this is one of those recipes that works no matter how bad a baker you think you are.
ingredients:
1 box of yellow cake mix
2 cans of pineapple slices in juice --can also use pineapple chunks.
1/2-3/4 cups of brown sugar
1/2 stick of butter
jarred cherries-optional
1. mix cake batter BUT substitute pineapple juice from the can for the water
2. melt butter and pour into the bottom of a flat cake pan (9X13 works best)
3. sprinkle brown sugar over the butter
4. place pineapple slices on top of butter/sugar mixture. Line them up until the pan bottom is completely covered (takes a little over 1 can)
optional step: place cherries in the center holes of each pineapple
5. pour batter on top of pineapples
6. bake as suggested by cake box directions
7. allow cake to cool and then flip it out of pan for show Or just slice it and flip each peice individually
Either way it's very yummy!!!! enjoy
Happy birthday, Jean! love, Sekile
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Spreading Jean's Ashes Part 1
Here is the story:
Hanna and I went out to Land's End this afternoon. Before we left, we watched the DVD of Jean pictures from the memorial. Then I read Hanna my poem. Then we drove out there, on roads Jean and David and I had driven on when we went out a few years ago. Frank and I had driven them a week ago, but the weather was too awful to go out to Land's End, so we skipped that part of the trip.
Hanna took pictures of me by the "first and last" house in England--the western-most house. Three years ago, David and Jean and I stood there and took pictures. Same spot. Beginning and ending, alpha and omega.
Then I went inside and bought a gift to remind us all of the moment. Three gifts, really: one for Watts, one for David, one for me.
Hanna waited, while I walked on. I told Jean I needed some help--I've never spread ashes, never chosen a place or tried to figure out what to think or say or do. I decided to leave the path to get away from people, though there weren't many once I'd left behind the tourist site anyway. But I didn't want to be on a path--I was pretty sure of that.
I picked up a few rocks and wandered, just paying attention. Suddenly I smelled lavender. Really really strong lavender. I looked around, and under my feet were some small purple flowers. I picked one, crushed it and smelled it. It smelled like lavender, like all those summers in France. I looked around, and knew I was in the right place. I could see the sea. I could see the moors. I could see a church in the distance, and the row of ancient rocks long ago stacked by human hands—— rocks that have survived the wind and sun and sea spray on the wild western edge of this end of land. I took pictures of the flowers, and then of the four directions I could see from the crest on which I stood.
Then I took out the ashes. I thought of the four directions, the four elements. I felt the ashes in my palm. Then I faced north, gave the gift of the earth to Jean and the gift of Jean to the earth, and scattered ashes. I faced east, gave the gift of the wind to Jean and the gift of Jean to the wind, and scattered ashes. I faced south, gave the gift of the sun to Jean and the gift of Jean to the sun and scattered ashes. Finally, I faced west--the land's end. The westernmost point of England, the Atlantic ocean. The wind was blowing from the west. I gave the gift of water to Jean and the gift of Jean to the water--to the ocean, to the sun, to the wind, to the earth. I said the words the minister said at her memorial: "Resurrect Jean"--as a celebration of the lives that Jean touched that go on; and I gave her the word I love: Namaste. The light in me acknowledges the light in you.
And then I was finished. I walked back to Hanna, ash on my hands. I told her about the flowers, showed her where they were growing along the path. I crushed one for her so she could smell the lavender. It did not smell like lavender, or like anything. I crushed another. No lavender. I walked farther, picked and crushed another. There was never lavender again. Only in that spot on the curve of the hill, on the the spot where the sea and earth and the sun and the wind met, however briefly. In that right place.
And then Hanna and I walked back to the pubs and the crowds and had some wine, and drank to life and the celebration of life, to lives well lived that go on even after they end.
Thank you, Watts, for giving me the gift of this moment. I feel very much as if I spent the day with Jean, which is better than I could have wished for—— and which was truly a gift.
Hanna and I went out to Land's End this afternoon. Before we left, we watched the DVD of Jean pictures from the memorial. Then I read Hanna my poem. Then we drove out there, on roads Jean and David and I had driven on when we went out a few years ago. Frank and I had driven them a week ago, but the weather was too awful to go out to Land's End, so we skipped that part of the trip.
Hanna took pictures of me by the "first and last" house in England--the western-most house. Three years ago, David and Jean and I stood there and took pictures. Same spot. Beginning and ending, alpha and omega.
Then I went inside and bought a gift to remind us all of the moment. Three gifts, really: one for Watts, one for David, one for me.
Hanna waited, while I walked on. I told Jean I needed some help--I've never spread ashes, never chosen a place or tried to figure out what to think or say or do. I decided to leave the path to get away from people, though there weren't many once I'd left behind the tourist site anyway. But I didn't want to be on a path--I was pretty sure of that.
I picked up a few rocks and wandered, just paying attention. Suddenly I smelled lavender. Really really strong lavender. I looked around, and under my feet were some small purple flowers. I picked one, crushed it and smelled it. It smelled like lavender, like all those summers in France. I looked around, and knew I was in the right place. I could see the sea. I could see the moors. I could see a church in the distance, and the row of ancient rocks long ago stacked by human hands—— rocks that have survived the wind and sun and sea spray on the wild western edge of this end of land. I took pictures of the flowers, and then of the four directions I could see from the crest on which I stood.
Then I took out the ashes. I thought of the four directions, the four elements. I felt the ashes in my palm. Then I faced north, gave the gift of the earth to Jean and the gift of Jean to the earth, and scattered ashes. I faced east, gave the gift of the wind to Jean and the gift of Jean to the wind, and scattered ashes. I faced south, gave the gift of the sun to Jean and the gift of Jean to the sun and scattered ashes. Finally, I faced west--the land's end. The westernmost point of England, the Atlantic ocean. The wind was blowing from the west. I gave the gift of water to Jean and the gift of Jean to the water--to the ocean, to the sun, to the wind, to the earth. I said the words the minister said at her memorial: "Resurrect Jean"--as a celebration of the lives that Jean touched that go on; and I gave her the word I love: Namaste. The light in me acknowledges the light in you.
And then I was finished. I walked back to Hanna, ash on my hands. I told her about the flowers, showed her where they were growing along the path. I crushed one for her so she could smell the lavender. It did not smell like lavender, or like anything. I crushed another. No lavender. I walked farther, picked and crushed another. There was never lavender again. Only in that spot on the curve of the hill, on the the spot where the sea and earth and the sun and the wind met, however briefly. In that right place.
And then Hanna and I walked back to the pubs and the crowds and had some wine, and drank to life and the celebration of life, to lives well lived that go on even after they end.
Thank you, Watts, for giving me the gift of this moment. I feel very much as if I spent the day with Jean, which is better than I could have wished for—— and which was truly a gift.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Monday, February 18, 2008
Friday, February 8, 2008
Tear Soup
Helpful ingredients to consider
* a pot full of tears
* one heart willing to be broken open
* a dash of bitters
* a bunch of good friends
* many handfuls of comfort food
* a lot of patience
* buckets of water to replace the tears
* plenty of exercise
* a variety of helpful reading material
* enough self care
* season with memories
* optional; one good therapist and/or support group
Directions:
Choose the size pot that fits your loss. It’s ok to increase the pot size if you miscalculated. Combine ingredients. Set temperature for a moderate heat. Cooking times will vary depending on the ingredients needed. Strong flavors mellow over time. Stir often. Cook no longer than you need to.
Suggestions
* be creative
* trust your instincts
* cry when you want to, laugh when you can
* freeze some to use as a starter for next time
* write your own soup making in a journal so you won’t forget
Serves One FROM TEAR SOUP, a recipe for healing after loss. Available Through Grief Watch By Pat Schwiebert & Chuck DeKlyen Illustrated by Taylor Bills Copyright Grief Watch 2006 www.griefwatch.com
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
A Sermon for the Funeral of Jean Baker
January 26, 2008
The Rev Kit Carlson
http://www.allsaints-el.org/
This is not fair.
It is not fair that we should be here today,
marking the end of Jean Baker’s life on earth.
It’s not fair that Jean,
who was such a good person, such a kind person, such a joyful person,
should have been forced to fight cancer, that terrible disease.
It’s not
fair that Charles and Liz should lose their mother, that Watts should
lose his wife, or that all of us should lose such a beloved friend, in such
an untimely way.
Jean was a person worth keeping around. She was smart – she
earned her Ph.D. in 1992, but she never stopped learning. Even in the
midst of her illness, she continued to counsel students and pursue her
research. In fact, a paper she helped author was published in a
professional journal in the week of her death.
Jean loved her work,
loved her colleagues, loved her students, all the way up to the end.
Jean was deeply grounded in God -- from her earliest days as a
PK -- a priest’s kid -- through long summers at Bement Center Camp,
even to her last days, praying with the Irish Jesuits on the web site
“Sacred Spaces.” She was a devoted mother – worrying about her
children, hoping she would be around long enough to watch them
mature into strong and independent adults.
She was a loving wife, who
adored her husband, and who appreciated every day of their life
together.
It is not fair to lose Jean--her wisdom, her gifts and her love--so
soon. And I think that God won’t mind if we stand here today alongside
Abraham and Job and Jonah and every Biblical character who has ever
called God to account. I think it is all right for us to rage at God and
say, “This is not fair!”
And the answer will come: yes, God knows that this is not fair.
God knows that this is not fair, because God has been here already.
God has suffered, as Jean suffered. God has wept, as we weep today.
There is comfort for us who mourn, comfort in the great mystery
that lies at the heart of the Christian faith … God became a person who
lived and loved and died, just as we do. God knows what Jean went
through. God knows what we are going through right now.
Christians proclaim that in the person of Jesus of Nazareth, God
learned what it means to be a mortal human being. In the person of
Jesus, God stood at the grave of his friend Lazarus, weeping with grief.
In the person of Jesus, God suffered unjustly and died too young. God,
in the person of Jesus, left behind a weeping mother, sorrowing siblings,
and distraught friends.
God knows – right in the core of God’s being – what “not fair”
looks like. And to realize this is to know that God never intended Jean
to suffer. Jean’s illness was not God’s will. God did not wave a magic
wand and give Jean cancer while sparing another person. God did not
withhold some miracle from Jean that another person received. God
did not take Jean away from us. Biology gone terribly, terribly wrong
took Jean away from us.
No, what God did was to walk with Jean through all of it. God
walked by Jean’s side in good times and in bad. God was there with her
when she met Watts, there when she got her Ph.D., there at the birth of
her children, there with her when she developed cancer. Every single
day, God walked with Jean and strengthened her to meet each new
challenge.
And I believe that compassionate, companioning God wept with
Jean when she wept, suffered when she suffered, laughed when she
laughed, and rejoiced in her rejoicing. As that compassionate,
companioning God does for us today.
But there is more to the mystery of our faith than simply believing
that God knows what we are going through, and that God walks with us
throughout our lives. The deeper mystery of our faith is that by living
and loving and dying like us, God transformed our humanity. When
Jesus Christ died and rose again, we discovered that death does not get
the last word. On days like this it is easy to think that life’s not fair, but
in the end, God gets the last laugh on “not fair.” God’s mercy, God’s
love, and God’s life are larger than our mortality.
And so, we believe that in death, life is changed, not ended. Jean’s
life goes on, hidden in Christ, but connected to us still. Her sickness is
healed; her pain is gone. Her tears are dried; her joy is made complete.
And we will share that with her someday. We will be reunited with her,
caught up in the greater, overflowing love of God that sustains us all.
This is what we Christians call the resurrected life. And it does
not begin when we die. It does not begin at some final judgment day.
Jean’s resurrected life began the day she took her first breath. Alive
with the spirit of Christ burning inside of her, Jean lived the reality of
resurrection every day -- in her prayer life, in her professional life, in
her family life. She lived it with every laugh, every joke, every tear,
every embrace. She lived it as she knitted socks. She lived it as she
cooked a meal. She lived it as she held her children.
Jean has always been resurrected. Jean is resurrected. Jean will
be resurrected. Christ has always held her life tenderly, lovingly, in the
palm of his hand. That life can never really end.
But the life she lived here on earth has ended. She no longer
walks among us, speaks to us, laughs with us. Not in her own
independent flesh, at any rate. But we too can share in her resurrection.
We can resurrect her in our lives, in our memories, in the way we go
about our work and our play.
To her students, I say … resurrect Jean. Resurrect her in your
curiosity and commitment to your studies.
To her colleagues, I say …
resurrect Jean. Resurrect her in your care and dedication and
passionate energy for the work that you and she did together.
To her
friends and extended family, I say … resurrect Jean. Resurrect her in
your ability to listen with an open heart, to laugh with a wide-open
smile.
To her children, to Liz and Charles, I say … resurrect your
mother. Resurrect her by becoming the people she raised you to be, the
people she believed you to be. She brought you into this world to be a
gift to the world. Be that gift. Be that continuation of everything that
was good and wise and strong in her.
And to Watts, I say … resurrect Jean. You knew her the best of
all, and you know best how to manifest her joy, her passion, her wisdom
in this world. Don’t get stuck in the past, but carry all of that
wonderful Jean Baker brilliance forward, into the future, into the rest
of what life has to show you.
It is a paradox, really. In the midst of death, we celebrate Jean’s
life. In the midst of our grief, we sing and laugh with joy at having
known her. In the midst of our darkness, we proclaim an unquenchable
light.
It is the mystery and paradox of the Christian life, the mystery
and paradox Jean lived every day, the mystery and paradox that will be
proclaimed at the end of this service when we make our final farewells,
with the great prayer of Commendation,
All of us go down to the dust, yet even at the grave, we make our
song.
Alleluia. Alleluia. Alleluia.
Amen.
January 26, 2008
The Rev Kit Carlson
http://www.allsaints-el.org/
This is not fair.
It is not fair that we should be here today,
marking the end of Jean Baker’s life on earth.
It’s not fair that Jean,
who was such a good person, such a kind person, such a joyful person,
should have been forced to fight cancer, that terrible disease.
It’s not
fair that Charles and Liz should lose their mother, that Watts should
lose his wife, or that all of us should lose such a beloved friend, in such
an untimely way.
Jean was a person worth keeping around. She was smart – she
earned her Ph.D. in 1992, but she never stopped learning. Even in the
midst of her illness, she continued to counsel students and pursue her
research. In fact, a paper she helped author was published in a
professional journal in the week of her death.
Jean loved her work,
loved her colleagues, loved her students, all the way up to the end.
Jean was deeply grounded in God -- from her earliest days as a
PK -- a priest’s kid -- through long summers at Bement Center Camp,
even to her last days, praying with the Irish Jesuits on the web site
“Sacred Spaces.” She was a devoted mother – worrying about her
children, hoping she would be around long enough to watch them
mature into strong and independent adults.
She was a loving wife, who
adored her husband, and who appreciated every day of their life
together.
It is not fair to lose Jean--her wisdom, her gifts and her love--so
soon. And I think that God won’t mind if we stand here today alongside
Abraham and Job and Jonah and every Biblical character who has ever
called God to account. I think it is all right for us to rage at God and
say, “This is not fair!”
And the answer will come: yes, God knows that this is not fair.
God knows that this is not fair, because God has been here already.
God has suffered, as Jean suffered. God has wept, as we weep today.
There is comfort for us who mourn, comfort in the great mystery
that lies at the heart of the Christian faith … God became a person who
lived and loved and died, just as we do. God knows what Jean went
through. God knows what we are going through right now.
Christians proclaim that in the person of Jesus of Nazareth, God
learned what it means to be a mortal human being. In the person of
Jesus, God stood at the grave of his friend Lazarus, weeping with grief.
In the person of Jesus, God suffered unjustly and died too young. God,
in the person of Jesus, left behind a weeping mother, sorrowing siblings,
and distraught friends.
God knows – right in the core of God’s being – what “not fair”
looks like. And to realize this is to know that God never intended Jean
to suffer. Jean’s illness was not God’s will. God did not wave a magic
wand and give Jean cancer while sparing another person. God did not
withhold some miracle from Jean that another person received. God
did not take Jean away from us. Biology gone terribly, terribly wrong
took Jean away from us.
No, what God did was to walk with Jean through all of it. God
walked by Jean’s side in good times and in bad. God was there with her
when she met Watts, there when she got her Ph.D., there at the birth of
her children, there with her when she developed cancer. Every single
day, God walked with Jean and strengthened her to meet each new
challenge.
And I believe that compassionate, companioning God wept with
Jean when she wept, suffered when she suffered, laughed when she
laughed, and rejoiced in her rejoicing. As that compassionate,
companioning God does for us today.
But there is more to the mystery of our faith than simply believing
that God knows what we are going through, and that God walks with us
throughout our lives. The deeper mystery of our faith is that by living
and loving and dying like us, God transformed our humanity. When
Jesus Christ died and rose again, we discovered that death does not get
the last word. On days like this it is easy to think that life’s not fair, but
in the end, God gets the last laugh on “not fair.” God’s mercy, God’s
love, and God’s life are larger than our mortality.
And so, we believe that in death, life is changed, not ended. Jean’s
life goes on, hidden in Christ, but connected to us still. Her sickness is
healed; her pain is gone. Her tears are dried; her joy is made complete.
And we will share that with her someday. We will be reunited with her,
caught up in the greater, overflowing love of God that sustains us all.
This is what we Christians call the resurrected life. And it does
not begin when we die. It does not begin at some final judgment day.
Jean’s resurrected life began the day she took her first breath. Alive
with the spirit of Christ burning inside of her, Jean lived the reality of
resurrection every day -- in her prayer life, in her professional life, in
her family life. She lived it with every laugh, every joke, every tear,
every embrace. She lived it as she knitted socks. She lived it as she
cooked a meal. She lived it as she held her children.
Jean has always been resurrected. Jean is resurrected. Jean will
be resurrected. Christ has always held her life tenderly, lovingly, in the
palm of his hand. That life can never really end.
But the life she lived here on earth has ended. She no longer
walks among us, speaks to us, laughs with us. Not in her own
independent flesh, at any rate. But we too can share in her resurrection.
We can resurrect her in our lives, in our memories, in the way we go
about our work and our play.
To her students, I say … resurrect Jean. Resurrect her in your
curiosity and commitment to your studies.
To her colleagues, I say …
resurrect Jean. Resurrect her in your care and dedication and
passionate energy for the work that you and she did together.
To her
friends and extended family, I say … resurrect Jean. Resurrect her in
your ability to listen with an open heart, to laugh with a wide-open
smile.
To her children, to Liz and Charles, I say … resurrect your
mother. Resurrect her by becoming the people she raised you to be, the
people she believed you to be. She brought you into this world to be a
gift to the world. Be that gift. Be that continuation of everything that
was good and wise and strong in her.
And to Watts, I say … resurrect Jean. You knew her the best of
all, and you know best how to manifest her joy, her passion, her wisdom
in this world. Don’t get stuck in the past, but carry all of that
wonderful Jean Baker brilliance forward, into the future, into the rest
of what life has to show you.
It is a paradox, really. In the midst of death, we celebrate Jean’s
life. In the midst of our grief, we sing and laugh with joy at having
known her. In the midst of our darkness, we proclaim an unquenchable
light.
It is the mystery and paradox of the Christian life, the mystery
and paradox Jean lived every day, the mystery and paradox that will be
proclaimed at the end of this service when we make our final farewells,
with the great prayer of Commendation,
All of us go down to the dust, yet even at the grave, we make our
song.
Alleluia. Alleluia. Alleluia.
Amen.
Saturday, January 26, 2008
The Joy of Jean
Dear Watts, Liz and Charles,
As I sit in Seattle with my Saturday morning cup of tea, my thoughts are with you as you gather together with your family and friends.
For a glorious year, twenty-six years ago, both Jean and my paths converged.
I was Jean’s roommate in Chicago when she met Watts – What joy!
I was in Chicago to spend a year at Erikson Institute, my lovely husband would stay in Seattle. At the age of 36 I had the opportunity to be a full time student for a year, with no other responsibilities other than to immerse myself in the world of academe! – What joy!
This was a dream come true - certainly something that I as an 11-year-old girl who had failed her 11+ exam in England could not possibly have imagined.
But I needed a place to live – the folks at Erikson kindly gave me Jean’s number. After introductions and confirmation that there was still a bedroom available at the Harper Avenue apartment, our conversation went something like this….
Me: So I like to drink wine
Jean: Me too!
Me: I smoke a little
Jean: Me too! (That was 26 years ago!)
Jean: I have a cat
Me: Me too! (Not really – actually we had a dog)
Jean: Well, I think we’ll get along just fine
Me: Me too!
The apartment was empty when I arrived, but later in the day the key turned and this burst of energy and light came through the door and gave me a huge hug – I knew we would get along just fine.
We had a few other things in common, we both liked to cook – I had brought my favorite chef’s knife with me and Jean had tons of cookbooks. Can’t remember what we ate, just remember hanging out in the kitchen sitting around a rather “ratty” looking Formica table having good laughs and conversation.
Oh and mustn’t forget Monty Python and Princess Di gossip.
All right on to the good stuff – when Jean met Watts.
To be honest, it’s a bit of a blur, actually more like a whirlwind!
I remember Jean coming home a couple of weeks after I had moved in and she couldn’t stop talking about this guy from Oklahoma who was a student at the Lutheran seminary. What I also remember is that ... “she couldn’t stop talking about him!!”
Things were pretty quiet around the apartment for the next month or so as I settled in to my new adventure and saw Jean briefly as she embarked on hers. Actually it was more like her flying through the apartment with occasional landings at the kitchen table. – What joy!
Then one evening Jean asked Watts home for dinner – well what can I say –I can tell you that the kitchen was pretty hot that night, Jean was completely “over the moon” and Watts was “totally enamored”.
You all have known them more years than I; but from the beginning there was really something wonderful, wacky and perfectly balanced about this pair. I also knew things were getting serious when Watts gave Jean a Cuisenarte for Christmas.
The year was full to overflowing with cognitive and emotional dissonance for both of us – What joy!
With all these ingredients how could the end result not be absolutely delicious? – A Marriage for Jean and a Masters for Me!
Our paths have crossed briefly since then mostly with Christmas cards and the occasional phone call but the essence of that year is truly well embedded in my heart and soul.
It was an absolute joy to have Jean in my life for a year.
All my love to you.
If you’re ever in Seattle give us a call, the kettle’s always on and there’s plenty of room around the kitchen table.
Love & Peace
Jennifer
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Knitting with Jean
Besides all these amazing professional and personal talents, Jean was a fine knitter. It was just last year that she joined us at All Saints' Prayer Shawl Knitters a few times. When Jean was present, the conversations were somehow deeper, more articulate, more alive! Jean shared her knowledge and joy in knitting socks for family feet and we enjoyed fingering her beautiful works in progress. That Watts gave us the gift of finishing a pair just knits you into us a little more. We are so grateful for the times we shared. Please know that when we meet in the coming months (maybe years) and sit in the chapel circle meditatively knitting in front of Meister Bertram's painting of " The Madonna Knitting Christ's Seamless Garment", we will remember you, Jean, and we'll also hold Charles, Liz, and Watts in our prayers.
Nancy Spates
Nancy Spates
Sunday, January 20, 2008
A Memory to Share
Although Jean's death was painful for all of us, it reminded me of a memory that I'd like to share. I knew of Jean, through her articles etc., before I actually met her. So I was a little intimidated when I first met her through our work with the state school psych. association. However, I quickly developed an affinity to match my respect when she flatly stated during one of our first conversations about an idea - "Matt, that dog don't hunt!" She was always positive, cheerful, and insightful. I very much enjoyed conversations about her children and advice from her about mine.
A few months after we met I attended one of the Trainers of School Psychology receptions at a national conference (NASP). I was a new assistant professor at a relatively small program, so when I walked into the room I did not know a single person. I awkwardly walked around and was ready to leave when Jean came bouncing up to me. It wasn't quite a run, but it was rapid movement that was clearly an emergency response. She smiled and said "Let me introduce you to some people," then wrapped her arm around mine while clasping my hand in hers. Remember, this was a woman that I had only fairly recently met and could count on one hand the number of times I had talked to her. I must have responded with some physical note of surprise because she stopped, smiled at me like the way you smile at a child who has done something wrong but was so ridiculous in their actions that you find more humor in the act then offense, patted my hand and said "Oh don't worry, I've had a few glasses of wine." She then took me around and introduced me to every person in the room.
I honestly don't remember a single person to which she introduced me that day, but I'll never forget that altruistic act of personal generosity. My heart absolutely breaks for her family, friends, and everyone that she touched, but I'm sincerely thankful that I knew her well enough to experience the pain that her loss brings.
A few months after we met I attended one of the Trainers of School Psychology receptions at a national conference (NASP). I was a new assistant professor at a relatively small program, so when I walked into the room I did not know a single person. I awkwardly walked around and was ready to leave when Jean came bouncing up to me. It wasn't quite a run, but it was rapid movement that was clearly an emergency response. She smiled and said "Let me introduce you to some people," then wrapped her arm around mine while clasping my hand in hers. Remember, this was a woman that I had only fairly recently met and could count on one hand the number of times I had talked to her. I must have responded with some physical note of surprise because she stopped, smiled at me like the way you smile at a child who has done something wrong but was so ridiculous in their actions that you find more humor in the act then offense, patted my hand and said "Oh don't worry, I've had a few glasses of wine." She then took me around and introduced me to every person in the room.
I honestly don't remember a single person to which she introduced me that day, but I'll never forget that altruistic act of personal generosity. My heart absolutely breaks for her family, friends, and everyone that she touched, but I'm sincerely thankful that I knew her well enough to experience the pain that her loss brings.
Saturday, January 19, 2008
Jean Baker: A School Psychology Leader
Dear Family, Friends, and Colleagues of Jean:
Jean has had a great impact on school psychology, and she touched many of us, both professionally and personally. School psychology has benefited---and will continue to benefit--- from Jean’s tremendous work. Due to her influential research, scholarship, mentorship, and leadership in school psychology, in 2007 she was selected to be a member of the Society for the Study of School Psychology, one of the organizations that will deeply miss Jean.
We send our sympathies and join you in celebrating Jean’s life. We will greatly miss Jean and her scholarly contributions, professional expertise and dedication, and warm and competent leadership.
Patti Harrison
President, SSSP
Jean has had a great impact on school psychology, and she touched many of us, both professionally and personally. School psychology has benefited---and will continue to benefit--- from Jean’s tremendous work. Due to her influential research, scholarship, mentorship, and leadership in school psychology, in 2007 she was selected to be a member of the Society for the Study of School Psychology, one of the organizations that will deeply miss Jean.
We send our sympathies and join you in celebrating Jean’s life. We will greatly miss Jean and her scholarly contributions, professional expertise and dedication, and warm and competent leadership.
Patti Harrison
President, SSSP
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Jean Ann Baker 1958 * 2008
Jean Ann Baker, Ph.D.
Jean Ann Baker left this world peacefully on January 10, 2008, after a courageous battle with cancer.
Jean was born February 18, 1958, in
As illustrious as her professional life was, Jean valued most her family and friends. She leaves her loving husband Watts Rozell, and her children Elizabeth and Charles, all of
Jean’s life was filled with good food, good wine, travel, the arts, the outdoors, her cats and dogs, laughter, music, books, heartfelt conversation, and adventurous living. She had especially fond memories of Bement Center Camp in
A memorial service will be held on January 26th , at 11:00, at All Saints Episcopal Church in
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
A Beautiful person inside and out.
Although my time with Jean was short, I liked her very much from the start. I met her for the first time at her sisters Wedding . I found her warm , friendly and very funny. I enjoyed her company so much. She was a great story teller and it was fun to hear the stories of her and all her cousins back at the Camp in Maine.
Watts had been keeping me up-dated via email. Unfortunately I do not check my email very often and was very sadden to learn of her passing. Thank you Watts you are kind to include me.
I feel very lucky to have met her and was able to spend time with her and her family . They are wonderful people and I will remember her and that time in my heart always. She was a great lady that had it all, and she will be dearly missed.
Prayers and Sympathy to you and your Family.
Kellie
Watts had been keeping me up-dated via email. Unfortunately I do not check my email very often and was very sadden to learn of her passing. Thank you Watts you are kind to include me.
I feel very lucky to have met her and was able to spend time with her and her family . They are wonderful people and I will remember her and that time in my heart always. She was a great lady that had it all, and she will be dearly missed.
Prayers and Sympathy to you and your Family.
Kellie
Monday, January 14, 2008
Recipient
We had been asked, as practicing school psychologists, to say a few words about our profession to an audience of persons considering applying to the school psychology program. It was easy to be enthusiastic about such a fine topic. When the room emptied out at the end, I found Jean sitting alone at the back, processing papers related to the session. I was aware of her diagnosis, and her return to work. I desperately wanted to say something supportive, but the words left me. I finally asked her if I could give her a hug. With a giggle, she said yes. It was a just a brief hug, but one I will never forget. I wished I could transmit every bit of good fortune to her; perhaps she felt that energy. But the reassurance in her hug to me made me realize that she had arranged it that I was the greater recipient.
Jim Somers
Jim Somers
Sunday, January 13, 2008
Thank you Jean.
Jean meant a great deal to me and truly touched my life in profoundly
positive ways. She graciously welcomed me as an undergraduate into
her research team and made an extraordinary effort to include me in
and introduce me to the experience of being a graduate student in the
School Psychology program, including inviting both my boyfriend and
myself into her home for a School Ecology dinner. I looked forward
to meetings with Jean as she always approached our research findings
and progress with very genuine enthusiasm and interest. I cannot
imagine MSU’s School Psychology program without Jean but am reassured
that the program she helped to build will forever carry her incredible
marks of kindness, compassion and dedication to obtaining and
furthering knowledge. As I prepare to begin my graduate studies I will
undoubtedly benefit from everything I have learned both directly and
indirectly from Jean. I hope to continue to do work that Jean would
be proud of and I hope to mature both professionally and personally
into an individual of whom Jean would be proud.
positive ways. She graciously welcomed me as an undergraduate into
her research team and made an extraordinary effort to include me in
and introduce me to the experience of being a graduate student in the
School Psychology program, including inviting both my boyfriend and
myself into her home for a School Ecology dinner. I looked forward
to meetings with Jean as she always approached our research findings
and progress with very genuine enthusiasm and interest. I cannot
imagine MSU’s School Psychology program without Jean but am reassured
that the program she helped to build will forever carry her incredible
marks of kindness, compassion and dedication to obtaining and
furthering knowledge. As I prepare to begin my graduate studies I will
undoubtedly benefit from everything I have learned both directly and
indirectly from Jean. I hope to continue to do work that Jean would
be proud of and I hope to mature both professionally and personally
into an individual of whom Jean would be proud.
Saturday, January 12, 2008
Swapping Kid Stories
Jean's office used to be across the hall from mine. Our kids used to go to the Athens Montessori School and our sons were young when Jean lived here in GA. Just about every day Jean and I would swap some fantastically whimsical and utterly hilarious insight that one of our sons had conjured up. She and I would laugh until we were practically rolling around the floor over something one of them had said or did. I sometimes couldn't wait to share these stories with Jean. I would squirrel them away until the next time I saw her. She was a GREAT appreciator of such stories and a keen observer of children. After she left, I really missed having someone to swap my kid stories with. She always got the mirth in them. Best wishes to her family during this difficult time.
Friday, January 11, 2008
Jean crossed over from this realm to the next last evening at 10:45. Her brother-in-law Earl and I had the honor of caring for her the last few days of her earthly life -Earl had the day shift and I the night shift. Her transition was peaceful and easy with family, friends, and pets around her, classical cello playing, the fireplace ablaze, and her aquarium active. Watts and a close friend had just poured a drink and as they toasted her and clinked their glasses, she drew her last breath. Her timing was perfect, as always!! Watts then led a ceremony which included The Lord's Prayer, Amazing Grace, reading of a favorite poem - "Let Evening Come" by Jane Kenyon, cleansing and then surrounding her body with rose petals, and the sharing of wine and stories - a very special send off for a truly special lady!! This is a time for celebration, as her physical challenges have ended and she has entered into joy, peace, and light. Trudy
Bless your family
In the recent days I've come to enjoy reading about the life and times of our dear Jean. I opened "cooking with jean" today to find that she has journeyed home. My heart aches--with sadness that I won't get to ever thank her for being part of my journey. It also aches with joy that our paths crossed. Bless your family and may peace be with you.
You are in out thoughts and prayers
Butch,
News has reached us here in Oklahoma as our hearts are saddened by the passing of Jean. She brought a smile into the room each time she entered and I will cherish the time we spent with her last December at Betty's Birthday party. Know we are praying for you and your entire family as you take the journey God has laid before you in the coming days, weeks, months and years.
Cheryl Lynn, and family
Uncle Wayne, and Aunt Karen
Gary, Lorri and Family
News has reached us here in Oklahoma as our hearts are saddened by the passing of Jean. She brought a smile into the room each time she entered and I will cherish the time we spent with her last December at Betty's Birthday party. Know we are praying for you and your entire family as you take the journey God has laid before you in the coming days, weeks, months and years.
Cheryl Lynn, and family
Uncle Wayne, and Aunt Karen
Gary, Lorri and Family
Blessed are they who mourn, for they shall be comforted"
God saw you getting tired,
when a cure was not to be;
He closed his arms around you,
and whispered, "Come to Me".
In tears we saw you sinking,
we watched you fade away.
Our hearts were almost broken,
you fought so hard to stay
But when we saw you sleeping,
so peacefully, free from pain
We could not wish you back,
to suffer so again.
So keep your arms around Jean,
Lord, and give her special care,
Make up for all she suffered,
and all that seemed unfair.
when a cure was not to be;
He closed his arms around you,
and whispered, "Come to Me".
In tears we saw you sinking,
we watched you fade away.
Our hearts were almost broken,
you fought so hard to stay
But when we saw you sleeping,
so peacefully, free from pain
We could not wish you back,
to suffer so again.
So keep your arms around Jean,
Lord, and give her special care,
Make up for all she suffered,
and all that seemed unfair.
I appreciate your wisdom
I did not have the pleasure of knowing Jean over a long period of time. I had seen her work in the research literature and have a vivid memory of seeing her elegant profile for the first time, although I am not sure if this occurred at a meeting of the American Psychological Association or the Council of Directors of School Psychology Programs. We also interacted at various school psychology events.
I got to know Jean well in 2007, when I was president of Division 16 (school psychology) of APA and Jean was President Elect. This was one of the more difficult years in Division 16's history. Jean's quiet confidence, calm demeanor, insightful comments, and hard work allowed the Division to navigate the stormy seas and come out on the other side intact.
It was never clear to those of us on the Division EC that this was also one of the toughest years in Jean's personal journey, as she never complained and never made her condition an issue. Jean is a warm and supportive colleague who all of us could lean on when we needed to. My thoughts, prayers, and strength are with Jean and her family, now and always.
Frank C. Worrell
I got to know Jean well in 2007, when I was president of Division 16 (school psychology) of APA and Jean was President Elect. This was one of the more difficult years in Division 16's history. Jean's quiet confidence, calm demeanor, insightful comments, and hard work allowed the Division to navigate the stormy seas and come out on the other side intact.
It was never clear to those of us on the Division EC that this was also one of the toughest years in Jean's personal journey, as she never complained and never made her condition an issue. Jean is a warm and supportive colleague who all of us could lean on when we needed to. My thoughts, prayers, and strength are with Jean and her family, now and always.
Frank C. Worrell
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