Category: Family

Heirloom Begonia

On By AnnIn Family, Healing, Loss and Grief, NatureLeave a comment

I conclude my series on Plants that are some of my Favorite People on this last day of 2025 with a tribute to a cherished begonia and the people she represents. Long ago, my Grandma Georgia tended her angelwing begonia in the west window of her front room. The stand beneath it was likely crafted by my dad, her son, in his woodworking shop. All of her grandchildren noticed this solitary plant, the only one she kept inside. Its showy speckled leaves were indeed shaped like wings, with many colors—from green to red, and silver speckles. Grandma told me that she had received this begonia from her mother, who got it from her mother, and so on and so forth. It is a living family heirloom. The cuttings keep going over many generations, and decades, and multiple centuries. Who is to know how old this plant really is? For Grandma, it dated back to the 1800s. It’s now part of my 21st century garden.

And so the angelwing begonia is esteemed in my collection. It represents the family’s values—among which are resilience, persistence, continuity, and devotion. It is determined and dedicated, regardless of its human caretakers, and just keeps on keepin’ on, fulfilling the purpose the universe has assigned to it.

My treasured angelwing begonia has graced my window ledge in winter and the outdoor planting beds in the summer for many years. Like Grandma Georgia, I have shared cuttings with cousins, sisters, nieces, and friends. With appreciation for the begonia’s connection to my grandmother, I saved this post for the last in the series for two reasons. One was the reminder of the cyclical nature of life on earth and the resilience of life as we prepare to welcome a new year. May the begonia deliver hope for the weeks and months to come.

The second was to honor the memory of a dear cousin who passed away one week ago today, on the day before Christmas. Like my sisters and me, she was a granddaughter of Grandma Georgia. One of my favorite memories of Maureen is her quiet request for one of the begonia cuttings a few years ago. I prepared one for her and we met in the parking lot of the Episcopal Church in Derby for the exchange. Now my angelwing begonia connects me to her as well as other loved ones who have donned their own angel wings in the great beyond.

Maureen, you will be missed.

Meet Elizabeth Mames

On By AnnIn Family, Healing, NatureLeave a comment

My tales of plant friends would not be complete without mention of my first pet plant. Meet Elizabeth Mames. When I was just 10 years old, I received a start of the classroom windowsill plant from my 5th grade teacher, Mrs. Pratt. She had pruned the potted plant that graced the window in our classroom and sent a start home with me, probably other classmates as well. It was striking with purple—not green—foliage, and tiny, delicate three-petaled flowers. Without blossoms to attract much attention, this was truly a foliage plant. Mrs. Pratt called the classroom plant a Wandering Jew. I named mine “Elizabeth Mames,” and Elizabeth Mames she has remained through the ensuing decades.

At home, I was fascinated to see white roots erupt from the purple stems I stuck in a glass of water. With guidance from my agronomist father, I potted Elizabeth Mames and for several weeks took photos of her growth. (In black and white, of course. No color photos back then. Yes, I’m that old.) She has stayed with me through several life moves, through thick and thin, through heartache and celebration. At some point in time, I realized that Elizabeth Mames would do quite well outside during the warm months, but I was careful to collect starts before frost wilted the purple leaves every autumn. Several years ago, I was amazed to see that she would come back from her underground roots when the weather warms in springtime, unless we experienced a polar vortex, as we have a time or two. So, I still collect a few stems to keep her going through the winter.

She’s not showy, but provides a lovely backdrop for my other plant friends in the summer planting beds. Elizabeth Mames has stayed with me for decades, sturdy and reliable. She helps me remember my stellar 5th grade teacher. When my own children reached 5th grade, I started looking for Mrs. Pratt and found her in another town and another state. She was delighted to hear from me and we corresponded until her death five years ago.

Thanks, Elizabeth Mames, for the memories.

Plants are some of my Favorite People #4

On By AnnIn Family, NatureLeave a comment

Plants bring me close to people who I consider adopted family too. Take Barry McGuire, for instance. The first time I met Barry I arrived at his home in Elk Falls to tune a piano he’d purchased from a music store in Wichita. The walkway to his door was lined with grow-boxes full of vibrant flowers. I learned that he was highly regarded as a sort of wizard with flowers from coast to coast, with gardens and friends all over. His Elk Falls story included a famous sunken flower garden that along with other local attractions brought busloads of tourists to Elk Falls.

Barry didn’t do much with house plants inside, but he loved the seemingly infinite variety of blooming plants on our planet. When I told him about the “red spider lily” that had so impressed and mystified me, he got on his computer and looked it up. I was a little disappointed to find out that I didn’t have a new variety of the “naked ladies” my dad enjoyed. The red variety, which blooms a month later, actually originated in Japan. Its technical name is Lycoris radiata. With that in mind, it found an important place in my piano mystery.

When Barry moved from Elk Falls to my hometown (slightly bigger with more conveniences available) he brought a small lemon tree in a container, his only house plant. He named the tree Jose Limon. I think it reminded him of happy times in southern California. Jose has to be brought inside during the cold winter months in the Great Plains region, so it stays in a pot. The tree grew and grew, though, and is now in the biggest pot I could find.

Barry moved hither and yon a couple more times before his final move to the great beyond, but he always came back to Kansas and his rural roots. In the end, he left me all his grow-boxes, and the lemon tree. This year was a good year for lemons, and good old Jose came through with a bumper crop. On harvest day, I picked 21 fruits off the branches, much like last year in December. I have learned how to make all kinds of lemon treats: lemon bars, of course, but also lemon curd (which is much like a jelly), and candied lemon peels.

 

 

 

 

 

 

I always think of Barry when I tend his lemon tree. He seems close by when Jose blooms and puts on a crop of fruits. Barry sure knew how to bring out the best in plants and I am grateful for that.

Plants are some of my Favorite People #3

On By AnnIn Family, Healing, NatureLeave a comment

My father influenced my love of the plant world more than anyone. I can hardly turn around without seeing a plant that makes me think of him.He grew up on the family farm which had been homesteaded by his grandfather. He always intended to farm it, I suppose. But after World War II, farming changed quite a bit and no longer could a farmer expect to support a family on 160 acres. The homestead stayed in the family for another six decades, though none of us lived or worked there. He, however, studied at universities in several states, earned a PhD in agronomy, and ended up as a college instructor, sharing his love for plants and agriculture with his students. His love for gardening and plants never waned. Nor did his sense of humor.

The Stephelia (Star Flower, Carrion plant) I inherited from my father is testament to his good humor. I have to chuckle remembering him when its buds pop open every autumn. Rather than attracting bees and butterflies, the Stephelia’s “fragrance” attracts houseflies. “A stinky plant,” says my sister.But its flowers are singularly remarkable. I understand why Daddy was fascinated with this succulent. This past summer was a good year for the Stephelia and it offered a stunning display of blossoms. I felt my dad close by as the buds swelled and then burst open into palm-sized blossoms covered in fuzz. Every year lately they have been awesome, in spite of the fragrance.

Like his mother, Daddy tended a large garden every year. He devoted a circular plot in his driveway to flowers. When time came to thin the bulbs, he eagerly shared iris bulbs with us, as well as those he called “naked ladies.” Other folks refer to them as “surprise lilies.” They aren’t true lilies, but instead belong to the amaryllis family. The bulbs send up green leaves early in the spring, but then die down so that you forget all about them until the leafless flower stalks shoot up, seemingly overnight, in late July. And they are magnificent, covered with striking pink flowers.

One year, after the surprise lilies Daddy shared with us had wilted, I noticed a thinner stalk with small red flowers erupt. I’d never seen anything like these September blooming “red spider lilies” before, and had no idea where they might have originated. I thought perhaps we had a mutated version of the pink naked ladies. The red version was astounding and vivid and inspired me to add them as “characters” in my first suspense novel, Sundrop Sonata. (More on these red spider lilies tomorrow.)

With plants that bloom at different times of the year, and the Stephelia that requires care indoors during winter months,I feel close to my dad many times each day. Though I miss my folks very much, they are with me in the thriving plants they shared long ago.

Plants are some of my Favorite People #2

On By AnnIn Family, Healing, NatureLeave a comment

Plants connect me to people from long ago and far away. From a Rocky Mountain high with the Mother succulent, I think of another daughter who has moved around a lot with her husband for the US Marines. With a giant leap over my location, she is 1800 miles away from her sister, and 1400 miles away from me. She has tried to keep her young girls involved in the fascinating world of plants by creating mini-gardens in different locations. Now a first-grade teacher in Coastal Elementary School, she recently shared a photo of a blooming Christmas cactus one of her students gave her. That made me think of my own mother.

Mother wasn’t much for tending houseplants or flowers, though she always helped plant, weed, harvest, and preserve garden produce alongside my dad. About thirty years ago, a friend she’d known since her college days in the 1930s gave her a Christmas cactus start. This was long after I’d left home and started my own family. Mother shared some Christmas cactus starts with me soon after she planted her own. She has been gone more than twenty years now and when this plant faithfully blooms at Thanksgiving time each year, (not Christmas!) I think of her. This prolific plant connects me to both my mother and my daughter. The circle is unbroken.

Plants are Some of my Favorite People #1

On By AnnIn Family, NatureLeave a comment

For most of my life, I have had a thing for plants—call it fascination, devotion, friendship—something. It could have been the connections to my rural roots, links to the farm that I didn’t grow up on. Plants connect me to people also, and especially at this time of year, the plants in my windows are threads tying me to people in other places and other times. For the next few days, I will share the plants that have become part of my family throughout my life. Some have been with me for decades. Others are more recent arrivals.

Take this fascinating succulent, for example. My daughter who lives 500 miles distant once gave me this “Mother of Thousands.” It grows fast and drops lots of miniscule offspring. On its large leaf pads, tiny clones pop up in each of the serrations around the edge. They fall and take root and propagate. The mother plant grows to be huge during the months it’s planted in the flower beds outside and I have had to cut it back to bring it inside for the winter. That seems to prompt a flower spike, which boasts unique blossoms. Once the petals have wilted, the stem itself produces tiny succulent shoots. I think of my daughter every time I see the plant and I have to wonder what she was trying to tell me by passing along a plant named “Mother of Thousands.” It is surely living up to its name.

Craig, Carter, and Compassion

On By AnnIn Earth care, Eldering, Family, Healing, History, Loss and GriefLeave a comment

Seventy-three years ago today, at 10:10 in the morning, a baby boy arrived in this world who would become a significant part of my life. Two decades later, I met Craig Winter in college at FHSU. We enjoyed traipsing around public parks and nature reserves in Kansas with our cameras, taking pictures of the wonders of nature. This morning I celebrated his life with a walk in the winter wonderland, taking a few pictures of the snow that fell overnight.

Craig and I were married in 1977, during Jimmy Carter’s presidency. Having taken a class in the biology department at FHSU together–a class called “Can Man Survive?” that examined all the environmental issues of the day, including the greenhouse effect and global warming as climate change was called then–we were united in our commitment to support the natural world and reduce humanity’s harmful effects that were due to our unmitigated greed. Jimmy Carter was our guy. They say he was ahead of his time. I don’t think so. The probability of a global consequence to our short-sighted ravaging of our planet was known more than 100 years ago. Society knew all the benefits of alternative energy in the 60s and 70s. But harnessing free energy from the sun didn’t make any corporations much money. Craig and I were supporters of Carter’s conservation methods–turn down the winter thermostat, 55 mph speed limit, his installation of solar panels on the White House. And we dreamed of becoming reliant on our own private energy production, even then.

Carter acted with the well-being of his neighbors in mind, a true Christian quality. He wasn’t ahead of his time. The “resistance” at that time was just way behind. Look where that got us as they gained and assumed power.

Craig became a cancer statistic 9 days after his 33rd birthday in 1985, and I became a widow. (Quite the stigma for someone not yet 30 years old.) But I haven’t forgotten our joint priorities, nor our admiration for President Jimmy Carter.

Photo courtesy of The Carter Center.             Cuba 2002–The Carter Center’s delegation to Cuba, being the first time since the 1959 Revolution that a sitting or former president visited Cuba.

After his time in office ended, President Carter showed that you don’t have to be the elected leader of the country to make a huge difference, and today, a day after President Jimmy Carter’s funeral in Washington, DC, I renew my commitment to make a difference for those in my circle, for the inhabitants of Earth’s future, and for all the non-human neighbors that are as dependent on this planet as we are dependent on their well-being. Those of us with the future of our planet and its life forms in mind are now the “resistance.”

This morning, in honor of Craig Winter, I was trekking around our acreage in the fresh snow with my camera, capturing scenes, just like we used to do. Thinking of you Craigie, as I always do on this day. With love.

NOTE: I am deeply grateful and indebted to my second husband, Mike, for his generous and compassionate heart for the last 36 years. He has never objected to my memories or to my honoring people from my personal history that helped make me what I am today. We are all products of our histories and our memories, not just the stimuli we receive at the present time. Thank you for being dad to all our children, and grandpa to all our grandchildren as well as allowing my heart to grieve through the years.

The Bell

On By AnnIn faith, Family, Prairie talesLeave a comment

“Joy to the World, the Lord is Come! Let earth receive her King,” I sang with my friends from Campfire Girls. Bundled in warm coats and woolen hats, we hardly noticed the night’s chill as we sang to our neighbors one December evening, long ago. My piano teacher smiled at us from her doorway. A toddler laughed in her arms, clinging to her with one hand and pointing to us with the other.

“Merry Christmas!” we said when we had finished. “Merry Christmas!”

We turned to the street and tromped to the next house. “Race you,” Sara said. She lunged into an awkward jog on the snow-covered street. She darted ahead of me, gaining momentum.

“Slow down, Sara,” said her mother, the adult who accompanied us.

Sara stopped running and slid in her boots along the packed tire tracks. I slid too. Other girls joined in and we ran and slid to the next house. Sara’s mother led us to the porch and rang the doorbell. A retired couple opened the door and we sang, “O Come, All Ye Faithful. . .” Our words wafted into the crisp air on puffs of vapor.

Our youthful energy carried us from door to door. Snowflakes fluttered through the black sky and smattered my cheeks with sprinkles. We passed under a street light and paused to watch the new snow float down. The flakes glinted in the light beam as they settled onto knee-high drifts on the ground. Tiny crystals of fallen snow sparkled like tiny polished gemstones.

We cut a trail across unbroken snow in a neighborhood park and skirted tennis courts which had been transformed into a winter ice-skating rink. Pine trees flanked our exit from the park, each cluster of needles decorated with tufts of snow.

As I passed the pines, Sara ran up behind me and bounced a limb. Snow sprayed in every direction, showering my face with needles of ice. I brushed the snow from my coat and chased her onto the residential street. We proceeded from house to house, sending joyous strains of familiar Christmas carols into the night air and wishing all a Merry Christmas.

Ontario Street marked the edge of town and we paused when we arrived. On the other side stood an apple orchard, still tended by an aging farmer. I expected that we would turn around and head back but Sara’s mother nodded across the street to the little farm house nestled in drifts of unbroken snow. “Let’s go there.”

“Nobody’s home, Mom,” Sara said.

“I bet he’s there,” her mother said. “Come on, girls, one more stop before we head home.”

I shivered, suddenly cold. The only time I’d seen the elderly farmer had been months ago when I had ridden my bicycle into his blooming orchard. He gruffly told me this was no place to play. “Go home,” he said, his face unsmiling and stern.

I dragged along with the last of the girls as we trudged across Ontario Street. None of us laughed now. We didn’t run and slide up his path. We plodded up the driveway, a smooth field of unbroken whiteness glowing in the night between rows of trees, the bare branches skeletal against mounds of snow.

We reached the back porch of the old farm house and crowded onto the landing. One of the girls broke an icicle from the porch roof and handed it to Sara.

“I don’t think anybody’s here,” Sara said again.

“Knock anyway. I see a light in there,” her mother said.

Sara knocked, timidly at first. She knocked louder the second time. The porch light came on. “How about ‘What Child is This?’ Ready?” Sara’s mother whispered.

The door swung open and the old farmer stared at us, a strange look on his face.

We sang, “What child is this who, laid to rest, on Mary’s lap is sleeping?”

Tears filled his eyes as we sang. At the last chord, he tried to speak, but the words caught in his throat. Sara’s mother took his elbow and guided him to a chair at the kitchen table.

“Have them come in,” he managed to whisper.

Sara’s mom motioned us into the kitchen. Someone started “Dashing through the snow,” and the rest joined in. We sang other songs, filling his house with music.

“Want some hot chocolate?” He leaned forward to stand.

“Let me,” Sara’s mom said. She bustled about the kitchen, stirring chocolate syrup into warming milk on the stove. It was the best hot chocolate I’d ever had.

We sang more songs. We sang all the Christmas songs we knew. I helped Sara wash the cups and return them to their cupboard.

“I’ve got to get these girls home,” her mother said.

We filed out the door and sang one more time, a hearty rendition of “We Wish You a Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas!” we called as we turned away. “Merry Christmas!” Our boots crunched through the crystalline snow on our way toward Ontario Street. We had not quite reached the end of the driveway when a bell rang behind us. We turned to look back toward the farm house and the barn behind it. The tones deep and clear from an old school bell, rose from a belfry on top of the barn and floated through the air above us.

I tipped my head backwards, as if I could see the tones mingling with the snowflakes in the dark sky. The bell rang on, filling my heart with wonder. None of us spoke when the ringing stopped. The chimes died away in the pristine night air and stillness blanketed us with the enchantment of a winter evening.

Sara’s mother spoke with reverence and awe. “I haven’t heard that bell ring in twenty years.”

Twenty years.

Ever since that crystalline December night when I witnessed the magic of music, the custom of caroling has been a favorite holiday tradition. Music bridges generations, unites families, heals broken hearts, and brings good will to all. Seasons come and seasons go and I am now an old woman, pondering all the Christmases of my past. The love, the feasting, the hugs from distant family members coming together, the festive decorations, and anticipated years to come, but of all those years, none has quite matched the experience of hearing that old church bell peal across a snow-covered neighborhood, a message of hope, joy, and gratitude from one generation to the next.

May Heaven and Nature ring for generations to come.

Choices Make a Difference

On By AnnIn Eldering, FamilyLeave a comment

“Do I HAVE to?” Who hasn’t grumbled those words? I’m guessing it’s a universal childhood lament when asked by a parent to handle one task or another.

This was fairly common when I was a girl. My sisters and I had responsibilities every day, along with weekly chores. Of course, we’d rather play with the neighbors, read a book, or watch TV. So, “Do I have to?”

To which the quick answer was, of course, “Yes. You have to.”

Until it wasn’t the answer. I can’t recall the task my dad asked me to tend to. Maybe it was helping set the table for dinner. Maybe it was drying the dishes which my sister washed. Maybe it was making my bed, or tidying my room, or raking leaves on our lawn. But whatever the request, my practiced response, shoulders drooping, was, “Do I have to?”

This time was different. My dad was likely tired. Perhaps he was exasperated after a long day at his job. Maybe he’d heard this phrase one too many times lately. Instead of responding with the expected, “Yes,” he sighed deeply and said, “No. There is really nothing on Earth that you ever have to do.”

His words. The message I got, however, was far deeper and is one I’ve never forgotten. If there’s nothing I ever really have to do, it’s what I choose to do that counts. That has stuck with me for over fifty years. The unspoken message influenced my life from that day forward. I may have hesitated after that day before I spouted the trite lament when I was asked to do my share. But I quit objecting to the chores. Rather, I chose to follow through and I learned it wasn’t so bad.

It’s kind of like Robert Frost’s two roads diverging in a wood. When faced with conflicting options, what I choose to do makes a difference.

Tuned Up!

On By AnnIn Activism, bridges, faith, Family, Healing, Music and pianos, Nature, social justiceLeave a comment

My adventure at the mini-Chautauqua event sponsored by the Winfield Public Library through Humanities Kansas

For the last few months, a traveling Smithsonian exhibit has circulated around the state, setting up in six different cities, with one more to go. The Voices and Votes: Democracy in America exhibit has spent the last month at our local library and will soon travel on to Belleville in the northern tier of counties.

Each hosting community has featured something specific about how that location supported the sharing of information, citizen involvement, and the voting process.

Winfield’s focus was on the Chautauqua meetings of a hundred or more years ago.

Founded in 1874 in Lake Chautauqua, New York as an educational tool for adults, its original intent by founder Rev. Joh Heyl Vincent, a Methodist minister, and businessman Lewis Miller was to expand the idea of a Sunday School for adults. The idea soon grew until Chautauqua meetings became an important source of education, culture, recreation, and socialization for millions of Americans. Everyone was welcome.

Winfield’s Chautauqua events were held annually at the town’s iconic Island Park from 1887 to 1924. Some years, as many as 10,000 people flocked to the island, camping in an area reserved for family tents for a week to ten days. For a number of years, it ranked as the third most popular Chautauqua event in the nation.

The Winfield Public Library staff selected the historic Chautauqua events, with their focus toward education and giving people a platform to share ideas and opinions, as the local highlight for the Smithsonian exhibit. As part of that, a mini-Chautauqua was held last Sunday evening in the community building. Ten local citizens were invited to present short talks about “It’s Intense: Voices on Good Tension.” It was my honor to be included as one of those ten.

Other speakers included business managers, the newspaper publisher, a farmer, a county judge, city manager, physical therapist, and a retired activist teacher. The emcee shared a short bio for each of us. My presentation used images to focus on  metaphorical tension from the perspective of a professional piano tuner.

Bio: A young widow with a preschool daughter, Ann Fell came to Winfield 35 years ago to teach at Winfield High School. She met and married fellow teacher Mike Fell and with their combined resources they raised a blended family. After a few years she quit teaching and opened a regional piano service business. With the loss of her parents a few years ago, she returned to her early calling—writing—and now has six published books. A dedicated environmentalist, musician, grandmother, and writer, she is no stranger to life’s tensions. Here’s Ann to talk about keeping life Tuned Up!

A dictionary tells me that tension is the act of being stretched to stiffness, maintaining a balance between opposing forces.

As a piano tuner, it’s my job to adjust tension—over and over again.

All stringed instruments need tuning as well,

but with 88 keys in a piano and multiple strings for most keys there are around 225 strings to tune.

With an average 160 pounds of tension per string, that gives an ordinary piano about 18 tons of tension across its plate–30 tons for a concert grand. That’s a lot of tension! Believe it or not, I spend half the year lowering tension, and half the year raising it, since wooden soundboards react to our seasonal humidity changes.

If a string is stretched too tight, it can break. On the other hand, if it doesn’t have enough tension and is limp it will not vibrate with the desired pitch. It will not sing.

It’s all about balance.

In our lives, tension just happens, and we stretch between opposing forces. Some of those forces relate to daily family interactions,

disagreements between parents about children,  disagreements between children and their parents. I might find myself facing a troubling medical diagnosis, or watching financial reserves dribble away.

I might have opposing opinions about current issues with extended family. I might be asked by our amazing local librarians to prepare a 5 minute presentation about Good Tension. I might face major life changes like starting a new job or moving to another community.

I might find myself dealing with tragic loss and grief, balancing the emptiness of the future with joyous memories.

How do I find the optimum balance for tension in life? In the piano tuning world, we have special tools.

But what about tools to balance life tension?

Nothing as concrete as tools I’d find in the kitchen or garden.

What tools are good for tense life situations?

I suggest intrinsic ones, habits, and careful choices.

Perhaps many of us have identified passions in our lives,

answering questions like “Who am I?”

and “Why am I here?” Hopefully most of our passions will leave a better place for those who come after us.

The details can be different for everyone, but we find a cause that we can support.

Maybe two or three.

When it’s time to raise the pitch—to increase tension and produce harmony—I find ways to follow my passions and take a stand on issues of the day,

to engage in life, to volunteer, befriend someone who needs a friend.

I try to recognize those things that I can let go and those I will support in every way I can think of.

But what can I do when the weather changes and I sense a storm coming? How do I keep from breaking under tension? Tools to relieve tension arrive as life gifts, different for everyone.

Some may go for a run or a bike ride.

Others grab a book to escape to an imaginary world, or write in a journal. Some people make music.

I like to take a camera and look for beauty in the world around me. And the world responds.

Some things I have learned:

Life is complicated—there is nothing simple about it.

Acknowledgement of mistakes helps build bridges.

Love is the greatest power.

Laughter heals.

At least half of communication involves listening.

There is beauty and wisdom in tiny things and overlooked places. It’s healing to find wonder in miniature worlds.

I always find what I’m looking for, so I try to look for the positives.

When the future looms dim, I hold fast to my values, and take one small thing at a time.

Bird by bird, scene by scene, note by note, day by day or even minute by minute, I can make choices that support my values.

Like a seed, sprouting under dire conditions, but sprouting anyway. That is the essence of optimism.

Danielle Orner, a young woman who has battled cancer since she was a teenager said, “Life is a balance between what we can control and what we cannot.”

Between effort and surrender—two forces in life that keep us in tune. That is the essence of good tension, insuring that those yet to come can sing.

(P.S. To answer your question: I should add photographer to my list of dedicated endeavors in the above bio. Yes, I took all the photos, except for those in which I appear, and the group of Haitian children.)