Bird Chi this morning:
My steps interrupted by
The flutter of flocks...
Morning Haiku
by Jeffersong (Jefferson Blake Vitelli)
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| Jeff | |
Jeff’s wife Carol, dressed all in black, stood alone in the center of the vestibule.
Spence and I arrived early. Having read him the directions I’d prepared for the drive from Easton’s Holiday Inn Express to St. Andrew’s Lutheran Church, Spence hadn’t made a single wrong turn.
Carol reached out and shook our hands. “I’m so glad you came.” A smile glowed in her cheeks. Grief, like invisible tombstones, sat heavy on her shoulders.
People filed in as we exchanged stories including Spence saying, “Jeff came to our wedding in sixty-eight. He hitchhiked home after the ceremony.”
“Those were different days.” A twinkle sparked in Carol’s eyes and she nodded her head toward her daughter Chandra who approached. Before she reached us, Carol said, “Jeff didn’t tell Chandra that story.”
We hadn't seen Chandra since she was a youngster. Now she’s a mother of two teenagers. “I’m glad someone from Dad’s college days is at the service. You're invited to come to my house afterwards.”
I’d written directions to Carol’s house, not Chandra’s. Recalling the problems we’d had in Philly the previous day, I nudged Spence with my elbow.
“We’ll follow someone,” he whispered.
Pushing the direction issue aside in my mind, I told Carol, “Spence prepared comments about Jeff. Is there room in the service for Spence?”
She asked Chandra. “Spence has memories to say for Jeff. Is that okay?”
“That would be great.” Chandra answered immediately. She evidently arranged the service. “You can speak right after me, Spence. I’ll introduce you.”
Other people milled in the vestibule. I touched Carol’s elbow. “We’ll sit now, Carol, and let you speak with the other guests.”
A distraught expression crossed her face. She had so much grief work ahead.
A church attendant handed Spence and me a six page bulletin. Sitting, I gazed at the stained glass windows. All of them depicted birds—appropriate for bird loving and Lehigh Audubon Society member Jeff.
The nave filled for a high Lutheran service complete with responsive readings and communion—lovely, yet somewhat surprising. Our spiritual friend embraced all world religions. Jeff ended his decades of December poetic greetings chanting:
We hope that you’ll enjoy a Soulful Solstice,
A Divine Diwali, a Charmed Chanukah,
A Kwazy Kwanzaa, A Crystalline Christmas,
A Rad Ramadan, and a Happy New Yeah.
The songs and remembrances positively evoked Jeff. Chandra, blessed with her father’s gift of putting words together, grasped the edges of the lectern. “I didn’t realize how unusual my father was.” She’d assumed all fathers built snow unicorns with icicle horns, played guitars around the house, and took their children on long nature hikes. She said, “He was the calmest and kindest person I knew.” And she told of Jeff helping a woman escape an abusive husband at a music concert, writing a poem about a homeless man he’d befriended, and calming her when—fearing heights—she’d suffered a panic attack climbing Mount Katahdin.
“The remarkable gift that Jefferson Vitelli gave me,” Spence said to the quiet gathering, “was welcoming me into the Vitelli family.” Spence talked about their coming of age together. “During that most formative period for us, we wondered and practiced how to integrate spiritual, artistic, and social change into a lifepath. After that time our lives moved in parallel lines. As he leaned into art, social change, and world peace, I was drawn into fights for racial justice and community action. We worked in parallel lines. I always thought of me as we.”
Organ music followed the memories. A little shaky, I stood in the pew holding the hymnal with Spence to choke through the words of “Morning has Broken” for Jeff.
Today's bird mitzvah:
Downy in a tuxedo
With his red yarmulke…
Morning Haiku
by Jeffersong (Jefferson Blake Vitelli)
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Downy Woodpecker
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Relatives and friends recessed to the vestibule. They took turns gathering around Spence and requesting more stories of the Lafayette days.
Spence grinned. “Freshman year, I had the job of making coffee and setting out donuts in Soles Hall. Jeff knocked on the kitchen door at seven-thirty one morning. I let him in, offered him coffee, and asked, ‘Do you want cream and sugar?’
“Jeff replied, ‘I want coffee, not a milkshake.’”
People’s lips curved at the edges. They requested more—especially Tom, who’d attended Lafayette after Spence had graduated. Tom, a conservative, intended to be a Presbyterian minister. His experience with the strict conservatives at Lafayette turned him into a Quaker. He’d met Jeff in the anti-war movement.
Spence’s story of Jeff organizing a rally against the Vietnam War at the Soldiers and Sailors Monument in Easton before winter break their freshman year touched everyone. Spence and others wore their ROTC uniforms. Photos of the uniformed protesters appeared on the front page of the Easton Express the next morning. Spence didn’t see the paper because he’d taken a bus home to Pittsburgh for vacation. “When I came back, the college administration told me I’d completed the ROTC requirement.” Spence threw up his hands. “I finished one semester of the two year requirement. They put me in physical education. I learned golf.”
“Did Jeff get out of ROTC too?” everyone asked.
“For some reason, he didn’t have his uniform on.”
Questions kept Spence occupied.
A tall thin man came to my side. “Do you know how to get to Chandra’s house?”
“No. And we don't have GPS.”
“I don’t use GPS either.” He waved his hand as if swatting a fly. “I’ll draw you a map. I’m Chuck, Chandra’s father-in-law, by the way.” He pointed across the vestibule. “That tall skinny guy over there is my son Jonathan.”
At a nearby table, Chuck drew a map complete with pictures of landmarks at turns. “There’s an Aldi’s on this corner. You can’t miss it.”
Young people walked by and joshed. “He’s drawing one of his maps.”
Map drawing didn’t seem humorous to me. Chuck was my kind of navigator. I felt more comfortable walking back to Spence where Tom still reminisced about the anti-war days.
Car keys in hand, Carol joined our group. “I’m going now. You may follow me to Chandra’s if you want, Spence.”
Recalling the trip from Philadelphia, a glance settled the question between Spence and me.
“Yes.” Spence reached his hand to Tom. “Nice to catch up with you.” They shook. “We don’t want to get lost.”
Carol chuckled. “Let’s hope I remember the way to my daughter’s house.”
Since Spence had talked to so many people in the vestibule, only a handful of cars remained in the parking lot. By coincidence and our early arrival, we’d parked our Kia rental beside Carol’s silver Subaru. Spence followed her along Easton roads. With my finger, I traced the route on Chuck’s map. Carol drove the way he’d drawn.
Crossing the Lehigh River then driving up a long winding hill, I set aside the map and gazed at the flowing water and the greenery. We didn’t need a house number. Carol pulled onto a side street in the rural-suburb with chickens strutting in a neighbor's yard. A bevy of parked cars marked Chandra’s house.
I walk across the yard,
Spread my arms. Bend down. Look up.
Peace is every step...
Morning Haiku
by Jeffersong (Jefferson Blake Vitelli)
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Chuck's Map
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Carol leading, we crossed Chandra’s yard past a fenced in garden and a group of people sitting around a patio table. Chuck, beaming a friendly smile, rose from a lounge chair. “You made it. Welcome.”
“We followed Carol.” Heat flushed my cheeks. Had I blushed? “She followed the directions on your map exactly,” I said.
His face drooped.
“We’ll need your directions on our way to the airport, though. Thank you.”
His face burst into smiles again.
Carol led us inside to a family room and kitchen area. A drone of voices and the mass of people who’d been at the church filled the space. Carol leaned close to my ear and pointed. “The food’s over there. Make yourselves comfortable.” Someone drew her away.
Carrying a plate of olives, fruit, and turkey lunch meat, I sat on a love seat with Spence and Stephan, a young man who’d worked at LEPOCO (Lehigh-Pocono Committee of Concern) Peace Center. The fellas talked about Jeff and his peace work—especially at LEPOCO.
I ate, talked to people strolling past, and peered around heads to watch the slide show of Jeff. On the wall Jeff strummed his guitar, stuffed an icicle into the snow unicorn, hiked through the woods, stood among the Vitelli family, adorned his graduation robes, walked with one of his dogs, and swooped in tai chi. Some slides cycled through rotated ninety degrees. I cocked my head viewing them. No one commented or corrected the perspective. Jeff frequently viewed the world from a different angle.
Stephan beckoned his wife Sharlee over to ask her how Spence could contact the Peace Center.
While Stephan worked out the details of getting Spence to send a copy of his remembrance for the Peace Center’s newsletter, I stopped Sharlee. “I enjoyed your reading and solo at the service this morning. Both were lovely.” She’d read the poem Chandra had mentioned about the homeless man Jeff befriended and had sung Pete Seeger’s “Turn, Turn, Turn” with grace.
Shar crouched down to my level. “Chandra is my best friend. I met Jeff when I was only fifteen. He encouraged me to write my book.” She pressed her lips together and glanced away. “It took me seventeen years, but I did it. I wouldn’t have done it without him.” She paused again, composing herself. “He had a big influence on my life.” She blinked and moved on.
I set my hand on Spence’s thigh. He covered my fingers with his and kept talking to Stephan.
Conversations hummed through the house—calm, polite, reverent. Jeff very much lived in everyone’s hearts.
Spence patted my leg with our joined hands. “Time to go. Let’s say our goodbyes.”
We ended with Chandra.
“One last thing,” I said. “We visited Cook Forest in June and walked on the Longfellow Trail through the Ancient Forest.”
Chandra’s forehead furrowed as if wondering what my story had to do with anything.
Near the beginning of the trail is a Tree of Peace, an eastern white pine. Chief Jake Swamp dedicated the tree to commemorate the forest which saves ancient trees and to promote peace among all people. We plan to plant an eastern white pine at Wells Wood in memory of Jeff. A tree of peace.
Framed by the black hair she’d inherited from her father, Chandra’s compassionate face broke into a broad, joyful smile—a reflection of Jeff.
Every Breath. Each step
Is a prayer for war to end.
Peace encircling world...
Morning Haiku
by Jeffersong (Jefferson Blake Vitelli)
