1. I umpired softball and baseball for girls and boys back in 1988, the same year I got married for the second time in December. My soon-to-be wife lived with a woman whose partner was the supervisor of umpires in what was then called Eugene Sports Program, but is now called Kidsports. Well, the relationship between my second wife's housemate and the umpire supervisor didn't work out. Years later, after my second marriage ended in divorce, I ran into the umpire supervisor somewhere in Eugene and he had married a woman who was a year or two behind me at Whitworth.
A few days ago, a friend from those Whitworth days wrote to me that this Whitworth alum had died, but that didn't seem quite right. I wanted to check into this, but I couldn't remember the umpire supervisor's last name right off hand to return to his Facebook page -- where I'd been once before quite a while back. Finally, after trying to find him through searching for friends of his, his last name came back to me. I found his Facebook page.
His Whitworth alumna wife is alive, but that left me with the question of the name of my friend's and my dorm mate who had passed away. Well, she was born with the same last name as the umpire supervisor's wife and with the help of my Whitworth College annual from 1975, I discovered (and remembered) the woman's first name who had died (years ago, as I remember). Taking an hour or two to figure that all out calmed me down.
2. So, the woman's first name who died young is Diane. I don't know what year she passed away, but I do vividly remember the last time we saw each other.
In December, 1981, my first wife and I separated (and within a year divorced). Once the fall term of 1981 ended, I hopped on a Greyhound bus and, after a stop for a night or two at Roger's apartment in Salem, rode to Pasco where I joined my family -- Christy lived in the Tri-Cities then -- and, before long, we headed to Kellogg to celebrate Christmas.
Upon the end of the Christmas break, I boarded the Greyhound in Kellogg and a massive winter storm struck. It would be 24 hours before I arrived in Eugene.
One delay was in the Spokane bus station.
To my surprise and delight, Diane was in the station, and, like me, was waiting for her bus to finally arrive and depart.
I don't know if I told Diane that evening in the Spokane Greyhound bus station that my life was at a crossroads.
It's likely I did.
What I do remember is how kind she was that evening, consistent with every interaction we'd ever had in the Creative Writing theme dorm.
I remember that in the midst of the blizzardy weather, the thick downtown Spokane darkness, the cramped decrepitation of the Spokane bus station, and my own feelings of disorientation and uncertainty about returning to Eugene and continuing my life on my own, her kindness uplifted and comforted me. I'll never forget that feeling, even if I've long since forgotten what exactly we talked about or for how long.
3. Debbie was busy elsewhere this afternoon and evening. It was a good time for me to be home alone, diving into the World Wide Web, trying to remember the umpire supervisor's last name, connecting my life in Eugene with my college days at Whitworth, figuring out the names of the living and the dead, and remembering my conversation with Diane.
I topped off all this digging and remembering by heating up diced tomatoes, adding a half an onion to it along with a generous chunk of butter and letting it simmer for a half an hour. I boiled penne pasta and poured the rich tomatoes over the pasta and enjoyed a comforting dinner accompanied by a couple of mini cans of Coca Cola. I love pasta and cola, just like I love pizza and cola, Chinese food and cola, and cola with fried potatoes and eggs.
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