Lilian and her beautiful mind

There is so much hate and evil in the world that, when we are presented with a truly admirable human being, we must take note.

A few details in this tale have been changed to protect privacy, but the overall account is completely intact.

Lilian was born in El Salvador, nearly forty years ago. She worked on her family’s farm and attended the local school, but only through the sixth grade, the highest offered in her village. There was another school in a town, a middling distance away, offering higher grade instruction, but Lilian’s family was too poor to send her there. So the sixth grade was her zenith, for quite some period of time.

When I first met her, Lilian was living locally, here in Massachusetts. She was married and had several children. She worked hard at an assembly line job, contributing to her family’s needs.

She had taught herself English and was quite proficient. But her goal was to obtain a GED (General Educational Development) certification, and then to improve her employment situation. She wanted for her children what she was unable to have as a child.

We met weekly at The Literacy Center, where I helped her with mathematics. Other tutors worked with her on science, social studies, reading, and writing. But we worked on math.

Initially, Lilian displayed great ease with the basic operations of  addition, subtraction, and multiplication. We had to work a bit on division, but she quickly mastered the concepts. I was beginning to appreciate how sharp she was.

Fractions were a challenge, but we explored how they worked and I made sure that she understood all of the methods, not just memorization. She worked hard, did her homework, and was never pessimistic. A bright, motivated, hardworking student – what more could any tutor ask for?

Unsurprisingly, Lilian mastered fractions. And then geometry. Algebra. Statistics. Probability. Over a period of eighteen months, she became highly proficient in high school math. Then she received a promotion at work. They had noticed that she had a mind for and the ability to understand and manipulate numbers.

Meanwhile, with the help of her other tutors, Lilian sat for the GED exam and aced it.

I feel that I had a small part in her achievement, but it was only in guiding the intelligence that she naturally possessed. I will never forget Lilian and her beautiful mind, the self-discipline, the hard work, her cheerful do-or-die attitude.

Lilian is an immigrant. She is short, a bit round, and not beautiful in the Hollywood sense. But her soul shines out with the light of a thousand suns. God knows, I would welcome a multitude more of her. And be proud to call all of them fellow Americans.

We would all be the better for it.

Our maritime adventure

A friend, following in the fog.

Southeastern Massachusetts, Attleboro included, is deeply influenced by the sea. Our climate is cooler in summer and warmer in winter than mid-state Springfield due to ocean influences. But we are removed enough from salt water that it doesn’t often enter our minds.

Take last Friday, for instance. In Attleboro, the skies were clear with pleasant temperatures in the mid to high seventies. Strollers perambulated in Capron Park and, with the joggers, enjoyed the blue skies and temperate clime.

At the same time, fifty miles to the south in Block Island Sound, the fog enveloped boats and masked the shores, creating a stark, white seascape. The day was murky and sun obscured.  A fleece was recommended attire in the chill, moist breeze.

That was the end of our summer cruise, in the company of several  good friends, with our boats exploring the waters of southern New England. The beginning was more auspicious, with the same good weather that a fortunate Attleboro enjoyed.

Dutch Island, Rhode Island. Located near the island of Jamestown, and influential in World War II as a German prisoner of war camp, and the site of artillery batteries placed to protect the West Passage from U-boat incursions. Sleeping aboard a boat gently rocking in Dutch Harbor after enjoying a fine fish dinner at one of Jamestown’s finest restaurants. This is the stuff of dreams.

Then a long run to Stonington, Connecticut, past the majestic summer home of one Taylor Swift, in Watch Hill, Rhode Island. A fitting monument to an immense talent.

Stonington was settled early, in 1649, and quickly established itself as a coastal trading center. A well protected harbor was a great asset, and as the years passed, railways and steamships traded passengers in her terminals. Whaling was an important industry and created great wealth until Col. Drake discovered oil in Titusville, PA. Since then the village has retrenched to some maritime services, fishing, and tourism. A lovely place: you should visit. (Yes – accessible by road. Sailboat not required).

Then on to Block Island, Rhode Island. This small, pork chop-shaped bit of land was named in 1614 by  Adrian Block, a Dutch explorer. Lying 13 miles off the coast, Block Island is a special place. On the Nature Conservancy’s list of only 12 “Last Great Places” in the western hemisphere, beautiful Block Island is well worth a visit.

 It is unfortunate that most Bay Staters have never heard of the place, and most Rhode Islanders have never visited.  But perhaps the natives prefer it that way.

Hiking, biking, beaching, relaxing, and partaking of terrific restaurants are all wonderful reasons to visit. Again, no sailboat required, frequent ferry service is available from New London, Point Judith, and Newport.

Which brings us to the crossing, the return. Thirteen miles of open water. Except for Block Island itself in the way, you could draw an uninterrupted course to England, Spain, or Africa. This is open water.

Block Island Sound can be treacherous. From the “History of the Town of Stonington,” 1900, a tragic tale.

“Dr. Silas Holmes of Stonington, Conn… lived in what is now Stonington Borough, and had an extensive practice as a physician in all the region round about. [On] Sept. 12 1790, he was summoned to visit a sick man on Block Island, who sent for him in his boat, which took and bore him safely over to the island, and after he had visited his patient and diagnosed his physical condition, he started with the boatman and craft to return to his home in Stonington, but unfortunately a terrible thunderstorm arose with a rushing cyclone of wind, which lashed the ocean into fearful waving foam, which capsized their boat and filled it with water, which, in spite of all the efforts of the doctor and the boatman, sunk, and they were both drowned.”

Our return was not so drastic. But the fog was thick, and many other boats crisscrossed our path, some recklessly. Luckily, the same technology trends which have given you a supercomputer in your pocket have benefited boaters as well. We were able to touch our destination on a map and, voila, the boat took us there. In the fog, other boats were visible on the same chart, illuminated by radar, making necessary diversions easy to see and accomplish.

Then finally home, to our home port, to our home in Attleboro, and our own bed. Travel is exhilarating, wonderful. But home is special.

Home from the sea.