Modern Prairie Girl

Via Flickr.

Sad face for me today….I’m back in reality…no longer requiring SPF 30 and no longer digging my feet in the sand as it melts away my troubles. Sigh. It was truly a wonderful holiday with the fam…on so many levels..yet, as always, good to be home too. ‘Missed you, my MPG pals.

I believe sometimes our subconcious needs a vacation too. When there are unresolved things floating around I find (for me anyway) they surface when my brain is away from the vida loca and its chaos. I had such an experience this week and it has stayed with me, even now as I sit here blogging away.  I’m still in awe of it and there is some serious processing that will have to take place now that I’m back on the mainland.

This is the back-story…taken directly from my journal..sorry so wordy, but it needs the history to make sense…

Via Flickr.

My favorite elementary school teacher, as well as one of my favorite people ever, was a man named Palmer Stangvik. He was that teacher for me. We all have one. Someone who made a tremendous impact in our lives. It happened for me in  my 6th grade year and even more in the years after it. Life lessons after life lesson was taught by this man and I ended up staying in contact with him long into my adult years. I even ended up doing part of my student teaching with him as my cooperating teacher in 1996—I wanted to learned from the master himself. He was brilliant, full of stories and wisdom. A natural in the classroom. A true father figure to me.

When he retired and moved to California in ‘97, I kept up with him through snail mail. He wasn’t a huge techy (even did his grades in an old grade book rather than fuss with the computer program) and I loved getting his cards and heart-felt words in the mail. I liked holding those encouraging words in my hands. I still read them when I need a boost…which during the last few years was frequent.

Mr. Stangvik had been sick before. Very sick. Kidney transplant and all, but he was still the rock we all saw when we were twelve. I just couldn’t picture him not living well into his 90’s. This is a man that went on a morning run 365 days a year and did a sit-up video three times a week (at 65!). An amazing specimen of a man who looked like a viking (with the Kodiak, Alaska fishing stories to prove it) and a will like no one you’d ever seen. When I heard he was sick, we began to speak on the phone. I knew getting letters out was difficult for him and I wanted to hear his v0ice anyway. It helped me to be sure that he was still fighting the cancer that had returned.

Some time had passed and I hadn’t heard from him. When his wife Janet picked up the phone, I had a bad, sinking feeling. There was an earlier promise that I would be contacted when the situation became more grave, yet her sad voice said, “Oh, Lara, Palmer passed away. I’m so sorry you weren’t called.” Of course, I totally understood that in their deepest grief that a former student living 2 states away was not at the top of the emergency contact list. I was so sad for her. She was his perfect match and it was clear that he’d been waiting for most of his life for her, a second chance at spending life with his other half. The thought of her losing him was so heavy, I could feel the weight of it in my shoulders as I hung up the phone.

My feelings were a jumbled mess…relief that his suffering was gone. Sadness that this seemingly unbreakable man hadn’t gotten the most out of all the effort and investment he put into his life and body. Selfish sadness that I wasn’t able to tell him in person one more time what his lessons had meant to me.

He knew.

I knew he knew.

But I still wanted to honor his life by attending his (what I knew would be standing-room only) funeral. Even in his death this incredible man had lessons to teach.

Fast forward to a year and half later.

A Hawaiian vacation.

Time away from my brain-draining activities.

A ton of reflection on the meaning of family and down-time to enjoy what Dave and I have created together.

The most vivid dream I’ve ever had~

I’m in Seattle on Queen Anne where I grew up. I’m standing in front of a bungalow and Mr. Stangvik is standing on the porch. I can only see his torso. He looks great with pink cheeks and his usual twinkly eyes. He speaks two sentences and I bolt up out of bed with a gasp.

“I wanted to tell you ‘Goodbye’. That’s why I’m here.”

The tears come as I sit there in the dark hotel room. My family snoozing around me and the clock blinking 4:01. I want so much to get up and write it down—I don’t want to forget the words or the feelings I had when I heard his voice. After thrashing around for 15 minutes, I finally give up, tromp to the bathroom with my journal, flip on the bathroom light and sit on the floor. I started writing furiously. Every single life lesson Mr. Stangvik taught me is flowing out of my pen like water. Memory after memory is down on paper—some I thought I had forgotten and now I couldn’t get them out fast enough. It was a life-changing experience for me. I didn’t realize how much I had followed his advice and that it made such a difference in my life. I saw it so clearly now.

Goodness! A lot to cover on a Monday morning blogging session…forgive me. It’s been right up front in my brain for days now and I just need to get it out. Thanks for putting up with me! I guess it’s the cliche’ of turning 40 (two years shy over here) in which you want to make  sure the lessons you’ve learned in the first half of your life are fully grasped—only then can you be sure they will be applied and appreciated in the second half. I guess writing them down for others to read only furthers the motivation that I will fully hold onto them and recognize the power of the simple, yet brilliant advice given to me by a wise person…not letting it go, dismissing it as happy elementary school memories.

I’ll share these lessons as we go…there are some incredible ones that I think he would be so happy to know were passed on.

Just curious…who was a teacher you loved and admired? What did they say to you that sticks to this day?

OX.

L

Tags: Holy cow.

This entry was posted on Sunday, August 23rd, 2009 at 7:49 pm and is filed under MPG quote and wisdom, MPG stirrings, MPG travelista, Prairie Girl Dreams. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.