Ms. Shipley. Part 2

The intention of my previous posting was to create a context in which to place the poem by Robert Frost. I never set out to spend most of my time describing Ms. Shipley. But, since posting, it has been her memory that has lingered longer than the words of Robert Frost. I have more to share about her.

I know that Ms. Shipley passed away about 10 years ago. A friend from high school, Marion, emailed me with the news. I met Marion in Ms. Shipley's class. She was sitting behind me when the wire basket sailed above. We struck up an enduring friendship. The friendship lasted until about two years into college (actually I would still consider Marion a friend). She went to the University of Missouri and became a journalist. I went to a University in Kansas and became an educator.

Marion read in our hometown newspaper about Ms. Shipley's death. She looked me up (somehow) and emailed me the news. I hadn't been in contact with Marion at that point for about six years. I haven't been in touch with her since. I mention these details so that you can get a sense of the impact this one woman had on the lives of those she taught. Like the brevity and power of her poetry, Ms. Shipley's life was honored by a single email exchange interrupting the two streams of conscious living.

I remember Marion mentioning in the email that she had driven by Ms. Shipley's house the last time she was in our hometown. Ms. Shipley's house sat off the main street that runs downtown. She lived directly across from our postoffice. Her place was a very simple, small white house, much like a breadbox. What set her house apart from the other white breadboxes was the green door. Ms. Shipley was proud of her green door and how it stood out from the others. Marion noted in the email that the trademark green door had been repainted. It was a way of naming our loss.

I did a little research this morning on Ms. Shipley. I was trying to locate some of her poetry that might be posted on the web. I haven't found her works, though I have found the titles to some poetry she wrote and will be pursuing those titles later.

What I did find is a poem written in Ms. Shipley's honor by, what I can gather, another former student. I have provided a link here, in hopes that you can read of a life that gracefully impacted many people beyond what she could have possibly known. The poet's name is not noted on the website, although he has written other poems posted on the site. He is just like me (in fact I wonder if he is from my graduating class from some of the references in the other poems). His life has continued, carving out his own path and sometimes ruts, but he has been drawn back to the simplicity of this one woman and the mysterious gift she offered each of us through poetry. I need to continue to remember Ms. Shipley's example of a life that leaves marks on others, even so unsuspecting. She visited the living room of my life for only nine short months. During that brief stop through, she left more green paint on my interior walls than many who stopped in, stretched out on my couch, and stayed for decades. I guess some people haven't even decided on a color for their paintbrush. My life is different because Ms. Shipley showed up having picked her color. If I was to write a poem in her honor, I would title it GREEN PAINT.

Read the poem from the link below:

RED INK (FOR BETTY SHIPLEY)