Frozen in time, the memories of childhood teachers: Sister Evelyn, Mrs. Featherston, Mr. Pershing. When I was thinking of them this morning, I knew they are no longer with us on earth. In my life, my teachers are gone.

What's left is what they taught me and how I turned out. I'm the teacher now.

They are all in the next world. Can they be teachers there, teaching the same things? What little they taught can continue to be taught in the next world? It is all irrelevant up there.

They are just a few blocks ahead of me on this street called life on earth. What on earth can I teach that I could bring with me to the next world? It feels all irrelevant. Here, they spent years investing, learning, teaching, and how much of it can be taught in the schools up there?

After many years here on this Earth, what could I possibly teach that could be taught again when I graduate to the next world? That's what I'm thinking.

How to be a loving person. How to transmit love to the person beside you. Love, I can take that there. In fact, I better take it or be breathless when I arrive. Love is all we take. A Beatle's song, I recall.

Love is a challenge when love is under fire, vacated, and frantically running, being pursued.

​Do I have ice cubes of memories encasing the love of my teachers? Why only cold memories? Why frozen? Time is continuous, but moments are hinges, turning me slightly.

Those moments with my teachers, if I could say to them now, where they are, "Were precious, were moments of love." Those lasted. They are with me, though unclaimed in your memories, they are mine to carry forward, melting in my hot chocolate.


10:16 AM Thursday, September 10, 2026