Geoffrey Evert at the Lake Minatare lighthouse.
I still miss the boy who became a man. His wide smile and thoughtful nature could always cheer up my day. I remember all the moments of all the days he was here. On March 17, 2018, the making of memories ceased.
I became a two-time member of a group I never wanted to join. I’m a four-time member now.
It was day nine or ten living on the basement couch. Hours had been spent staring at the wall, the ceiling, the floor. I knew every flaw in everything in the room. I saw the cracks in the ceiling. I saw the holes in the wall. I traced the outline of missing parts of floor tile with my eyes. I didn’t care about any of it at all.
Every six months or so, Paul and I sat down at my computer to pick a new set of music to play in my car. My 2000 Hyundai Accent had a tape player and I purchased an adapter so my CD player could be used. It was easier to burn a CD full of music than a cassette tape. On July 21, 2008, we only owned one car and Paul decided he wanted to pick the music.
I don’t do New Year’s resolutions. I don’t usually sit and reflect on an entire year. If something needs to be changed in my life, I take measures to make that happen when it occurs. This past year, however, was different.
I have found it rare to have a colleague that is hard-working, but also finds time for fun and friendship. Spike Jordan is one of those people. Spike originally joined the Star-Herald as a copy editor before moving over to reporter. When long time ag editor Sandy Hansen retired, Spike stepped in to fill those shoes. Earlier this year, he moved on to be the editor of the Hemingford Ledger. I’m pretty sure he came back to the Star-Herald solely because he missed my awesomeness.
As a journalist, he has taught me a lot about copy editing, design, and digging deeper in investigative reporting. He has joined me on interviews, particularly one where we got to hang out with yaks, told tall tales, and educated me on the finer points of stealing cake. He has been there for me when my mental health issues strike at work and helped me along the way. So, with the help of fellow reporter Mark Gaschler, we spent several hours creating a welcome back gift for Spike to show appreciation toward him as only a couple of nerds could do.
Animals have an amazing way of making us feel better. My cats have a way of calming me in a way no human can and the animals at our local zoo have a way of doing even more.
“He was a nice man. He didn’t deserve to go that way.” The words had a tinge of sadness attached to them as my mother said them matter-of-factly while we sat waiting for the light to turn green at the intersection of East Main Street and Irwin Avenue.
When the light changed, she gently pushed the gas pedal toward the floor and we continued on our way. It was 1986. Not many people understood HIV/AIDS. There were rumors, confusion, and plenty of hatred. My mother’s words were twinged with a sense of hopelessness. At the time, a diagnosis of HIV/AIDS was a death sentence. This man she knew in high school was already dead. There was nothing she could do.
Almost everything I learned about driving, I learned by observing my grandmother, Lorraine. I typically hold the steering wheel as she did, I swear and curse people as I go about my journey, I love manual cars, and I learned the usefulness of a lead foot. Those skills have all been useful and put into practice while living in western Nebraska.
Powered by WordPress & Theme by Anders Norén
