I am assuming that good times are rolling in New Orleans today as Fat Tuesday is upon us.
With all the other stuff going on in the world, it's a bit difficult to think about good times.
We are conditioned, though, to make the most of life regardless of what's happening around us.
So, I hope the revelers in New Orleans have their good times, and we'll do our best to find our own brand of Fat Tuesday fun.
Bill and I aka Ma and Pa Love enjoyed a brief good time yesterday when he brought the two papers home which had not been delivered to us and we read the story in the link below
So, proud of the team and of Coach Love.
Congratulations to all.
My former student and award-winning photographer Chris Pietsch took this selfie of himself and Eva Whitehead while he was visiting the Bonner County Museum where Eva volunteered for years.
Add to that the Methodist Church, the Pack River Cemetery, Alpha Delta Kappa and many other pursuits.
The loss of two individuals who have long played integral parts in the fabric of one's own unique community as well as the community in general is staggering, to say the least.
We all must go some day, but learning within a two-week span that we'll no longer see Eva Whitehead or John Fuller here on Earth seems almost unfair.
The combined years that I knew these two fixtures and positive forces in the Sandpoint area could possibly reach the century mark.
Eva was my geometry teacher during my sophomore year of high school more than 60 years ago.
John was my farrier for about 35 years.
I knew both individuals in more than one dimension, as did so many other members of our community.
Eva's story of community service and contribution is nothing short of epic.
I'm guessing we could almost pay off the national debt with her many ongoing donations to community entities, especially the Sandpoint High Athletic department where she also volunteered for years at the scorers' table.
Eva lived north of us on a farm where she had moved when she was one year old. She passed away Saturday at 93 after amazing the entire neighborhood with her self reliance on that farm where she had lived alone since her parents died.
Stories about Eva and her incomparable grit would inspire anyone. We were all tickled pink this spring to learn that she had finally given up the push mower for a riding zero-turn lawnmower.
Imagine learning how to operate one of those at 93.
I have a funny story about Eva that I always like to share. One summer night, I rode my bike up to Center Valley Road to visit my friend Ruthann who was living at the Russell farm at the time.
We talked well into almost darkness. I told Ruthann I'd better get on my bike and get home before it was totally dark.
Ruthann lovingly harassed me about the bears that might come and eat me, so when I started off, my feet were pedaling furiously to get back to my house without being attacked.
While climbing a gradual incline on the road and nearing Eva's house, I was feeling a sense of relief because darkness had not come on fully.
Then, it happened.
I looked ahead and saw something gray moving my way right in my path.
In that instant I had the presence of mind to turn the handlebars of the bike toward the middle of the road, barely missing the gray figure.
It was EVA, dressed in a gray sweatshirt and gray sweat pants.
Bringing my bike to a halt, I asked, "What are you doing here?"
In her Eva somewhat admonishing and typical tone, she responded, "Why are you out riding your bike at this time of night?"
Well, that was a good question, so I obligingly answered my former teacher turned neighbor.
We then went on our way.
It was fortunate that I had turned when I did because, had we collided, I think Eva would have learned firsthand about bisecting in real life and not just the geometry book.
Fortunately, she lived for several years after that fateful night, and the community continued to benefit from her quiet dedication.
I'll miss seeing that white SUV going by the driveway at all hours of the day when Eva was either coming home or off to attend to her many selfless chores to benefit others.
Eva, you were one of a kind, and our community was so fortunate to have had you on this Earth.
And, then there was John.
He was one of kind too.
To a person, I'm sure every one of his customers would tell you that he not only nailed on shoes but also shared the wisdom he had learned throughout his fascinating life of 83 years.
Horse owners would also tell you that there's no way John, who came west from his native Chicago, could have been in his 80s when he finally sold all of his farrier equipment.
That man was an amazing human specimen, and he worked at staying that way throughout his life at the health club, on his bicycle or aboard a horse.
Farrier sessions with John were always fun and always inspiring. Heck, he could even spew out some wisdom with half a dozen horseshoe nails pierced between his lips.
One of the most meaningful tidbits he shared with me happened just after I retired. He came to shoe horses one day and had just seen a friend from San Francisco who had also retired.
"You're in the final quarter of your life . . . there's no guarantee of over time . . . make the most of it," the friend had told John.
We both agreed that the message certainly would reverberate. And, it has for me. I've never forgotten those wise words, and I'll never forget the wonderful man and friend who shared them with me.
John, thanks for the memories. You will be missed.
I like to say that John was a staple in my stable of friends.
There is a sense of sadness in the loss of these two very different people and longtime friends, but there's also a sense of gratitude that I was able to rub shoulders with them and maybe even heckle them a bit so many times in my life.
RIP, EVA!
RIP, JOHN!
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