Donald Earl Miller
March 20, 1930 - January 07, 2018
Sunday, May 27, 2018 8:54 PM
I just now learned of my most favored teacher's passing. I am so fortunate to have had Don as an English teacher at CMHS in the early '60s. I had the even greater fortune to run into Don at the OC trash disposal facility in the mid '80s(!) Both of us were making trash runs. Mine was routine, his was in preparation to move to Carmel. We both were SURPRISED and shared brief stories of our lives since my high school years. We managed to stay in contact and enjoyed conversations over dinner at Rocky Point at various times through my 30th HS reunion in 1992. We resumed our tall tales of life and philosophical sharings at our 50th reunion in 2012. He told me that he and Joan had moved back down to Newport on Lake Park Lane next to the house where my junior year sweetheart lived in 1961! I had a great respect and love for Don, as if it were not for him, my life would have moved forward minus the enrichment he provided with his special, iconoclastic, wise views. He will be sorely missed!
Don Kolasinski (Vista, CA)
Friday, February 02, 2018 5:22 PM
So sorry to hear about Don's passing. He had a major influence on my life as a teacher, friend, and mentor. He gave me my first job after I got out of the Army at Concept Media. Don can best be described by the title of the musical his students wrote and produced -- "An Extraordinary Guy." Rest in peace, Don . . .
Bill Ackerman (BALLWIN, MO)
Wednesday, January 24, 2018 12:01 AM
Excerpt of Don Miller's Writing...
What Matters Most
What matters most, then and now, is my soul, which is not a weightless thing, but a heavy center through which I live.
Its mass is like a chambered shell, with passageways encrusted with the residue of all I have thought, felt, and dreamed.
Through these chambers moves my spirit, a mixture of light and air, as delicate as ether, as fragrant as jasmine, as powerful as water sculpting rock.
In these chambers, my spirit receives all that matters.
Although my mind often forgets what it learns, not the slightest nuance escapes my soul.
Just as ocean waves affect each grain of sand upon the beach, every movement, every sensation changes my soul.
While my mind dodges and darts, sets up screens to hide truths, blankets whole areas of pain with forgetting, my soul receives everything, mixing it together to make up the mystic stew that is me.
The hardened shell of soul protects whatever the spirit becomes.
The hurricanes of my life stay contained, my integrity is kept, and I awake each day trusting in my soul's mutability and its strength.