Class of 1970 Commemorative Biographical Book

EL I ZABETH S PENCER - SMI TH

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What highlights have you experienced since graduating in 1970? After practicing four years in La Jolla, CA, I divorced the father of three of my children in 1978 and left Scripps in 1979 to start a private practice. “Back to nature” was in, so my three school-aged daughters and I ventured north on Highway 1 in a VW bus named “The Two-toned Carrot.” Taken by the beauty of Sonoma County, we packed up and moved six months later to a house in the redwoods. Santa Rosa, CA, needed a rheumatologist, so I hung up a shingle. My practice was rewarding until managed care took over and got cognitive specialties by the short hairs. (If blessed with a wife as capable as Donna Oser, I would have done fine, but she was already taken.) Three years later I met a handsome ER doc named Barry who was heavily into two-wheel transport. I asked him how to shift a 12-speed; instead he got a tandem. We took to it immediately, cycled Highway 1, over the hills and fields, through the redwoods and vineyards of our splendid county¬¬––stopping to enjoy wine and gourmet food along the way. The funniest story: a ditzy wine hostess watched us arrive on the tandem and confessed that the one time when she got on a bicycle she almost needed artificial insemination. (The restraint required to keep from erupting with laughter was herculean.) Three months into the tandem thing we cycled the Sierras (Sacramento to Yosemite = seven mountain passes in six days). Helpful hint: I always let Barry do most of the work because whenever he starts to flag (a rare event) his turbo stoker (moi) promptly kicks in and impresses the pelaton. In 1983 we tied the knot under the redwoods, honeymooned in Maui, rode the tandem up Haleakala with our camping gear, and 10 months later welcomed 9-lb Tara. I have to add here that maternity leave was nonexistent in those days; my four leaves averaged a little over 2.1 weeks. But I was able to pay for good help: being married to two M.D.’s had its benefits, especially when it came to funding four college educations. Though our kids live all over now, our roots here are deep. Come wildfire or high water, we plan to stay in Sonoma County till the last late harvest turns us into fine wine–– Barry, a Truitt & Hurst Zinfandel; me, a sauvignon blanc from Matanzas just over the hill…or maybe a crisp glass of their Journey. But I’d trade both for a glass of aged cabernet sauvignon. The problem being, we keep drinking our

cabernets before their time. (Sorry Orson Welles, but delayed gratification never took hold at Baytree Place.) How have you changed since medical school? In many ways I’m the same young girl who in Fall 1966 somehow got the courage to board the redeye to Baltimore. When I arrived at Reed Hall with my two moving boxes, saw the huge red dome out the window, and asked “What is that building?” everything fell into place. Fortunately, I met Abby Wasserman right away; she kindly helped me settle in and introduced me to the rest of the legendary class of 1970. What a gift you all turned out to be. But as a septuagenarian tilting toward the big 8-0, I find myself pondering the greatest gift of all… that of a lifetime; i.e., the whole shebang. (I’ve always wondered if that term proves that God is female….) But I can say with certainty that all those decades of trial and error, of triumphs and travesties, have taught me a lot, have made me a better person. I’ll never be perfect, and that’s fine; because in retirement I have the time and a lot of work to do. Along these lines…and I probably should stop here…but feel compelled to share one more thing. Some of you know that I took up painting when youngest daughter Tara entered 3rd grade. While my art muscle needs working out right now, here’s a bit of wisdom relevant to the current stage upon us: Life is like watercolor painting: the perfect blend of taking control and letting go.

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