The Communications Ladies. Sometimes I’d like to think I had a great deal to do with something that happened. Wrong. In come my communications ladies to the rescue.
I mentioned this a time or two in previous stories, but always in general terms. The communications ladies are on Facebook, so I think I can mention them by name now.
Janet Hrbek Griffin, Marian Montalbano Dinan, and Betty Moore. They are within the four corners of the United States, and that’s all you need to be effective with the Internet. You can be worldwide for that matter, but I don’t think any of them have gone that distance, yet.
When I bogged down in my efforts to try and round up stories for the high school book of memories written by former classmates in various years, the communications ladies always put out my meandering e-mails to remind people what I was up to. They were kind enough to add their own note or two to get the train started out of the station initially, and then to keep it rolling along the tracks toward its destination.
And finally we were there. I imagine I was not the only one who breathed a sigh of relief, for those barrage of e-mails from me would now stop, and their communications could move on to more important matters.
I received answers to the e-mails, but occasionally a person channeled an e-mail through them they passed along to me. Hopefully that provided some interesting info to them that prevented the whole situation from being completely boring.
And what are those matters of more importance they are now concentrating on? Life and death. Their vast e-mail lists serve as the conduit for sad news that comes our way all too often these days.
I did comment to one of the ladies that it had to be depressing to have to relay sad news, after having gone to the trouble of compiling extensive e-mail lists to pass along hopefully good old high school news. That it had to be a tremendous burden. I’m not sure if she treats it as one of her obligations or duties, but she never fails to answer the call, as do the other two ladies.
There are the cancers. The remissions. The return of the cancers. I’m not sure cancer doesn’t linger, hiding somewhere at times. As for myself, I’m holding my breath.
Cancer doesn’t seem to be too concerned about time. It has patience, and will restrike. A friend of both my wife and I had cancer, it went into remission for fifteen years—fifteen years, and came back with a vengeance. The same type of cancer. Returning cancers often morph into a different kind. He was gone in four months.
At our age I don’t guess it too much matters how you die. A person’s body breaks down, and the death certificate could probably list ten or fifteen causes. You might say equal opportunity diseases.
Sometimes I get optimistic, because bad news seems to take a hiatus, for there is a period of time when nothing bad happens. Then along comes several cancers in various stages and obituaries, almost seemingly like a catch-up process, if you will.
I’d be content if our communications ladies only had one of the both of those to report about every ten years. It doesn’t work that way.
I suppose we line up in what we are supposed to do, and the communications ladies have assumed the task no one else wishes to do. A necessary chore they are to be commended for.
We should do that. Go to their Facebook page, and tell them how vital they are. I realize it’s tough to be positive in leaving a note about the negative work they do. You’ll figure it out.
Here’s to the communications ladies. Janet Hrbek Griffin, Marian Montalbano Dinan, and Betty Moore. Classmates extraordinaire.
And ladies, I hate to ask, but when it comes your time, will you take your e-mail lists with you. There might be another nine-month book project we need to do.