2018 in eight photos

So many images appear in my photo feed from this year, virtually all happy and beautiful times, since I tend to avoid taking photos of sorrow. Of course the year had its share of disappointments and loss, and I remember them in this season for looking back. Today, however,  I'd like to share with you some of my happiest times this year. Perhaps they'll resonate with your memories as we all slide into 2019.

First up: January 20: The second women's march in downtown Denver drew tens of thousands of participants, including me, hoping for inspiration to survive and resist another year with T-rump in the White House. There were so many creative signs and so much energy. I was particularly charmed by this pink-hatted group of family and friends, proclaiming their support of inclusive human rights. Another march is planned for January 2019--and I'll be there. Perhaps there will be things to celebrate as a new Congress convenes.

April: Oh, what a joy spring is. This flowering tree is in City Park, where I walked nearly every day I was home--my apartment being across the street from this oasis of trees in Denver. This photo was taken on April 1. In just a few short months now, this yearly miracle will return.

July: A neighbor in my senior apartment building in Denver turned me on to Postcards To Voters, a project started by "Tony the Democrat", a Georgia man who organized postcard-writing campaigns for Democratic candidates running in special elections and the midterms. Focus was on flippable districts and the concept was simple: one handwritten postcard to one registered voter in a particular district. I got together with neighbors several times during the summer to write postcards for various campaigns. Our first was Danny O'Connor who was running for Congress in Ohio (special election and later the midterms). He lost, but came closer than any other Democrat to winning in his district. My neighbors and I enjoyed getting to know candidates around the country and in the process, getting to know each other better.

Early September: As often I could this summer, I spent time at my cabin on Linda Lane's land in Florissant, a rural area west of Colorado Springs. The cabin (pictured here next to a 3-sided carport which looks bigger than it is) is actually a park model RV which I bought 16 years ago when I was still in Japan. Still summer, though Linda's wearing a jacket, as mornings are chilly here at nearly 9000 feet above sea level. I love the big sky and having time to gaze at it. Although I have better photos of the summer sky--some amazing sunrises and sunsets, this photo is one of my favorites from the land this year.  On most mornings, I enjoyed taking a walk with Linda and Belle, her border collie.

Mid-September: Renate (at right) is a treasured friend who I met in Japan when we were teaching at the same school--she taught German classes while I taught English. She came to visit me for the first time in Denver this year as part of a cross-country trip across the US and Canada. Here we are at the Denver Botanic Gardens one sunny morning. I plan to meet her next spring in Hamburg, Germany, when she celebrates a special birthday.

Late September:  I've enjoyed many good meals during 2018, but one of the most special was during a visit to the Orozco clan, part of my extended family, at Laura and John's house in Crystal Lake, Illinois. They outdid themselves with a feast of shrimp cocktails and homemade tamales amid other tasty sides. Love this photo of them and so proud to be part of this family. I don't see nearly enough of them. A wonderful day it was.

And then I spent a very fine week in Chicago with my sister and brother-in-law, Joan and Jim, before heading to the Loyola University Campus for my 50th college reunion. Yes, it's been half a century since I graduated from Mundelein College, which became part of Loyola in 1991. It was avery special weekend and I'm still processing all of the feelings that arose from seeing my classmates, being feted with events and tours, remembering how we were and learning how we are now. I have a number of photos from that weekend but this might be my favorite--Friday night before it all started, when some of us gathered in the lobby of the Hampton Inn in Rogers Park, ate pizza, drank wine, and plunged into sharing our lives over the past 50 years. Those red beanies? Yep, we wore them freshman year LOL.

October: A day after returning from Chicago, I began another reunion--with two wonderful friends from Japan: Junko (who I consider my Japanese sister) and Reiko, who I first met more than 20 years ago. We enjoyed 3 weeks together--mostly traveling. First, to the Tetons and Yellowstone National Park, then Denver, then a week in New Mexico. On our last day visiting the Tetons, we took a hike to a beautiful lake, and this is the scene and spirit of that day. Loved every minute, and it was all new territory to me as well as to them. Here's Reiko (left) and Junko, on the path toward the lake and those amazing peaks.

So many other photos I could have chosen, but I'll stop here. Reiko's wave seems somewhat symbolic of waving at the past before heading into the future. I hope you enjoyed my moments of joy. May you have many of your own to create and remember in 2019.

In memory of Gillian Shaw

This morning I woke up to what I thought would be an ordinary day, nascent cold notwithstanding, and opened my email. "Sad news", wrote a friend, telling me that Gillian Shaw, a friend and former colleague for many years in Japan, had died on December 4.  It was sudden, I later learned from her closest friend, the woman who had shared her home. When she complained of chest pains, an ambulance was called, but Gillian's heart stopped on the way to the hospital. She had turned 70 just a week earlier, celebrating her birthday with our mutual friend in a special restaurant we all liked. She was still living in Japan, her adopted home since leaving England many years ago. Below is a photo of Gillian, taken at Italiana Restaurant, on her birthday in 2009.

It's evening now, and I've been thinking of Gillian ever since I read the news. Besides the shock of any sudden death like this one, there's the secondary shock, like after an earthquake, often worse. I will never, ever see Gillian again, and any kind words unsaid or issues unresolved will remain that way. Fortunately, over time, she and I had gone a long way to resolving ours. We taught together at Tamagawa University for 15+ years until I retired nearly a decade ago. During those years we sometimes rubbed each other the wrong way, so it was not always an easy relationship.

Things changed as I was getting ready to leave Japan eight years ago. I found myself with more stuff than I knew what to do with, and Gillian was instrumental in helping me cart and carry. She liked to bake--her own creations, seldom from a recipe--and shared them with me, another boost to the packing process. To my relief, she took what she or neighbors could use from my pile of possessions,  practiced as she was in living on a shoestring and repurposing things. I felt humbled by her help, and promised to continue our connection after I returned to the US.

Gillian wrote me after I left Japan--long handwritten letters. She wrote in great detail about her garden, her childhood in England after her parents' first family (four siblings) died in a bombing raid during World War II. She wrote about her early days in Japan, the books she was reading, about the little girl next door, a child she befriended through her growing-up years. Years earlier Gillian and her long-time friend, Michiko-san, bought a house together near the university--not ideally constructed or situated--so there were always stories about household projects. She was a skilled carpenter, and for a number of summers she donated her time and skills to a non-profit working with deaf children in The Philippines. I always looked forward to her letters, always interesting, hopeful, showing interest in my new life as well. Over time I came to believe that writing had allowed a different relationship to emerge between us, one far more satisfying than the one we had before. Later we switched to email for convenience, but it's the letters, written on the backs of calendar pages and sent in slim envelopes with beautiful postage stamps, that I treasured most. I saved most if not all of them.

In many ways, life was not easy for Gillian, who did not marry and had no children. Her parents were long gone, she was estranged from her sister in the UK, and only occasionally in touch with a brother who had emigrated with his family to South Africa. She was a part-time teacher for all of her career in Japan, with all of the insecurity that brings. When I first met her, she was teaching at other schools as well as Tamagawa, but as Japan's demographics changed, classes dried up, and her class load was significantly reduced. Through it all, Gillian, a former missionary, was buoyed by her Christian faith and belief that God was looking out for her.

She retired two years after I did, but remained closely tied to the university. She was a frequent visitor in the Agriculture Department, and enjoyed visiting a professor in the English Department, one who shared her love of reading English novels. Health was also a challenge for her. She had mobility difficulties as well as heart and breathing troubles over the years, so the cause of her death was not a total surprise.

The last time I saw Gillian was on my trip to Japan in early 2016. We talked of ordinary things--the changes at the university, her continuing difficulty walking, a variety of hopes and worries, the closure of Italiana--our favorite restaurant in the neighborhood and scene of many birthday parties over the years, and of course, the plants she had in her garden.  We parted, expressing hopes to meet again on my next trip, travel no longer being an option for her. As is the case with most of the time when death comes suddenly, we did not guess this would be the last time.  Below: Gillian, me and RT outside The Harvest Restaurant in Shin-Yurigaoka during that visit.

Her last message, however, came just two days before she died. She talked about her wonderful birthday lunch at The Harvest with RT, and her promise to write soon. I had not answered yet. If I shared her belief in God and an afterlife, I'd send a loving response with a nod up to heaven, but I'll have to settle for keeping her memory alive and sharing something of her life with you. We will remember you, Gillian.