Stepping into God's loving arms

Things are different in big cities.

In small towns, kids finish school and see everyone around town for the rest of their lives -- classmates, teachers, the principal.

In cities, kids graduate from high school and spread out across the country, across the world even, and forget most of what they left behind. The last time I visited the Woodson campus as an alumnus was the fall of 1967, when I came back to see my friends in the marching band at the Woodson-Annandale football game.

I went back in 1980 as a sports reporter, covering a basketball game between Woodson and one of the Alexandria schools for my first newspaper job with the Alexandria Gazette.

I never went back to see the teachers I had known and liked. There weren't many, and my favorite teacher of all -- Rachel Maguire from 12th grade English -- had moved over to Oakton.

But teachers stay.

Teachers stay and teacher generations of kids, affecting their lives the same way they did those of their parents and sometimes even their grandparents. It's why movies like "Goodbye Mister Chips" move us so much.

Joan Bedinger was one of those teachers, not for me but for many others. She taught drama and directed productions at Woodson for 30 years till her retirement in 1994. The theatre at Woodson is named after her.

She died last week after the last in a series of strokes. I was kind of surprised to realize that while we were there and she was teaching, she was younger than my 27-year-old daughter is now.

The Woodson drama Web site, which has information about her and her funeral services that will be held Saturday in Fairfax, says she "stepped into the loving arms of God."

That sounds pretty nice to me.

Getting together this summer up north

The lovely and vivacious Helen Roberts asked me to post this, so how could I resist?

Editor's note: She didn't ask you to post the picture.

Spoilsport.

I could have made her a blogger and told her to do it herself, but I don't have all that much to do these days other than to apply for unemployment, look for jobs and watch old movies on DVD.

Hey, it's a great life.

Anyway, Helen wanted me to announce to the entire class -- at least to the folks in the know enough to read this blog -- that the annual WTW Northwest Rendezvous will take place August 1-3 in the metropolis of La Conner, Washington.

Now what I find interesting about that is that La Conner has the same initials and the same number of letters as my home town of La Canada (pronounced Can-yada, it's a Mexican thing) and is actually within an hour or so of the real La Canada (pronounced Can-a-da, it's a French thing).

Anyway, Helen is among a group of West Coast Woodsonites, including Marna (Podonsky) and Leroy Hanneman (who actually live in La Conner), Bob and Dianne Douthitt (who live in Spokane, home of Ryne Sandberg, John Stockton and that quarterback I can't remember who won the Redskins' last Super Bowl), Rob and Loretta Gohd (of Bremerton), Greg Keever (of Los Angeles), Chris and Carol Kessler (of Seattle), Mike and Wendy McCuddin (of Port Orchard) and Anne Gibson Snyder (of that easternmost of west coast cities, Middletown, Md.), who get together in the Northwest every year or so.

Now Helen had a lot of cool stuff to say about La Conner, about the fact that it's an outdoor paradise, an art colony and that there are two girls for every boy (wait, I think that's Surf City).

She's right. It's a cool place, even though the closest I've ever been to it was Seattle in 1989 when I was covering college basketball. You can look it up on this link to the city's Web site if you doubt me, but there's really only one thing you need to know.

If you have always lived in the East, if you've never been farther west than West Virginia, you've missed out on the best part of this country. I don't mean the Northwest (I actually prefer California), but the entire West itself.

I've lived in Colorado, Nevada and Southern California, and things really are different out here. Don't forget that the bluest skies you'll ever see are in Seattle (Perry Como), that it never rains in Southern California (Albert Hammond, a lie) or that you can see it raining fire in the skies of the Rocky Mountains (John Denver).

Once you've been to La Conner, you can carry yourself back to old Virginny for the rest of the year. But don't miss it.

C'mon, how often do you have a chance to see two of the greatest legends of the class of '67 in the same place?

Editor's note: Which ones?

That's the best part. There are enough people on that list that they can be whoever you want them to be.

So in the Virginia vernacular, y'all come.

A return after a short hiatus

Hey, it's been a while.

Sorry I haven't been posting lately, or doing much else. A little of it has been shock, a little the stunning fact that I don't have anything to do.

I function better when I'm busy, and since I got fired for the first time in my life early last week, I just haven't been that busy. I've been reading a lot, watching DVDs -- hey, that first season of "Friday Night Lights" was pretty good -- and sleeping late.

I haven't checked out the Web site I was asked to check out, and I haven't read the stuff Dale sent me.

But, as my Carolina friends say, I'm fixin' to.

Let's get moving again.

What is your passion?

Muse on this a few moments. Where and what is your passion? In what are you engaged when you sense a quickening of your heart and soul? When do you feel most alive, most in touch with your own essence?


Each of us may have multiple replies. Perhaps your list is ever growing.


Scanning back over the years can yield important clues to opportunities for future inclusion, for ways to bring more passion into life.


As a child, what activities held your attention? You might recall such deep absorption that you were surprised by hearing, “It’s time for dinner!”


I remember experiencing this phenomenon when I was reading, writing stories, finger painting, choreographing little dances for myself, lying on my back in the grass while watching clouds, and being steeped in imaginative play. I enjoyed playing checkers, card games, jacks, jump rope, and hopscotch.


My sister and I nurtured our doll children in our play house (converted from a chicken coop by our father and uncle, bless them). We took our host of “little ones” for wagon rides near the woods and on picnics in the backyard. When they were sick we held them, murmured encouraging words, and gave them medicine.


Within these reflections, I can see some roots of what feeds my soul today: writing, spontaneous dance, meditating, making art, walking in woods and on beaches, and reading. I feel intensely plugged into the heart of life when I teach meditation to eager students, when I connect with individuals in therapy sessions, and when I place my hands in someone’s energy field.


At parties and other social gatherings, the one question I like to ask is, “What feeds your soul?”

SO - - what feeds YOUR soul?


~ Dena Ward Clayton

How much do people really change?

It was 41 years ago this month that we started the second semester of our senior year at Woodson.

Some of us were excited about our basketball team, the year after the Cavaliers made it to the state quarterfinals. Others were rehearsing for "Extrazaganza" or getting ready to try out for "The Unsinkable Molly Brown."

Those of us in the band were preparing for competition, learning the extremely difficult "Overture Candide." And once a week at lunch time, I was getting together with nine other guys to practice for the appearance three of us would make on "It's Academic."

I don't remember very many of those nine. I know Roger Pasternak and Ray Redd were the other two guys who actually went on the show, and Thom Smith was our alternate. I know my good friend Gary Oleson was one of the other six, but that's all I can remember.

It was an interesting year. I remember nearly every night before going to bed, listening to WBZ out of Boston, WKBW out of Buffalo, CKLW out of Windsor, Ontario, or WCFL ("The Voice of Labor") out of Chicago for my nightly rock 'n' roll fix.

There weren't any girls in my life that year. My long-time friend Tracy Antley had transferred away, and mostly what I remember about that year was the unbridled teenage lust I felt for my French teacher.

Of course there were the lovely majorettes I saw twice a day in the band room -- Rande Barker, Joan Ansheles, Donna Fenerty and the others, including Karen Theurer, who might actually be the most beautiful girl I've ever seen except for maybe Jane Seymour.

But lately I find myself wondering:

What if we did it all again? What if some cosmic twist of fate put those of us who are still around into the halls of Woodson in September 2016 for one year as real seniors?

We proably wouldn't have much of a football team, that's for sure. Bones are far too brittle at our age, and most of us probably don't run all that fast anymore.

But I wonder if a lot of the kids who were too shy ever to say boo when we were young might not be the outspoken leaders. Late bloomers, you know.

Would Mike McCuddin still be the class president?

Would Bob Douthitt still run the student government?

Or would both of them have gone on to other, more satisfying ways to spend their time?

I guess the real question is how much have we changed.

I certainly hope we'd be more tolerant -- and I think we would -- toward the ones who were sort of outcasts in 1967.

After all, we have grown up.

What if it all was just a dream?

I woke up confused this morning.

That's not an entirely new occurrence for me, but it happens rarely enough that it still manages to throw me. For a couple of seconds, I couldn't remember where I was or even what year it was.

One thing that compounded the problem briefly was that the clock radio was set to an oldies station and "My Heart's Symphony," by Gary Lewis and the Playboys, was playing. That's a song you rarely hear, and it was popular during the summer between our junior and senior years.

I smiled to hear it, remembering at the same time that it was 7 a.m. on a Monday in January 2008 and I had to hustle to get ready for work. But the song stayed with me and I was humming it during my 43-mile commute.

I don't dream about high school. I don't know why that is, but I do know that I have been thinking about those days a lot more since I went to the reunion in October and then started this blog.

When Dale posted the 1967 yearbook the other day, I spent a few hours going through it page by page and bringing back memories. I saw people who had been my friends but had completely vanished from my memory. I remembered playing bridge at lunch in high school, but I sure didn't remember that there had been a bridge club and that I had been the treasurer.

I read a story once in which the writer compared the passage of time to a river. When you're young, the river is a lazy, meandering stream; by the time you get old it's a raging river.

My river has been raging for some time now. I don't know if I have 10 years left, or 20, or 30 or more. But I know I've changed. I'm not that kid who listened to Gary Lewis sing in the summer of 1966, for better or for worse.

I think of the kid who was terrified to ask girls out and I smile.

I think of the kid who walked the halls with his head down and I sigh.

But I think of the young soul who really believed in the goodness of others and the beauty of the world and I can't believe I was ever that innocent.

Was it real ... or was it all a dream?

Maybe a little of both.

Just another something to read and consider

I haven't been around much lately.

Things have been busy here, and I have been hoping some of the other bloggers would step up. Dale did, in a big way, when she got our yearbook on line.

Just a thought: I've been changing some of my blogging tendencies. I decided that two of my blogs weren't that much fun, so I cut them. Other than this one, I now have only "The American Hologram" and a new/old one -- "Captive on the Carousel."

Go to the links on the side and check them out.

Our Senior Yearbook is Now Online!!!!

Our 1967 Senior yearbook is now online and can be located at:

> > > > > > > http://Yearbooks.EveNDon.com <http://yearbooks.evendon.com/> > >

I am also sending an email out to everyone for whom I have an active email address.

There is no set of instructions for using the website. The short time I have played around with it has helped me, but so far I have been able to make only rudimentary searches...of course, it could be me....?????

When you logon to the site, just note that it has 3 sections. Left column (section) is where you would enter your search words. Also, once you click on the yearbook itself, the left side column also lists the index (in very simple terms). You can click on "Help" in this section to get to the "search pointers and limitations."

Top right section contains the "search pointers and limitations." If you enter a word to search in the left section, everywhere your word is found will also pop up on this top right section.

When you click on the yearbook site, the yearbook will open up on the bottom right side (which is the largest section). You can also then expand that section by clicking and dragging the section dividers.

Good luck and we look forward to any positive, helpful feedback from those of you who become friends with the site and negative, yet positive feedback from those who do not. I will send the feedback to the owners of the site.

One more thing. I did not have scanning capabilities so that is why I mailed my yearbook to this company. It costs about $60 (which is a gift from our class). My point is that if one of you has the capability to scan in each page of a yearbook, it costs nothing to get the other yearbooks online. The company wants to make their real money from people who want a CD burned of the yearbook. So we can do the remainder for free if someone can make that happen.

Have fun!

All right, let's try something different

I loved Sean Kennedy's comment on the experience he had with a ripped set of tuxedo pants, and I found myself thinking that if there's one thing almost all of us have in common, it's probably embarrassing social circumstances.

I'm hopeful that all of them are far enough in the past to laugh at.

So step up, share your most embarrassing in a humorous way movements.

I'll go first.

It was the fall of 1969 and I was at a fraternity party at George Washington University, the second of my four stops on my 14-year quest to finish college. It was a rush party, and I was with a girl I had met at a mixer the week before.

She knew some of the guys in the house, and she was partaking heavily of the "purple Jesus" punch. Ah, those were the days. We were on the dance floor, her dancing somewhat groggily, when all of a sudden she slipped on a wet spot on the floor and fell flat on her face.

I was horrified for her and reached down to help her up. I didn't think it would be a big deal -- people slip all the time -- but I was surprised to find that she had passed out. I looked around to see if anyone had noticed, but most everyone was looking the other way.

By now she was snoring softly.

I finally managed to awaken her and get her over to one of the couches.

The funny part of the story actually didn't happen. A few days later, I was telling my best friend Mick about what had happened. He asked me if anyone had noticed and if it had caused any problems.

I said no and he told me what I should have done.

If a guy came up and asked, "Is that your date on the floor?," he said my response should have been this:

"Nope. My date's in the ladies' room."

-- or --

"Nope. I don't like girls."

New Year's Eve is highly overrated

I'm trying to remember if I ever had a truly memorable New Year's Eve.

Now some of you who knew me back in the day, which I believe was actually a Thursday, probably could ask yourself if I ever had a memorable night at any time of the year. Until my early 20s, when it came to social skills, I was riding the short bus.

I had my moments, though. I had a really spectacular Valentine's Day 1970, and a couple of Independence Days that weren't too bad. But I never remember anything all that great happening on New Year's Eve.

I suppose I probably enjoyed the Pleasures of the Harbor a few times -- I have been married, between two wives, for something like 20 different December 31sts. But I don't remember more than one or two when I was single, and those that stick in my memory are usually there because of social fiascos.

I've talked with friends and colleagues about the question, and a lot of them agree with me that New Year's Eve is highly overrated. People think they're supposed to have such a great time that they try too hard, and trying too hard rarely works out well in social situations.

Am I wrong?

Did everyone else have wild, wonderful times?

I'm curious.

A look at our blessings as 2007 ends

We are so blessed, blessed almost beyond imagination in the class of 1967.

We were born in an era of peace and tranquility and came of age in exciting, interesting times. We live in a country that often falls short of its ideals, but remains one of the safest, most prosperous societies in human history.

In the 40 years since we graduated, many of us have loved and lost, but others have stayed with each other and raised families. When I look at Dale Abrahamson and Susan Spell, or think about Steve Rust and Janet Thornton, I am filled with admiration for folks who knew their minds at a very young age and stayed with their choices through the good times and the rough ones.

Some of us have grandchildren already. My daughter and her husband are planning to have their first child in 2008, so God willing, I'll be joining the club sometime next fall.

I thought Nicole and I were doing really well to plan our retirement at 60, but boy, was I jealous to see how many of you have already called it quits.

Was it Browning who said, "Grow old with me, the best is yet to be," or was it some other poet?

My senior English teacher, Rachel Maguire, would be disappointed that I can't remember.

That's OK, I think all of us remember what really matters.

Love and friendship.

This is still the best time of the year

I haven't been posting as much lately, and our three other posters seem to have vanished completely, but it's understandable.

Unless you're living at the YMCA, heating Top Ramen in a cup and re-reading "A Tree Grows in Brooklyn," this is a pretty busy time for most of us.

Editor's note: Where did that image come from?

We'll be leaving a little later this morning to go to the mountains, where we'll spend Christmas Eve and the better part of Christmas Day with our son, his girlfriend and her family. With both our kids grown, we're fortunate to still have one of them around for one more family Christmas.

Because really, family is what Christmas is all about. I could probably count on one hand the specific Christmas gifts I remember receiving over the years, even though I'm sure I wanted some of them desperately at the time.

But I'll never forget the look on my kids' faces when they got gifts from us they had been wanting but weren't expecting to receive.

I don't really have a favorite Christmas. This will be my 16th with Nicole and all of them have been special, even if a few of the early ones involved a little more drama than I would have preferred.

One that stands out for a different reason was 1989. I was working in Reno that year and had college basketball games to cover in Los Angeles on the 23rd and in Reno on the 29th. I wasn't planning to fly cross-country, but my mother sent me a plane ticket and asked me to come for a very special reason.

It turned out to be my 94-year-old grandmother's last Christmas, and it meant so much to me to have one last opportunity to spend some time with the best person I ever knew in my life.

Two months later I was flying east again, this time for her funeral.

There's no great point to this, other than the easy one. Let the people you love know exactly how you feel about them this Christmas. It may mean more to them in the short run, but in the end, it's the greatest gift you can give yourself.

Merry Christmas to all my old -- and new -- friends from the Class of 1967. To Dale, Gail, Nan and all the rest of you, I wish I had known you better then, but I'm glad I'm getting to know all of you now.