Some of my clearest memories of my precious daddy are from my college years when I was still living at home. He was working shorter days then (7a-7p, instead of 6a-11p). He and Mother were living in a lovely home in Spring Valley, and his "man cave" included a Duncan Phyfe couch upholstered in an antiqued red velvet, a ceiling painted red, and a wall of bookcases. It was in this room that he would unwind after an intense day in surgery. He would sink into his black leather recliner. Jazz would be playing on the stereo system. He'd be wearing earphones to avoid disturbing Mother. He had two antique train lanterns wired so they would light up whenever the phone rang—he didn't need to hear the phone's ringer because the lanterns would alert him. On a TV stand he had made (which today hold's the Jazzman's TV in our upstairs family room), the TV was on showing some sort of ball game. And in his lap was the crossword puzzle from the Orlando Sentinel. He was a multitasker before the word came into being. He quieted his mind from work by overloading it with alternate thoughts.Sometimes I would sit at his feet, watching but not paying attention to the television, waiting for him to ask me some crossword clue that he couldn't figure out. I was 18 or 19 or 20. I adored him—he was probably the only person in the first 20 years of my life that allowed me to feel I had value, I belonged.
Throughout my life, I've done crossword puzzles. Many of the words I use nowadays were learned at my daddy's feet. During the years John and I were together, we would start the Washington Post Magazine Sunday puzzle and work on it throughout the week. Each night as we were falling asleep, we'd collaborate on a few more words. The following Sunday, before starting the next puzzle, we'd turn to the solution and figure out what we had missed.
Today I do the New York Times crossword every day on my iPhone. Sometimes I begin the night before—it's posted at 10:00 p.m., and I get a few words in before falling asleep. I always wake before my bedmate, and lie there working on the puzzle while waiting for him to stir. It's a calm, predictable way to start my day.
Somehow I have passed my love of puzzles along to my younger son. In his spirit of philanthropy for the community, he decided late last year that he wanted to organize a crossword puzzle tournament that would benefit the Mahoning County Public Library system. He set up a schedule, amassed a group of volunteers, contacted New York Times puzzle editor Will Shortz, and brought this project to fruition last Saturday.
Sixteen competitors turned out for the event, one having driven three hours from outside of Columbus. There were alphabet cookies, Oreos (black and white, doncha know), and a fabulous cake decorated with a puzzle. There were volunteers: judges, graders, data entry (me, of course), runners, servers, ….
But the person who caught my attention the most was 97-year-old Clara Keltz. She arrived in a wheelchair. She didn't expect to do very well in the tournament, but just wanted to participate.
When I heard her speak on one of the videos that was shot during the event, I was astonished at how clearly she spoke, how well she organized her thoughts. I was astonished that, at 97, she was so lucid.
When I spoke with my mother earlier this week, she couldn't remember a very important medical fact I had given her two weeks ago. She doesn't communicate well. She doesn't keep track of thoughts. I have merely assumed that all 97-year-olds have brains who work in that manner.
But listening to Mrs. Clara Keltz speak has changed my understanding.
I do crossword puzzles and Sudoku puzzles and jigsaw puzzles and word games because I've heard it will help keep my brain in good working order.
Maybe Clara Keltz is living proof of that!
Article in Business Journal
Video from WFMJ
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