One Woman's Quiet Work

miki

Yesterday I went to a retirement celebration for an extraordinary woman who put 28 years of her life into teaching and directing a school. Family School, to be precise. The woman's name is Miki Holden.

I drove along a country road to get there, sun-dappled fields on either side, the mountains  of the San Rafael range glowing ahead. In the gold of September's afternoon light, it was heartbreakingly beautiful.

I thought of Miki driving along that road ten thousand times to do her work. I thought of all the children whose imagination and intellect she sparked, and whose character she helped to shape.I saw a lot of folks I know. There were people from my writing group, parents of students I once taught, neighbors, friends, and friends of friends...it  reminded me what a charmingly small and interconnected community this is.

There were lots of children too, playing and running around.

And there was Miki, breathtaking Miki, a blue-eyed queen in an aqua scarf and a blouse in shades of blue, gracefully receiving her accolades. At moments she seemed a little wistful and faraway, but maybe that just was me imagining how she felt.

People got up to share their memories and try to express their thanks. Two of Miki's own kids were there and each said a few words. Her son Mark told her how proud of her he was, and Cricket, her older daughter, quoted Mary Oliver: "What is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?" Then she said she hoped she could do something that mattered even a fraction as much as what her mother's work had meant.

Meanwhile children were decorating prayer flags, and Miki was given a copper watering can and a facsimile of a walkway brick engraved with her name. A little girl sang a song she had written: "You left a handprint on my heart."

There were cupcakes and strawberries for dessert, and the air smelled of lavender.