February 22, 2008--Snowbirding: Death & Tomatoes
Back in 1971, Michele _____ , a nice-Jewish-girl from Long Island, visited her sister, who was a junior at the University of Miami. It was the middle of a brutal winter in New York and after basking in the warmth of south Florida, Michele decided that there was no reason to return home. Ever.
And she never did. Except through the years for occasional visits. There was not much reason to. She was an indifferent student; had few friends; was not dating anyone seriously; and, most important, had recently nursed her mother through the last stages of cancer. He father had died suddenly a few years earlier and her sister was all the family and security she had. From her tragic and lonely experiences, she had come at an early age to realize that life could be sadly short. So after graduating from high school, she packed up her belongings and headed south.
Within months she joined her sister at the University of Miami. It was an era during which the U of M was not regarded for its academic rigor—in fact the University was best known for the half-truth that one could major there in Underwater Basket Weaving. Though Michele did not join that major, she was known more for having fun in the ways typical of students in the 1970s than for haunting the library. Assuming that the University even had one at the time.
But eventually she did find a direction for her life. She became a Thanoatologist. Considering her life’s circumstances it is not entirely surprising that she would have embarked upon the academic study of death.
In her newfound interdisciplinary studeis, Michele investigated the circumstances surrounding a person's death, the grief experienced by the deceased's loved ones, and the larger social attitudes towards death such as ritual and memorialization. And once she completed her various internships and clinical training, she found meaningful work counseling the dying and then those left behind.
She did this for many years in hospital settings, with hospice workers, and eventually in private practice. Along the way, she married a local boy and had a son, who is now 28 and about to marry someone Michele calls “a lovely girl.”
“There she is,” Michele says, “Over there by the cash register.” We look to our left across shelves piled high with locally-grown produce, and see her behind the counter helping a customer unload a shopping basket full of red and yellow tomatoes, various varieties of peppers, hand-pressed Spanish olive oil, organic ginger, Ruby Red Grapefruits, and home-baked bread.
You see, we are up in Boynton Beach at the Woolbright Farmers Market. Owned by Michele, she says that she and her husband opened it about 15 years ago since she needed something else in her life besides illness, dying, and death. Though she quickly points out with a gesture, “See how I managed to locate it right across from a cemetery.” And sure enough the Boynton Beach cemetery is right across Woolbright Road!
Concluded on Monday . . .
And she never did. Except through the years for occasional visits. There was not much reason to. She was an indifferent student; had few friends; was not dating anyone seriously; and, most important, had recently nursed her mother through the last stages of cancer. He father had died suddenly a few years earlier and her sister was all the family and security she had. From her tragic and lonely experiences, she had come at an early age to realize that life could be sadly short. So after graduating from high school, she packed up her belongings and headed south.
Within months she joined her sister at the University of Miami. It was an era during which the U of M was not regarded for its academic rigor—in fact the University was best known for the half-truth that one could major there in Underwater Basket Weaving. Though Michele did not join that major, she was known more for having fun in the ways typical of students in the 1970s than for haunting the library. Assuming that the University even had one at the time.
But eventually she did find a direction for her life. She became a Thanoatologist. Considering her life’s circumstances it is not entirely surprising that she would have embarked upon the academic study of death.
In her newfound interdisciplinary studeis, Michele investigated the circumstances surrounding a person's death, the grief experienced by the deceased's loved ones, and the larger social attitudes towards death such as ritual and memorialization. And once she completed her various internships and clinical training, she found meaningful work counseling the dying and then those left behind.
She did this for many years in hospital settings, with hospice workers, and eventually in private practice. Along the way, she married a local boy and had a son, who is now 28 and about to marry someone Michele calls “a lovely girl.”
“There she is,” Michele says, “Over there by the cash register.” We look to our left across shelves piled high with locally-grown produce, and see her behind the counter helping a customer unload a shopping basket full of red and yellow tomatoes, various varieties of peppers, hand-pressed Spanish olive oil, organic ginger, Ruby Red Grapefruits, and home-baked bread.
You see, we are up in Boynton Beach at the Woolbright Farmers Market. Owned by Michele, she says that she and her husband opened it about 15 years ago since she needed something else in her life besides illness, dying, and death. Though she quickly points out with a gesture, “See how I managed to locate it right across from a cemetery.” And sure enough the Boynton Beach cemetery is right across Woolbright Road!
Concluded on Monday . . .
posted by Steven Zwerling at
5:14 AM
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