REMEMBERING RON ANDERSON

The Indomitable Ron Anderson

I’ve walked around all day with a heavy heart since hearing the news of Ron Anderson's passing.  Ron was a mentor and inspiration to so many people.   At times like these it’s hard to know how people, places and communities will be the same in the dark wake following the loss of such bright light.  Yet the beautiful thing about a person like Ron is that his essence remains, though his soul is resting well tonight in some place that none of us can yet know.  That essence resides in his humor, his intellect, his curiosity, his enthusiasm, his compassion and his enormous talent.  When I read messages from the legions of people whose lives he touched so deeply, it feels like a call to action in my own life to re-commit to that essence, taking from him all the things he lived for and the principles and passions that played out in the way he lived his life and cultivated his vocation

One of the things I found so amazing about Ron was how fluidly he combined his passion for performance with his passion for teaching, and how this combination built the foundation of a performing arts program that reached thousands of kids in his lifetime, teaching them life skills through stage skills.  The Springer Academy gave and still gives so many seekers a place to find the best and most creative sides of themselves.  And have so much fun on the journey. 

Ron lived his life to the fullest, which was so apparent particularly the last two years, when things that would rock most people to their core became fodder for Ron to do new and different types of creative outreach and artistic reflection.   Ron never stopped giving, and in this he has set the bar celestially high for those who wish to follow in the deep imprint provided by his footsteps.

Like many folks today, there are things I wish to tell Ron still, and grieve deeply that I will not have the chance to do so while experiencing the light of his face, the wideness of his smile, and the deep and hardy laugh that set so many people at ease.  The thing I wish to tell him most is how much I’ve learned from him after I left the Springer, most particularly since I’ve become a parent.  My oldest child was born with cerebral palsy, and she is a beautiful and complex creature who has captivated both my husband and I since the morning of her birth.  While the deep love we have for her is as wide and deep as any waters, we are also often confounded by the complex experience of parenting someone for whom there is no road map.  Not that any child comes with an instruction manual, but after also now parenting a typically-developing child as well, I realize that there is a significant difference. 

So many times when I’ve struggled on this journey, or felt I faltered in my sense of call to this amazing work of special needs parenting, one of the first people that would come to my mind would be Ron.  Ron, whose passion and commitment to his own son ran so deep, and was so apparent from almost the moment you met him.  Ron, who integrated every child that he could into the Springer program, addressing their unique needs directly and honestly, but with the compassion and optimism that let each child who wanted to try be able to do so.  And how much I learned as an instructor, and how much I saw students learning, in this incredible environment of inclusiveness that was crafted on the base principle that every person could be met where they are, and celebrated for who they are. 

Though I will never have this conversation with Ron, and I grieve that, he will continue to light the way for me in what it means both to struggle and to thrive.  I don’t think there are enough people in this world who do both well and openly, and for having the kind of gutsy vulnerability that such living requires.  For having seen this in Ron’s life, I am deeply grateful.  Ron was always present, very serious and deeply committed to his work, and held a high standard of excellence for all he undertook.  Yet he was also fun, funny, and gentle, and knew that at the end of the day, some deep breathing and meditative movement could help one let go of what was and go forth into what was to come.  And hopefully to achieve that transition with a tiny bit of peace, with grace for good measure.  I hope that is what this transition is like for him, and I wish this as well to those who were lucky enough to live and work so closely with him. 

As I was first trying to put into words all that I felt today, a strange thought crossed my mind.  I recalled a writing exercise we did one of the summers I taught playwriting at the Springer Academy.  In the spirit of Pablo Neruda, we had our younger writers observe different fruits and vegetables and write an ode to the thing that most captured their attention.  At the end of camp, we would pick a few that stood out and have the writers read their ode performatively.  Their writing was incredible, brilliant, hilarious and surprising:  All the things Ron loved best.  I think perhap initially I wanted to write Ron an ode, but when I looked through some old files, I realized I still had a few saved from the students themselves.  Since Ron loved laughter so much- sharing it, creating it, invoking it, designing it- lifting up a little piece of sunshine seemed right as I tried to conceive of the best way to express my joy at his life, and work to heal my grief at his death.  I think that’s how he would have wanted it.  All of us, alive to the struggle, and yet poised to continue the joie de vivre that defined his days and his being.

So I leave you with a tribute not from me, but from Catherine (whoever and wherever you are) and her work from the B group in the summer of 2008.  It resonated well with how I feel about Ron, and about how so many others feel as well.  Thank you, Ron- and thank you Catherine!

ODE TO SQUASH     

by Catherine

Squash, with your yellow exterior and your unique shape, I can never miss you.  When I walk through my garden, I always have to stop and pick you from your vine and gaze upon your glorious beauty.  It always amazes me how you started out as a little flower and morphed into a world-renown vegetable.  So world renown, that producers of a television show decided to design you a computer-generated face and put you on there wonderful show, Veggie-Tales. 

Many people would just get a rather large knife and cut you.  How foul.  Oh squash, I praise you with more glory than gold or rare minerals.  No matter how you feel, you always put a smile on my face.  You make me want to break out in song and dance to announce to other human beings your magnificent beauty!

 

 

MERRY CHRISTMAS

Merry Christmas dear friends and readers!  It's been a haul this Advent, and though I haven't kept up daily in the most literal sense of the word, thanks for hanging in as I reached my goal of publishing at least 24 posts this year.  It's been so great to get writing again and get centered.  Truly, finishing this post tonight is the best gift of all so thank you to everyone who continues to journey with me in this life of family, writing, questions, hope, love, faith and joy.  A Christmas cocktail of all that's good to last the ages!

Here's a shot from our house today, and another excerpt from The Glorious Impossible which I referenced in my post yesterday.  I hope you all are safe, resting, and having a merry day in just the way you want this year.

Holding the child in her arms, rocking, singing, Mary wondered what was going to happen to him, this sweet innocent creature who had been conceived by the incredible love of God and who had been born as all human babies are born.

God, come to be one of us...

...The wonder of the Incarnation can only be accepted with awe.  Jesus was wholly human, and Jesus was wholly divine. This is something that has baffled philosophers and theologians for two thousand years  Like love, it cannot be explained, it can only be rejoiced in.

                                                                                       -Madeline L'Engle, The Glorious Impossible

O HOLY NIGHT

Happy Holy Night everybody!  Here's a shot of our live Christmas tree, which my German husband insists on every year.  It's like Christmas roulette having two toddlers, a mound of presents, a real tree, and candles burning everywhere.  So relaxing, right? But in truth, so beautiful.  All said, I wouldn't change a thing.

One of the coolest Christmas gifts I ever received was this gorgeous book from Madeline L'Engle.  It's a beautiful narrative, written with clarity and pared down in a way that really illuminates the beauty of the Christian story.  I will leave you with her words tonight:

And so the life of Jesus began as it would end, with the impossible.  When he was a grown man he would say to his disciples, "For human beings it is impossible.  For God nothing is impossible." Possible things are easy to believe. The Glorious Impossibles are what bring joy to our hearts, hope to our lives, songs to our lips.

                           -Madeline L'Engle, The Glorious Impossible

THE TWENTIES

Not the roaring kind, but rather the angst-ridden late adolescent version.  Like, per this post and for the sake of continuity, say 20, 21, 22 and 23.  I recently got into a fascinating conversation with some of the young adults in the community I coordinate about the ideas in this book, which a lot of millenials seem to be consuming with great gusto.  It's basic message is don't f*** around in your twenties because it is the defining decade, the decade when you lay the foundation for the rest of your life.  You can get an abbreviated version by listening to the author's TED talk here.  We watched it at a retreat with some young adults and it got me kind of riled up, to be honest. While I support a lot of what Meg Jay says, I also feel like it encourages a sort of control and judgement about how you "make" a life.  I'm still trying to sit with all the reasons it nettled me to figure out which ones are worthwhile, but in the meantime, I thought others might enjoy it and would love to hear feedback. 

The one thing I can say about my twenties for sure is how much fun I had with my friends, none of which I would take back for a second.  I may not have been serious or focused enough to have EVERYTHING by Meg Jay standards, and so the foundation I laid in my twenties may end up having me looking something like this in my sixties-

It is one of the blessings of old friends that you can afford to be stupid with them (Ralph Waldo Emerson)

but hey, it could be worse.  I came across the above quote from Emerson the other day and it pretty much summed up the beauty of friendship to me as I approach my next decade.  Old friends, new friends, lots of work, the joy of family, and stupidity to last a lifetime....

19

When I was 19 I felt almost grown up.

I was wrong.

Now I'm grown up and I feel like I'm navigating a grown up world to which there are no rules.  My dad wrote me the most moving Christmas letter the other day in which he highlighted the fact that he thinks my sister are I are navigating levels of stress that he and my mom did not have to navigate back in the day.  I'll never have his prospective, but it definitely sounds plausible.  Based on this fascinating and somewhat depressing article, the New York Times would agree.

But on the up note, 19 years is about the amount of time I've known most of my best college buddies.  This blows my mind, yet also feels sort of right when I think about how well they know me, what faithful friends they are, and the depth of support and insight that a long term friendship can provide.  I am so grateful for all my friends daily, both new and old.  Love, in every form, is truly what makes the world go round.  At least my world!

This is pretty much me and my college buddies in a nut shell

WHEN EIGHTEEN WAS THE LEGAL AGE

For drinking in New Orleans, oh what a Golden Age that must have been.  I've heard talk of it from my older cousins in Mississippi, and my own sister got to take advantage of the statute after graduating from high school.  Those were the glory days.

Recently, I had the pleasure of taking a brief trip to the Big Easy and myself drank this sweet and refreshing St. Germain cocktail at the lovely Hermes Bar at Antoine's.
It would be a great one to reproduce for myself and other's this holiday season.  Also, I'm a big fan of these mulling spices from Martinelli's.  I always have a fantasy of making my own homemade mulled cider or wine, and even have the spices stashed away in my spice drawer, but in the end, these make up a delicious brew and are honestly fast and affordable in comparsion.  Throw in the convenience factor and it's done.  I usually spice apple juice or cider with them in a big pot then throw in a shot or two of rum per glass and voila, instant cheek ruddiness and warm spirits.  

Hope your Advent is swimming along festively.

This picture is straight up from 1893.  Do it ladies!

SEVENTEEN SONGS FOR THE HOLIDAYS

Okay, seventeen more or less.  One of the best things about living in Austin is the AMAZING programming on our public radio station.  I'd never really fallen in love with radio until moving here, but both KUT (news) and KUTX (music) really bring it on a level I'd just never experienced before.  Like now, for instance.  If you're like me, that is, a music lover with very little time to discover and invest in new music, this list from KUTX is a life saver.  And here is the expanded version. Not that I'll have time to hunt down all the leads here to be riding their cutting edge wave of awesomeness, but at least it's a start. 
 

And along those lines, KUTX also plays just the right amount of Christmas music (like 3 days worth I think) from the furthest corners of the music maps, so if you're looking to play something festive in your holiday downtime or while entertaining, definitely consider streaming them live directly from www.kutx.org if it's possible.  I personally really don't like Christmas music, or though I didn't, until I heard what KUTX brought out from it's vaults.  Impressive and inspiring!