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Lauralee "Lauri" Keener, 64, passed away Wednesday, October 2, 2019, after a hard-fought battle with pancreatic cancer. She was born August 4, 1955 to Darrell and Gloria Noah. Lauri graduated from Mead High School in 1973 and went on to Eastern State College to earn her teaching degree in 1977. She married Craig Lutz in 1978. They lived in Issaquah, Washington and in Portland, Oregon where their son, Joseph Noah Lutz, was born. They then lived in Wenatchee, Washington where they were divorced in 1993.
Lauri moved back to Spokane and resumed her teaching career at Spokane Community College until her retirement due to illness. She loved teaching Adult Basic Education and GED courses as much as her students loved her. Lauri made many friends among her fellow teachers and was a great role model to her students.
Lauri married Cris Keener in 1994 and became a second mother to Tyler. Most summers were spent outdoors. Lauri loved the summer and hated the winter after blowing out her knee skiing. Her favorite places included Cannon Beach and Lake Roosevelt. Lauri and Cris moored their boats for many years at Two Rivers. She hated Alaska but loved her many trips to Mexico and Puerto Rico. They loved spending the winters traveling in their motorhome to warmer climates.
Lauri is survived by her husband Cris; sons Joe and Tyler; and granddaughters Annie and Adelyn; father Darrell Noah; sister (cousin) Lynn Beu, Jesse, Brian and Devon Beu.
A private Celebration of Life will be held in the family home Saturday, October 12th from 1:00 p.m. to 6:00 p.m.
Published in Spokesman-Review from Oct. 9 to Oct. 10, 2019
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Jon Rasmussen
Lauri Noah was my first girlfriend. Her acceptance of me as her boyfriend in late Spring 1972 was a dream come true and made that summer one of the most -if not the most idyllic of my life. First girlfriend, coupled with first real job with a paycheck (fry cook at Beefy’s), and first car (granddad’s 1950 Ford) was a thrilling new brew of freedom and joys, the intensity of which has not really been ever surpassed in my life.
Not even the disappointment of finding out that I had to pay taxes (!) on my meagre $1.45/hour paycheck could diminish the sublime bliss of long, languid afternoons at Turtle Lake, or evenings at the East Sprague, North Cedar or, when coupled with a little drive that might’ve included some abandoned runways at Geiger Field, the West End drive-in theatres. After all, gas was just 29.9 at Sav-Mor at the corner of Francis and Nevada, my go-to place for gas and a hopeful wine purchase by some old guy I could talk into buying for me.
It’s especially poignant to read that her father survived her, as he holds a particularly vivid memory for me: It was my very first date with Lauri, and I was picking her up at her home in Pine River Park (I was told to just look for the house with the faded green Nash that she drove parked in front of it).
As one could imagine, my nerves were on the verge of giving out as I came in to meet Darrell, who while I’m not sure was a gruff man in general, he certainly was this evening when meeting the goofball who was after his precious daughter. To my dismay, Lauri was not yet ready, leaving many miserable minutes to suffer under the squinty and stoney stare of Darrell.
Perhaps wanting to melt the ice a little, Darrell announced that he just bought a guitar. It was his first, and since he got it with the intent of learning to play, it was a used, old beater with what looked like the original strings on it, and he confessed he didn’t know how to tune it.
Sensing an opportunity to score some points (or just cut the oppressive silence), I blurted out, “I can!” His mood lightened as he handed it over to me, and with hands moist with sweat and a slight tremble, I began the process. My confidence grew with every tuned string as we moved up the scale, each note adding to what I hoped to be a cheery chord of his acceptance of me.
That is, until I reached the final, high E, which, due to its pitch, is wound the tightest, and due to its antiquity, snapped. As did whatever strands of confidence I was able to build up to that point.
You can’t imagine the abject, teenage horror that gripped my entire body as I slowly looked up, wide-eyed, to meet his unblinking, pitiless gaze that seemed to burn through my eyeballs.
I couldn’t speak, and he didn’t.
Mercifully, Lauri emerged at that point, looking beautiful as ever and saving the day. Her father adored her, and she knew how to quickly smooth out this stifling and awkward impasse. We left quickly, embarking on a delightful, months-long journey of young infatuation.
We didn’t last much beyond that heavenly summer, though. Lauri broke it off sometime late September or October, and it broke my heart, sending me into one of the saddest seasons of my life.
A sadness that time has polished into a bittersweet ache, an aftertaste that is just a part of the sweeter memory of a wonderful summer long ago; of youthful affections won and then lost, before we abandoned our adolescence and moved on into our lives. That soft, nostalgic pang sharpens when reading the news of her passing.
We never really stayed in touch in all those ensuing years, but you never forget your first love.
Lauri Noah was my first. She is forever part of my memories of the fresh, vibrant years of youth. That’s why I will always miss her.
Aloha Lauri,
Jon
P.S. Note to Darrell: You didn't have to worry.