clink

I've been trying to come up with something to write here since wednesday. and perhaps a blog is not the most highly regarded ways of memorializing a person, but its what i've got, and i don't think she'd mind.

Connie was a profound influence on my life. i first remember encountering her in 1992. I played a munchikin in the high school's production of The Wiz. I remember a random sampling of moments from the play. I remember Betsy braiding her hair (13 years later my sister would play the same role, braids and all). I remember Brian Harmon putting his vest on upside down. I remember Steven Hartke (the tin man) holding up his axe as a signal to whoever was running the light board. i remember one of the Miller sisters trying to put makeup on me, and it being all blotchy. i remember the NCHS speech team sending the cast flowers with a note that said "Good Luck, Don't Suck." At that age, it was shocking...I didn't use that kind of language.

4 years later it became a central part of my lexicon. "Good luck, don't suck. I'm going to feed the ducks." It was Connie's most sincere way of encouraging. I learned a lot of things from Connie, the least being what "feeding the ducks" really meant. I learned my middle name was Ann. I learned how to hug her. I learned not to take Suter's criticisms too seriously (just seriously enough). I learned not to "use glue as deodorant." I learned not to let her interfere with my love life. I learned to walk in heels (a skill I've since lost). I learned not to skip finals. I learned lollypops are an awful fundraiser. I learned to play euchre. I learned others were jealous of the hey hi family. I learned how to "fly." I learned where she kept her cleaning products. I learned I should consult her before chopping off my hair. I learned that one need not be able to sing to have a part in a musical. I learned that Lauren Bacall went a long way with a scratchy voice. I learned who to lean on. I learned that something was amiss at the circle K. I learned there was humor in live chickens. I learned how to do a sugar shot. In essence, I learned that "I already had the potatoes, I just needed the gravy."

And now, i take stock of my life and see traces of her everywhere. She is present in the material posessions I have in my apartment. She is present in the way I construct and argument. Every time I give a presentation I silently thank her for not being nervous. I watch other speakers rock back and forth or with arms glued to their sides and smirk. I was told recently that I have very distinctive gestures. I owe them (for better or for worse) to her.

Connie was a teacher, a coach, a director, a mentor, a class advisor, an employer, and a friend. I contemplate what she did for me, and then think of the hundreds of other students she touched and wonder where I fall along the continuum. The funny thing is, I don't think any of us were just another kid. Even the ones she got frustrated with (I now have a vision of Gordo with a football shaved in his head) were truly loved deep down.

I last saw Connie two years ago and her retirement celebration. I somehow ended up at the table with her and it was wonderful to catch up. In some ways I feel guilty for not visiting her last time I was home, knowing full well it was probably my last chance. But in some ways I'm glad my last memory of her is still as the spunky, outspoken, but caring individual I looked up to so much. And as I looked around the room at that event, I saw all the other people who had been affected so deeply. And reconnecting with them was really amazing and valuable. It was because of her that we all loved each other so much. And maybe I'm overly romanticizing the relationships I had with the speechies and the kids from the park, but they are the people I still keep in touch with. They're the ones that make me proud of my roots and I hope that legacy continues. Without Connie it will be hard, but I think she's an amazing enough influence that she will continue to be felt, long after her physical presence has been lost.

I'm going to try to go home next weekend, and if/when I do, I will most certainly "Go to Ash."

her obituary