August 22, 2000

In my last dispatch, I talked about meeting Helen Ionta, the Town Historian, and learning about earmarks with her. Today, I'll tell you about her calling hours at the Gray Funeral Home on Jordan Street.

It's a nice little funeral home, not at all creepy, with lots of framed photos of Skaneateles as it used to be, photos that Helen could have described in detail had she been there in some other capacity.

I signed in right behind the president of the Garden Club, and not knowing anyone, wandered over to Helen's shell to say goodbye.

And then I shook hands with her daughter-in-law and granddaughter and told them how sorry I was. Her daughter-in-law said, "How long did you know her?" And I said, "Ten days."

Ten days out of 90 years is not much, and it sort of begged the question of why I was there at all. But I had an answer. In the two afternoons we shared, Helen was curious, learning, laughing, kind to a stranger; I wanted to console her family with that, and perhaps find some solace for myself at having lost someone I wanted to talk with at least 100 more times.

As I shared my impression of her, both women's eyes began welling with tears, and with each word they nodded, "curious," yes, "learning," yes, "laughing," yes, and her daughter-in-law said, "It was only in the past two years that she began walking slowly enough for me to keep up." And the granddaughter rolled her eyes and said, "Oh, the walking." And even more I sensed that I had lost a kindred spirit.

But what a gift she gave me as she flew by: the knowledge that you can be 90 and still excited about learning and sharing your discoveries with new people. Thank you, Helen. I got it.