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Last Saturday I went to the Fall Picnic at the Bohemian Grove with my friend Adam K, whose birthday is coming up the end of next week. He’s going to celebrate it with a short trip to Hawaii. We spent a few days there together this past February. John Renke, the founder of Schola Cantorum San Francisco (about which I’ll write much more later) is now the organist and choir director at Saint Andrew’s Episcopal Cathedral in Honolulu. John is one of the few people I know who will probably never get “Island Fever.” That’s because he’s so busy with his various music programs.
I just had my morning coffee in one of my most prized possessions – a touristy Hawaiian coffee mug – with shadowed palm trees at sunset. It was given to me by Mattie Tolbert, a member of my team about ten years ago. Mattie had been a contractor before becoming a regular Customs aide when we were still the U.S. Customs Service as part of Treasury.
Mattie was very sick. I didn’t realize how much until much later. I didn’t know exactly what her illness was, but I knew she had some kind of treatment every week. Besides the scheduled sick leave for her appointments, she hardly ever took a day off work.
Mattie had a teenage daughter in high school, and she was the joy of Mattie’s life. As soon as Mattie had worked three years at Customs and had acquired career status with full benefits, she took an extended weekend trip to Hawaii to celebrate her birthday. She was gone from work only two days. On her return she gave me the coffee mug. The next day she called in sick --the first time that I could remember. She then was hospitalized. I think she died only a few days later. Mattie had had cancer and had been sick for several years. But she was determined to leave something for her daughter and had struggled to survive until she had reached the threshold for career status. She had timed it almost to the day.
Most of the Entry Branch went to Mattie’s funeral in the East Bay. It was an open casket. I recall that Mattie had a serene, beatific, and most satisfied expression on her face.
I just had my morning coffee in one of my most prized possessions – a touristy Hawaiian coffee mug – with shadowed palm trees at sunset. It was given to me by Mattie Tolbert, a member of my team about ten years ago. Mattie had been a contractor before becoming a regular Customs aide when we were still the U.S. Customs Service as part of Treasury.
Mattie was very sick. I didn’t realize how much until much later. I didn’t know exactly what her illness was, but I knew she had some kind of treatment every week. Besides the scheduled sick leave for her appointments, she hardly ever took a day off work.
Mattie had a teenage daughter in high school, and she was the joy of Mattie’s life. As soon as Mattie had worked three years at Customs and had acquired career status with full benefits, she took an extended weekend trip to Hawaii to celebrate her birthday. She was gone from work only two days. On her return she gave me the coffee mug. The next day she called in sick --the first time that I could remember. She then was hospitalized. I think she died only a few days later. Mattie had had cancer and had been sick for several years. But she was determined to leave something for her daughter and had struggled to survive until she had reached the threshold for career status. She had timed it almost to the day.
Most of the Entry Branch went to Mattie’s funeral in the East Bay. It was an open casket. I recall that Mattie had a serene, beatific, and most satisfied expression on her face.
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