Remembering Pamela Johnson

Pamela Johnson, 1957-2017

You moved to Penfield?
From California?
Why?

I had questions for this gentle visitor, Pamela.
She had chosen our church,
Bethany Covenant in DuBois,
because she had loved her Covenant church in California.
I learned she was a graduate
of Parsons School of Design in Manhattan,
the number one art school in the nation,
then the artist became a psychologist
who left her Mount Lassen wildflowers
and moved to Penfield to be closer to her mom
who lived in the eastern part of the state.

I teach in Penfield,
a tiny town nestled at the foot of the continental divide
and volunteered to take her jeeping
through the mountains surrounding her new home.
We splashed through puddles,
explored abandoned mills,
looked for opsrey at a mountain impoundment,
walked to rock outcroppings,
and watched the beech leaves turn from green to burnt sienna.
She loved her neighbors, the elk.
Pam came to Bible study,
helped decorate the church for Christmas,
sat around the fire with us.

Soon after the move to Pennsylvania,
her mom died
and Pam missed California's scenery and working conditions.
When the weather warmed,
we helped her pack for her move back to California,
to a new town, Alturas.
We kept in touch via computer
and continued to enjoy her artist's viewpoint
in photographs of landscape details
and pastels of western wildflowers.

Frost feathers! A gift for those who observe

Paintbrush. Pam knew both the literal and the botanical

If I am interpreting what I've read correctly,
last week Pamela visited
an artist she had befriended in Alturas
who, unbeknownst to her, was a felon.
Things went wrong
and he turned on her.
We read of her death on Facebook.

If God is a god outside of the realm of time,
perhaps my tearful prayers
that God comfort her on her transition to heaven
made a difference.
She was, and is, His child
and perfect love casts out fear.
Say her name in remembrance:
Pamela Johnson.
Pamela Johnson.
Pamela Johnson.
There is joy in the morning.
But now it is night
and we continue to cry.

Perfect Gifts

In the last three months
I have received three perfect gifts:
1. a Big Bad Wolf doll
that eats Grandma
that Paul's family found at IKEA
2. a book titled "What If?"
that answers bizarre questions like
"What would happen
if the earth stopped turning?"
from science-son Luke
3. a remote-controlled,
battery-operated candle
from Uncle Jack
so I won't set the house on fire again.
Never leave a burning candle unattended.

Last week
I received yet another Perfect Gift:
Heidi gave me a t-shirt
emblazoned "Dances With Squirrels."
It came with a card that said
"To appreciate nonsense
requires a serious
interest in life."




Heidi and I started our nonsense in elementary school.
We sat beside each other,
skinny sixth graders
in the condemned Second Avenue building,
spending our spare time
writing notes in code
for the guys behind us to crack.
We were partners
on the class trip
to the Hershey zoo.
In junior high,
we cultivated new friendships
as she became the cheerleading mascot
while I spent hours with the band
and our paths diverged.

Forty five years later
we are again together in school,
she in third grade
and me in first grade
at Penfield Elementary.
It didn't take long to renew our friendship.
We were two old dogs,
circling and sniffing,
tails tentatively wagging,
catching up.
We have much in common
besides DAHS class of '74:
Cat dilemmas.
Aging mothers.
Love of quotes.
Goodwill bargains.
Appreciation of Einstein.
Children's literature.
We ask each other doggy questions:
How was the cancer?
Ruff.
Why is the hall wet?
Roof.
What do you think of Kate DiCamillo?
Grrrrrrrrrrrrr... great!
We compare doggy brains
and find that both are powered by squirrels.
Her squirrel runs nicely in her wheel,
analyzing situations,
neatly making to-do lists.
My brain hosts a family of hyperactive squirrels
who take their wheel apart
to see how it works
and then crank up the music
and boogie.
Heidi organizes
Read Across America Night
while I dress up as Clifford
and pelt kids with snowballs.
She reads the morning announcements
in a calm, quiet voice
while I make my loud, annoying math puppet Claw
read when it's my turn.
She catalogues the book room;
I greet kids dressed as Mother Nature
when the seasons change.
She makes me think.
I make her laugh,
and I love that
she appreciates my humor.

This week
when I took down our cardinal pictures in the hall
I could not bring myself
to throw away the ripped-paper letters
so I rearranged them instead
and added my own picture.
Heidi laughed,
shook her head,
and said I should blog about it.
And I have.


May your squirrels dance this week
as you contemplate perfect gifts.
Friendship is one of them.