Monday 10/26/2026
I went for an abbreviated walk early, back by 8:30. (Still got 3.7 miles for the day.) Then into the car and off to FOPAL. There I worked through 5 boxes. Back in time for lunch.
While there, Joanne texted to ask, was I going to the memorial for the Fienes at 2pm? I had not meant to, but called her to discuss. We both had the feeling that we should go, there would be a bunch of our neighbors there. So we agreed to do that together.
Tom and Nancy Fiene (pronounced “feeney”) were prominent residents of Channing House from well before I moved there. Tom was a well-known and well-liked pediatrician and family doc at PAMF for many years. Nancy was a music teacher, member of a bunch of local clubs and organizations. I didn’t really know them except that I was on a committee with Nancy for a while. They were both born in 1934, so both 92 or so when they passed this year. During the service, the minister remarked that in the last week of his life, Tom had said he was holding on for Nancy’s sake. They died on the same day, so I guess he succeeded.
Joanne had her first HIIT session today, so she was still sweating when we headed out at 1:30. Short drive to First Congregational, a church that we have been in quite often the last couple of years, mostly for concerts (including just last Friday). It was jammed. Parking lot was full of course, we ended up parking 4 blocks away. Sat toward the back. There must have been over 300 people. There were music by the daughters, two of whom play cello (Nancy’s instrument), and speeches by various relatives. The only non-relative to speak was Joan Baez, who had Tom as her family doctor for many years.
We ended up in a pew next to fellow residents Lou and Alice, who invited us to share dinner, so we joined them in the dining room for dinner this evening.
Joan Baez read the famous poem Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep by Clare Harner,
Do not stand by my grave, and weep.
I am not there,
I do not sleep—
I am the thousand winds that blow
I am the diamond glints in snow
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle, autumn rain.
As you awake with morning’s hush,
I am the swift, up-flinging rush
Of quiet birds in circling flight,
I am the day transcending night.
Do not stand
By my grave, and cry—
I am not there,
I did not die.
