A Park Bench Tribute

Summertime, and the living is easy.....

Most days my dog Stella and I complete our mile and a quarter walk through the park, around the lake, among the ducks, beneath the towering pines, and in between signs of nature and new life everywhere.

We usually take a small break, where I sit at one of the benches placed here and there, sometimes to allow me to write or sketch, and sometimes to catch my breath and just relax.

Each of the benches has a small gold plaque on it, dedicated to someone by someone. This week I sat at the benches of:

Sophie Yankowski

May 15, 1910--November 2, 1990

&

John Kneisl 1909-2000

"DON'T TAKE ANY WOODEN NICKELS"

Astrid R. Kneisl 1919-1994

"AWAY IS GOOD--HOME IS BEST"

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It wasn't long before I found myself talking to Sophie:

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Who were you, Sophie Yankowski? With that name, you might have been Barbra Streisand's aunt in Funny Girl. Were you Polish? Jewish? You were born under the sign of Scorpio--did you forgive but never forget? Were you a Yankee baseball fan? Did you cook Sunday dinners for your family? Corn beef and cabbage? Pot Roast? Was it hard that you died just before Thanksgiving--did you hold out as long as you could or were you ready to go? Did you have grandchildren, favorites? Do you know your bench overlooks a small lake that glitters like glass on a sun-filled day?

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And John and Astrid:

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Did you give that corny advice about wooden nickels all the time, John? Did your children roll their eyes? Were you still cracking jokes at 91? Were you home, or in a nursing home? Did you know hard times before you found peace? Did you find peace? How did you meet Astrid, John? Did you love her right away? She was your wife, right?

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And Astrid, what did your kitchen look like? Did you cover your furniture? Were you the quiet voice behind John's chatter? Did you attend college, with a smart name like Astrid? Who loved you so much they made sure you and John had this bench, perfectly situated under such a beautiful tree just in front of the fountain?

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There was a time when I just didn't understand that old people and dead people were once young and alive people. Somewhere along the line they've become less flat cardboard and more three-dimensional. So sometimes I come across photographs of people who've died a hundred years ago and I ask these same questions. I ask them because I know their lives were rich and vibrant like my own. I'm glad I know this.

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I ask these questions and smile at the possible answers because I know I will die someday and someone will have loved me enough to put my name on a park bench, or affectionately retell the story of my grandson calling me "NoName" because it was the best I could come up with at the time.

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It's a precious life. There's no better time than now to know that.

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