Gratitude for mentors

It was pouring rain this morning, so I walked to Margie’s house, made this self-portrait-with-rain-spattered-glasses in the elevator on the way up to her place, and had coffee at her table instead of going to a coffee shop. Margie is mentoring me, teaching me how to age with grace, how to meet my old-old age with frank awareness of increased limitations, and without complaint. She lives in an eleventh floor condo, and lately she has enjoyed several visits from a male Anna’s Hummingbird. I noticed, lying on the table, a poem she had written this morning, and photographed it so I could type it up and send it back to her.

How can he do that?
A hummingbird
sitting on my feeder
on a cold wet Oregon day,
his feathers
fluttering in the wind

And me
with blanket under my chin
over my shoulders
down the length of me
sitting in a chair
reading my book
shivering on the cold breeze
blowing through the closed window

How can he do that?

Today is the birthday of the first of my mentors, my first-grade teacher, the woman who taught me how to read, who later in life became a close friend. She was Agnes Grinstead Anderson, mother of my friend-since-childhood, Leif. In the years when Seth was a baby, I would drive east from New Orleans to celebrate Agnes’ birthday on January 6, often taking with me a tiny bottle of Jameson’s Irish Whiskey and a container of whipping cream, so we could indulge in an Irish coffee. I found this photograph I made of Leif and Agnes in, perhaps 1979, when if I recall correctly Leif was visiting from her home in New York City.

Agnes was at that time, in her 80s, writing the memoir that became Approaching the Magic Hour. Looking back at her life, she wrote of her difficult relationship with her husband, “We never understand, at the time, what other people are seeking.” 

I feel undeserving of my mentors, but I love and respect them, I am grateful for them beyond all these words. I hope that in some ways I carry parts of them forward in my actions.