Month: March 2007

Mr. Valhouli

I received an Exeter alumni publication today, which among other headlines announced the establishment of a faculty house dedicated to Mr. Valhouli. The article that accompanies made me cry with its moving and sensitive description of the man and teacher I loved so dearly. One student wrote:

“The expectation of decency and responsibility from so manifestly decent and responsible a man is a revelation of the possibility of those qualities. In that sense, Mr. Valhouli reshaped me by gently drawing out my highest potential. I have no doubt that many others knew him in that way, as cultivator and sculptor of character.”

This passage struck me because the words decent and responsible are so mild, and yet this description of Mr. Valhouli shows their tremendous power. He was without a doubt the teacher who has most influenced me, and I still think of him almost daily.

I dug through lots of old files looking for a photograph I have of us together at graduation, searching for the school reports in his small, cramped hand. Unfortunately I couldn’t find either, but I did happen upon a trove of old emails, poems, and photographs long forgotten. I could choke on the waves of love I’m feeling for all of these people right now!

A few short extracts here – random, all, but likewise all beloved.

From Alex Clavel (picture above is of of him, on the right)

“So get off your proverbial ass and live the way that only a few – you among them, which is why I adore you so much: because you’re the type to drown yourself every week if need be in excitement, and love, and everything else – can. That last sentence is why I like [Ashley] so much too: there is a sort of a wildness that you two share, a sort of willingness to dip your foot in the water and test it out, that makes you both so … I don’t know what, I just know that it’s what draws me to you.”

From a book (unknown which one!) and emailed to Quincy, July 1999:

“I did not understand until I met Kathleen how someone so beautiful and intelligent, with such great teeth and wit, could be as unsure of her worth as I am of mine, and as arrogant as I am, and as psychotic as I am. And then we became close enough to begin sharing our deeper secrets – about our parents, and ex-lovers, and skin, the true details of our girlhoods; in short, the true flavoring of our lives rather than the revisionist histories we recite to others – I understood. When it became evident that our souls were similarly textured despite the differences in our packagings, when we let each other in, I entered into the most difficult and essential friendship of my life.”
“We were, by this time and henceforth, traveling companions in drunkenness, mental derangement, honesty, psychic struggles, psychedelia, adventures, and massive, extraordinary fun. We weathered our depressions together, weathered our disappointments together, forced each other to cop to manipulations, evasions, and emotional blackmail….We are so insanely close, and so different, that it is a miracle to me that our friendship still thrives: her imagination and humor and truthfulness stun and rejuvenate me, and her particular brand of madness is not unlike my own.”

From Anna:
“… being your friend has brought wonderful things into my life – not just the drinking and fun – but long walks, good books, and growth as a person. That doesn’t come lightly.”
(the tabblo I made for Anna is here)

Maps

I have long loved maps and charts. Perhaps it comes from my father’s early exhortations about the four qualities that matter in a woman:
1. get ready fast (check)
2. travel light (check- traveled carry on for 6 weeks in Africa & our honeymoon)
3. be able to read maps and charts and navigate (check)
4. look good after several hard miles to windward (not sure)

Putting aside the very curious assortment of goals that this provided for me, I am sure that my interest in maps comes from my father’s long fascination with them. We have large charts of Buzzards Bay (above) and Boston Harbor in our house. I framed an antique map of Rutland for Matt for a birthday one year, and the vintage Paris metro map that hangs in my parents’ hall is vivid in my imagination (as is the story of my toddler voice sing-songing “Sol-fer-ino!”)

Maps create an illusion of control, of understanding – all of life is understandable as long as we have a map to guide us. When I was in sixth grade my class went on a field trip to practice orienteering. I’ll never forget that day: at each of seven points on a map our team of two had to get a stamp. After point six, my partner and I were in the lead. The very shortest way to #7 and sure victory was across an area labeled ominously “uncrossable marsh.” What do you think I did? Pointed us directly into said swamp. Four hours later we were extracted, needless to say no longer in first position. An early lesson on the compelling value of reading the map and obeying its instructions.

Of course the bigger question is how to navigate the uncharted waters, the unmapped courses. This question, stubbornly unanswerable with logic, continues to challenge me.

The greatest weakness of most humans is their hesitancy to tell others how much they love them while they’re alive. – Orlando A. Battista

Running history

I remember several years ago, when I was deep in my yoga phase, a comment by Lacy: she noted that I had always been a runner and that my commitment to yoga signaled some kind of new comfort with being still. I think there is some truth to that, but when I really think back, I think it’s more that those 4 or 5 years of yoga were an interval in a lifetime of running.

All of which is to say, I spent this morning’s run by the river thinking back over years and years of runs. I also thought of GodMomGloria, whose birthday was yesterday (and remembered 2 years ago, at Whit’s christening, when I opened the door to see her and realized I had forgotten her birthday – we put candles in the brie at the party, but still, I feel terrible!), and who’s celebrating 33 by herself in Prague running a half marathon. Fantastic. I’ve set my Tivo to record Jim who is anchoring WNT tonight, as well.

I started running almost 25 years ago, keeping my Dad company on his Fresh Pond circuits … I have very vivid and happy memories of those early runs, and also recall him panting to me, “Linds, NO MORE questions until we’re done!” as I ran along beside him, yapping like an annoying lap dog. I also started running 10Ks before I was 10, often with Tory McEvoy, who has reentered my life lately in a serendipitous way.

The first time I ran in earnest was at Exeter. I ran cross-country, for one thing, but it was really that long, dark winter of my incredibly sad senior year when I ran, and ran, and ran. All I remember of those short days and long nights are miles and miles of running and Mr. Valhouli. Literally. When it was truly too cold to run in the woods I would go to the cage by the gym and circle the 1/4 mile track over, and over, and over. This morning when the Grateful Dead came on my ipod I was thrust back to those circuits of the cage (weird running music, for sure, but I maintain that Sugar Magnolia is a great love song).

At Princeton I kept running, mostly junior and senior year. I remember getting up at 7am, feeling like the only person awake on campus, and running on the tow path and through the institute for advanced study. I could run 6 miles, have breakfast at Ivy, and still be at a 9am class. This was perhaps when I realized how fully I am a morning person.

In the early BCG years I really discovered the Charles and its various bridges, all of which meted out different mileage opportunities and different vistas. During HBS this was still where I ran, though now from Cambridge and headed into Boston, vs. the other direction. Pam Houston may celebrate the clarity and mind-clearing properties of sunshine on fresh snow (see tabblo about this here) but I think my version is the early morning fog rising off of the Charles, an occasional single or double shell slicing through the water, the sun coming up through the Boston buildings.

Marion, too, has its share of my footprints – the morning of our wedding I remember running out to Converse Point and watching the sun come up over the dark hump of the vineyard, distant on the horizon.

Random musings for a Saturday morning. My hip hurt a bit this morning (odd, have never had pain there) but it eased as I warmed up. Am really thinking about doing the Covered Bridges 1/2 marathon in May. Need to look into that.

I knew I was onto something when I was impressed with those little green recycle-your-printer-cartridge envelopes that HP supplies. Fortune has named them one of the 10 “green giants.” Its machines are 100% recyclable. I love it.

Oh, and by the way, they have made the exceptionally wise decision to acquire tabblo.