Last Sunday I got a call from my sister Julie in Portland. I was all set to have a good chat and catch up on all her news, but she said she had some sad news to share with me first. She had been looking through that day’s Oregonian newspaper, and in glancing over the names and pictures in the obituaries, a face she recognized jumped out at her. She told me that my college roommate and friend, Kathy Healy, had died. Julie gave me the details from the article as I went in search of my own copy of the paper and tried to wrap my head around this news.

I met Kathy during my freshman year at Oregon College of Education (later to become Western Oregon University), where we were on the same dorm floor. My first impressions were that she was a bit quiet but always had a smile and a positive attitude. Towards the end of that year my roommate, Diane, and I were looking for another girl to join us in a four-person suite for the next year, and Kathy indicated she’d be happy to join us.

For the next three years, we three shared a dorm room and then an off-campus apartment. I soon learned that in addition to her sunny outlook, Kathy also had a keen sense of humor and a sharp wit that teased but never stung. She could make you laugh at yourself, but just as often she was poking fun at her own foibles. I remember her delight at convincing a few gullible dormmates that she was a Native American princess. The fact that she was from The Dalles (terminus of the Oregon Trail and close to the Warm Springs Indian Reservation) and had a lovely olive complexion (courtesy of her mom’s Italian heritage and the eastern Oregon sun) aided in her deception, but I didn’t know how she managed to not give herself away by laughing while telling her tale. That is what I remember most about Kathy — her beautiful smile and her delighted and delightful giggle.

We never had a class together — Kathy was studying to be a special ed teacher and I was into literature and drama — but we shared daily life and a few summer adventures together. A few years after graduation when I married, she was one of my bridesmaids, and then shortly after that she moved to California. We never discussed why, exactly, she left behind her parents and her three brothers, all of whom she loved fiercely and who loved her as devotedly, but I think she was a bit restless to bust out and make a change in her life and get out on her own a bit. She worked in the airline industry for quite a while, and it was in California that she met her husband and started a family.

The last time I saw Kathy was more than 10 years ago. We’d brought our girls to Disneyland for spring break one year, and we took an evening to drive out and visit Kathy and her family in Redondo Beach. Her kids were very young, one had a bad cold, and my girls were hungry and squirmy, so it wasn’t the best of circumstances to catch up. I could see, though, that even with all the concerns and hassles of a working mom, Kathy still had her sparkle and sense of humor.  Since then we continued to exchange Christmas cards, and then somewhere along the way Kathy’s stopped coming, and I wasn’t sure that mine were getting through.

Through the obituary I learned that Kathy returned to teaching special education students about 10 years ago, and that she taught right up until three weeks before the cancer she’d been fighting for two years took her life. I was glad to read that she was teaching, for her sweet nature and generous and fun-loving spirit made her an excellent teacher. And it didn’t surprise me at all to hear how she faced her illness with courage and humility, because that is the Kath I knew.

My heart goes out to her family, especially to her two daughters and son and her husband Chris. Although we have been out of touch these last several years, I feel the loss of Kathy’s sweet and generous soul. The world was certainly a better place because she was here.

–Patty Vanikiotis, proofreader

Ever have one of those moments when you just scratch your head in confusion as you watch your surroundings? I had one of those moments a couple of weeks ago at San Francisco International Airport. En route to Philadelphia from San Diego, I had a connection in San Francisco. I was flying the red eye, departing SFO at 10:30 p.m.

I killed the three hour layover by grabbing a bite to eat and reading a magazine. As I made my way to the gate, I was caught off-guard by the number of people milling around. I noticed on the board the gate was separated into A and B. The large number of people was due to two flights’ worth of passengers waiting at the gate. One flight was departing for Newark and the other was departing for Philadelphia. Both left at 10:30 — meaning both would be loading at exactly the same time.

This is where the head scratching came into play. As it came time to load, it was chaotic. The gate agents were dueling each other to be heard. Passengers were getting in the wrong lines. People were lining up to board at the wrong time because they were confused by which announcement pertained to which flight. People were hesitant to check bags at the gate because of all the confusion, but overhead bins were quickly reaching capacity. Kids were crying, making the announcements harder to hear. People were losing spots in line because they were in the wrong line. People that had just walked up to the gate were asking questions and delaying announcements from the gate agents. It was mayhem. And, I had to scratch my head and wonder when I looked to the right and saw a row of empty gates. Why on earth didn’t they board these two flights at different gates? I guess I will never understand the reasoning behind that move. Luckily, I got on the right plane and quickly settled in.

I would be remiss not to mention the eighth anniversary of 9/11 today. The events of this day eight years ago will never be forgotten and will forever be in the hearts of every American. Our thoughts are with all those who lost their lives, the heroes who selflessly sacrificed their lives and those who lost loved ones. We will never forget.

–Kim Krol, eFlyer editor, circulation and public relations executive

I can’t believe it’s almost August and I have not been to the Jersey shore yet! And, worse, I have no plans to make it to the beach at all this summer — well, at least not Ocean City, Wildwood or Sea Isle City, the beaches I grew up visiting each summer.

The Jersey shore is far from luxurious, but a trip to New Jersey’s southern coast was a staple of my childhood — and many of my peers’ childhoods — each and every summer. Most people would probably visit the beaches of Jersey and wonder why they are so meaningful. There are plenty of nicer beaches around, but the Jersey shore is loaded with memories for me, and it reminds me of being a kid. My family would rent a house for a week and I’d bring a friend, or vice versa. As we grew up, the weeks became long weekends, and some of my friends’ families began purchasing shore houses of their own. There were days spent on the beach, nights spent on the boardwalk. No trip was ever complete without pizza from Mack & Manco, breakfast at Uncle Bill’s or yummy desserts from Kohr Brothers or Laura’s Fudge.

After senior year in high school, most of the area graduates head to the shore for Senior Week. That was one of the best summers of my life, as my friends and I rented a house for the entire summer, got part-time jobs and spent our last summer together being beach bums. My early mornings at Ward’s Pastry did not dampen my spirit. We had a blast, and I still think of all my fond memories from that summer often.

Even though it is only about two hours away from home, it was always a favorite summer vacation. After college, my trips to the beach became more infrequent as work obligations and other more exotic destinations called, but last summer I spent the July 4 weekend at the beach with a large group of friends. It was the last time many of us had with our friend Justin before his untimely passing last September. So, now the Jersey shore holds an even more special place in my heart.

–Kim Krol, eFlyer editor, circulation and public relations executive

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I received a forwarded email from my mom yesterday, asking if I knew what the day was commemorating. I hadn’t a clue. I looked at the email and saw it was a conversation between my mom and her college roommate. I couldn’t help but smile as I read. My mom asked her friend if she remembered where they were on this particular day 40 years ago.

Her roommate had responded within minutes. They had been out on the town when they watched the first landing of a man on the moon! It was such a momentous occasion they could even remember the name of the bar they were in and exactly what they were doing.

I find the mind extraordinary when it comes to remembering certain facts and details, or even tastes from an extra-special meal. The older I get and the more I live through, the more times I get asked the question “Do you remember where you were when . . . ?”

It’s inevitable these questions come up at dinner parties or gatherings; and everyone, without exception, remembers exactly what they were doing. For example, where were you on 9/11? In that instance, all I have to do is close my eyes and that traumatic day relives itself in my head.

Another I have heard recounted is where people were when JFK was shot. From time to time I get asked what I was doing during the last big blackout — when we lost electricity across the entire East Coast in 2003. I was reading the newspaper in the square in front of the Plaza Hotel when all of sudden thousands of people surrounded me from all the neighboring offices.

I’m sure all of you have a detailed memory of these days and similar ones. I hope the next memorable occasion we recount is one of joy and not sorrow.

–Alex Young, vice president and associate publisher

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I was 18. At 18, I’d seen more of the world than most people see in a lifetime. I had visited a large portion of Europe, Asia, the South Pacific and even some parts of North America most Americans don’t even know exist, like Iqualuit in the Northwest Territories of Canada. But nothing could prepare me for my visit to Normandy.

I was traveling with the Long Island Youth Orchestra. The orchestra is 85 students touring the world as a classical ensemble for five weeks each summer. We performed for all types of occasions, from performances for royalty and diplomats to charity concerts. I toured for five summers. Growing up, it was the time of my life. I have memories — both as a musician and a tourist — to last a lifetime. The visit to Normandy is one such memory.

Traveling with 85 students, with an average age of 17, people were always laughing, having a good time and getting into trouble, like any good teenager. We made many sightseeing trips in between concerts. When our two coach buses dropped us at the Normandy American Cemetery and Memorial, located above Omaha Beach, the demeanor of the group instantly changed to a solemn attitude. This was the same beach where world leaders commemorated the 65th anniversary of D Day last week. People around the world remembered the spot where the Allied forces stormed the beaches of Normandy, resulting in approximately 10,000 deaths in a single day.

We had the opportunity to walk around the cemetery, which is a mesmerizing vision of uniform white graves with white crosses and the occasional Star of David. The air held mixed emotions — an eerie aura in a peaceful environment. The memorial grounds were beautifully preserved. The vision in my memory still gives me chills today and brings a tear to my eye. Many of those buried were about my age at the time and gave their life for people they never met. This thought had entered my mind before, when I was studying WWII in school, but it didn’t hold any reality until that very moment.

Many of us, including myself, had family that had participated in D Day. Some had relatives who never made it home from that very beach. Those members of the group simply stopped in their tracks and broke down in tears. My grandfather, fortunately, made it back to Long Island to tell his story, but many brave men did not make it home to their loved ones.

When I see footage from D Day, I have a hard time visualizing that was the same place I stood many years after the invasion. Many thoughts and memories were hard for me to grasp as an 18-year-old standing on those beaches. I still have a hard time understanding some of the memories, but they will remain with me for a lifetime. I hope the generations ahead of us and after us will continue to remember the memories as well.

-Alex Young, vice president and associate publisher