Serene Karplus, Nederland.  As a new kid in town over sixteen years ago, I avidly consumed the local rag, soaking up every morsel of my new home’s story, absorbing its personality, and getting to know its characters. Armed with a few articles published in a suburban magazine from my former life in the Chicago area, I strode into the dusty former post office that then housed the newspaper.

“Not looking for any writers, thanks,” said the owner over the counter, dismissing me in a heartbeat as she returned to more important matters. A perky blonde reporter with sparkling eyes and a winning smile leaped up and offered me a warm welcome.

From the moment we first met, Barbara Lawlor was a beacon of inspiration and I soon learned why the paper didn’t need other writers. Tireless in her efforts to pull this town together and eager to keep it unified, she showed up for everything. Ranging from preschool graduations to veterans’ memorials, car wrecks to groundbreakings, Barbara was on the scene, respectfully staying out of the spotlight, unobtrusively gathering the scoop and the snapshots for the rest of us.

One day, she walked into the electronics shop where Jim worked, needing to replace her police scanner. She had left it on top of her car because if she left it inside, her dog ate it. More than once, she sped away without retrieving it, so she visited there often. He converted her to a digital camera and the two of them entered into snapshot duels constantly, taking pictures of each other taking pictures. She emerged the victor of snaps quantities whenever she caught us unarmed, dancing.

When her mother, living in a facility in Wisconsin, packed her bags and stood by the door every day insisting her daughter was coming for her, Barbara drove out to collect her, a new monkey wrench in an already full schedule. With her Mom in tow, Barbara didn’t miss a beat and soon everyone sang with Harriet, talked of apples, and hid shiny things. I knew who to call when my keys were missing after lunch one day and Barbara brought them back to me from her mother’s pocket, both bearing the same impish smile, with a little added eye-roll apology from Barbara.

She took it all in stride. Unhappy things bothered her, yes, and she worried about the evils of the world. But she didn’t dwell there. With her hair tied up in little-girl pigtails on either side of her head, she faced it all with an optimism and wisdom that all would work out in the long run. One would be hard-pressed to find angry words in the paper under her byline. Every story, personal or business, happy or sad, emerged straight from her heart.

She was everywhere, for everyone, all the time. No one had to tell her what to do, or when or where. Sometimes she covered four events in a single evening, running in and out of each to ensure all would have their moment to shine in the local paper, documented forever. Everyone’s efforts to bring community together deserved that little gift of enduring immortality that she could provide.

As she covered an outdoor event for the paper this summer, shortly after announcing her impending demise, I congratulated her on being there, on her feet, camera in hand, smile on her face, as usual. She replied, “This is what I do, this is who I am, and I’m going to keep doing it until I can’t.”

Many of us had just attended a celebration of life to honor her while she was still here. After struggling for years to get her to slow down enough to eat with us when she visited our meals, she finally attended our Italian Night Dinner this September as a seated guest. Thanking her for her efforts to come and celebrate her still being with us once again, she responded to all the positive attention with, “But, Serene, I’m scared.”

“What are you afraid of, Barbara?”

“What if I don’t die?”

So, Barbara, true to your word, you have followed through on your intention. You showed up for this community in more ways than anyone could ever ask of any one person. You gave us your all. We can never thank you enough for all you have done for us. You have been the heartbeat of our community for decades. With a big hole in our hearts, we bid you God speed on your journey to your next assignment.

All ages of adults are welcome at all events, attended mostly by folks over age 50. Sign up for all meals and events at 303-258-0799 or Meetup.com/Mountain-MidLife-Social-Group or by email at NederlandAreaSeniors@gmail.com. Meals are served at the Nederland Community Center. Please call two days ahead for lunch reservations (more for dinners and breakfasts if possible). Missed the deadline? Call anyway. Costs listed show first the age 60+ requested anonymous contribution, then the under-age-60 price. Please note that all age 60+ are welcome at meals regardless of ability to contribute financially.