I was hurriedly working through my e-mails when it suddenly appeared:

"Obituary for Shirley Farley"

Shirley M. Farley, P.E. teacher, PTA lobbyist, Highline School Board member, mental health advocate, seniors' aide, arts lover and human dynamo died Jan. 27 at the age of 83.

She was short and feisty. A former Highline Schools administrator affectionately called her Frodo, evoking the Hobbit in Lord of the Rings.

Raised by straitlaced parents, I was taken aback as a teenager when Shirley glanced at our winding tree-lined driveway and bluntly joked, "That'll keep you driving sober."

Shirley was part of my mother's generation of committed volunteers who made Highline a better place.

But more than Mom's colleague in community causes, Shirley was a good friend to our whole family.

When I nervously arrived in Wenatchee fresh from college for my first real job, Shirley loaned me her family's house until I got settled. Later, when I applied at the Times/News, I listed her as reference, hoping to impress the editor.

After Mom died, Shirley would come by to take my lonely dad to an occasional lunch at the Puget Sound Skills Center restaurant.

But when I first got to know her 40 years ago, I helped her.

As a busy activist with many night meetings, Shirley routinely hired various neighborhood teenage girls to watch her four kids.

But there came a time when the two older boys developed a strong amorous interest in their babysitters.

Obviously, they were old enough to stay home by themselves. But clearly, if the four were left alone, they would maim each other.

Mom drafted me as babysitter/referee.

I kept the blood from flowing. Spared disfigurement thanks to me, Walt, the youngest boy, blossomed into W. Lawrence Farley, distinguished local TV director.

Shirley's now grownup kids perfectly summarized their mother in her obituary: "Believing that service to civil society was a demonstration of God's love, she gave her heart, mind, soul and strength."

At my mother's memorial service, I stole a line from Sen. Ted Kennedy describing his brother Bobby and adapted it for Mom.

Mom wouldn't mind if I use it for her friend:

Shirley need not be idealized or enlarged in death beyond what she was in life, to be remembered simply as a good and decent woman, who saw wrong and tried to right it, saw suffering and tried to heal it.

GROWING UP, I didn't know any other Erics.

And the only Mathisons I knew, besides the ones who sat around our dinner table every night, came to my parents' place in July for a family reunion.

When I got to journalism school, there was a Mathiason. People often confused the two of us. He was a really good writer so I didn't mind.

But when I arrived at the Times/News, the editor's fianc/ and the graphic artist's husband were both named Eric.

When I called the editor, I would have to say, "This is the other Eric, not your Eric."

But now, thanks to the wondrous Web, I've discovered several Eric Mathisons.

The marvelous new word is "Googleganger." That is a person with your name who shows up when you Google yourself.

The other Eric Mathisons seem to be doing well.

Principal Eric Mathison of Houston Elementary School oversaw a smooth hour-long lockdown while sheriff deputies searched for a suspect.

Eric Mathison gave his father the biggest thrill of his 15-year American Legion Baseball coaching career by ripping two grand slam home runs against Viroqua in 1999.

Speaking of sports, the Rev. Eric Mathison at First Baptist of Waycross, Florida, gave a sermon based on the scrappy Ware County Gators who came up only six points short in the state championship.

Eric Mathison from Eric Mathison Ventures keeps posting his World BOINC statistics on line but I confess I can't make sense of them.

There is one guy who is giving us a bad name. His shameful story keeps popping up on the Internet.

Eric Mathison, 30, was charged recently in a Boston-area courtroom with five counts of impersonating a police officer, two counts of armed robbery and one count of kidnapping. Police say he has repeatedly donned a police uniform to shake down non-English speaking Latinos afraid of an immigration crackdown.

That's not me, I swear.

This Eric Mathison can be reached at ericm@robinsonnews.com or 206-388-1855.