My column in the November 2024 issue of BrazosMonthly magazine
‘When you learn, teach. When you get, give’ – Maya Angelou
My wife Karen, who is a good dancer, has been unsuccessful so far in teaching me, a very bad dancer, to dance. She is persistent, and patient, and an excellent teacher. I am agreeable to being taught, and hopeful that at some point something will finally click (other than her toes when I step on them) and I will suddenly be infused with a natural graceful rhythm that has thus far eluded me.
She’ll keep trying to teach me, and I’ll keep trying to learn. And … we’ll see how this turns out. That spirit of sharing, of knowing how to do a thing and willing to show somebody else how to do it, fits right in where we’ve landed.
Karen and I live these days in a comfortable apartment in a big building full of people, all over a certain age, where much teaching and learning goes on, even dancing sometimes. A few folks good at line dancing occasionally put some beginners through their paces at our Wednesday night Meet and Greets, where we have snacks and fellowship and wine. And once a month a chef from a fancy downtown Houston restaurant comes to show us how to cook a new dish, which we then sample with a suitably paired wine. Another regular class is called Paint and Sip, which we haven’t tried, where an artist shows budding Picassos and Monets how to paint their pictures while having wine. You might have picked up on a common theme that flows through our new home.
I like it that so many of our friends and neighbors, most of whom are retired after long careers, are still eager to learn new things and how they, in turn, are willing to share their knowledge. A few residents who tend the community garden show some others who have never grown anything other than a pot of ivy on a window sill how to plant and nurture and prune and … whatever else they do out there. The harvests from that little patch of ground beside our back parking lot ends up free for the taking on a counter in our common room.
During the several day power outage during Hurricane Beryl that big room was full of people bringing down things that were quickly thawing out in their refrigerators and freezers for an ongoing feast, the huge range (the only gas appliance in the building) full of bubbling pots and pans full of food. I’ll bet a good bit of teaching and learning went on there too, with cooks showing other cooks how to cook.
Not long after that storm I got into the act myself, leading a six session course on Creative Writing, my only skill, with some of my neighbors. One of them had spent his career as a safety specialist, inspecting everything from chemical plants to offshore drilling platforms and writing long analytic reports of changes needing to be implemented. Another had been a medical researcher whose clinical studies and papers had been published worldwide. Everybody in that group had made significant splashes in the world, and now they were ready to tell their stories and wanted to know how to deliver them creatively, not just technically. That delightful assemblage was fertile ground for some good memoirs. And since I had spent my career as an educator helping people write clearly and effectively this was my chance – being no good at horticulture or cooking or dancing (so far) – to make my contribution in this unique place where learning hadn’t stopped when careers stopped.
There was a time when I could have taught a short course on calligraphy and sketching, things I picked up on my own and enjoyed doing. But arthritis, working hand in hand (literally) with carpal tunnel syndrome, had put a stop to those endeavors.
The way most people in our new home chip in and offer help and let it be known if they need a little help, and actually care about how everybody is doing must be similar to what goes on in a convent, a monastery and a kibbutz. Where everyone does something unique to impart a skill or perform a service for the benefit of the community. But in those places I might not have the latitude of choice, but might be handed a hoe and pointed to the garden, or put to work washing dishes or mowing a lawn. I’ve determined I’ve mowed enough lawns.
One of my calligraphy projects once upon a time was to pair my favorite quote from Mr. Shakespeare – ‘He that hath the steerage of my course, direct my sail’ – with a drawing of a boat. I love that quote because I like to think it was that steerage that directed us to this good place. Those lines are from Romeo and Juliet which, along with Hamlet, I read word for word with several generations of high school students, freshmen and seniors, over four decades. I wish I could read them through at least one more time with a willing group. I might see if I can gather one up here.
They might sign up, if there’s wine.
Ron Rozelle Wordsmith 