it? Jackie nods. You said ‘was married.’ Did going back to school break up your marriage?

According to my mother, it had everything to do with it. Going back to school may have had something to do with the divorce, but the alcoholism was the primary reason. He stopped drinking. The behavior didn’t change.

Okay. We now have two connections. Aunt Ev may be right about her. Here I thought she was just using Jackie as a ruse to get me here.

We spend the day checking out Aunt Ev’s house for emergency items, talking about our habitual routines—whether or not they mesh—to make ourselves comfortable here, and drinking coffee. Toward the end of the afternoon we settle into a routine where Jackie reads, I write. We each now have our own battery-powered lantern, found in Aunt Ev’s garage. We’re lucky the batteries work.

DAY 2:

Good morning. You sleep well? I ask Jackie as she stumbles out of the bedroom.

I did. Oh, you made coffee. What a dear man you are. How’d you sleep?

I managed to keep Snooky off the bed, so I slept well. No urine smell.

Jackie smiles, Good. How are we doing for wood? The house is so toasty.

We’ll need to make a wood run sometime after we have our coffee and some breakfast.

I’ll also need to feed my animals. Didn’t think to tell you yesterday; I have a regular phone, not a portable one. It works. You’re welcome to use it.

I should probably check on Aunt Ev.

You can do that while I take care of the animals. Oh, my dog may growl at you. She was abused in a frat house on campus. The experience left her with a mouth that looks like she’s snarling when she’s actually smiling. Anyway, she’ll be fine as long as you show no fear. Somehow, I don’t think I need to worry about that.

We finish our coffee, then set out to accomplish the tasks at hand. As soon as I enter Jackie’s home, I see her floral watercolors, flowers that draw me into another dimension. The longer I look at them, the calmer I feel. I know this is the artist I’ve been seeking. I recognize her signature even though her style and medium are very different from her earlier ones. I wonder how I’m going to bring up the subject.

DAY 3:

We discover Aunt Ev’s stash of rum and a mix that, according to Jackie, makes the rum taste like hot buttered rum. I opt for coffee. We’re sitting around the stove. I’m cooking steaks and experimenting with baking potatoes in a covered pan, when Jackie asks about my work.

Jackie takes a sip of her drink. You said you had annual leave. You must have been at your job for a while.

This is not what I want to discuss. Been working at this facility for fifteen years.

I’m unfamiliar with state-run programs. Do you use the principles of Alcoholics Anonymous as part of your treatment?

Yeah, AA is the foundation. I run daily groups, do treatment plans with the patients, plus I often have to find places for them to stay. Halfway houses, mostly.

My job is similar, except for the social work part. My degree is in clinical psychology. Fortunately, I get to do more treatment than testing.

"I gathered that, from what you said about going back to school, you prefer working with alcoholics and