CONVERSATION WITH A ” NOT SO MUCH A” STRANGER ...   MARCH 18, 2021

If I met you on a plane today, I would sink into my seat with a sigh -breathing a little forcefully into the mask layer closest to my perspiring face I am sure.  You understand of course how stressful that walk and wait in the airport was, having just experienced it yourself for the first time in what is surely the longest year on record!  Strangers we may be, but our bond is unquestionable-two grandmothers returning from a long awaited visit with our loved ones in the nation's capital.  Is it serendipity that we landed our weary bones in adjacent seats?  Adjacent now allows for the required seat between us of course.  For reasons you can probably  understand, I am traveling without my husband.  He and I agreed to a much anticipated retreat from each other after a year of being attached at the hip...most days quite literally as I dragged my tired legs through all kinds of weather and sidewalk conditions to keep  healthy and sane...using his body in the absence of a crutch or radiator. 

After adjusting garments, carry ons and seatbelts we might share niceties and then set our ears and eyes on the guidance of the perky steward at the top of our aisle.  Moments of wonder ensue-I am always exhilarated at the ascent from Washington’s Reagan Int’l. Airport, as I bid a silent farewell to my family below in  their home on the campus of Georgetown.  Seems like just moments ago I looked up with my grandson Andre, at the sound of such an airplane as this passing overhead!  Of course, those memories would bring up a conversation between you and I  about the wonder of our visit to precious folks. I might tell you with a little (maybe a lot) of pride about my son Jacques and the Georgetown journey that commenced with his Freshman year there.  It’s just so fun to see him living in a prominent and historic building now, diagonally across from his first dorm, which was not nearly as spacious nor impressive!  I might tell you what a thrill it was to see his five year old racing across Healy Lawn on a two wheeled bike, and heading toward Grosvenor Hall-the site of  a photo with Jacques moments before we headed  back to RI twenty four years ago, our car empty of his belongings and my eyes filled with tears. 

 

You might share the news of your daughter’s pregnancy, just revealed on your week long visit.  My, how speaking of births and babies can keep two women engaged!  Years from now we will wonder at those lovely creatures conceived and born in a world wearied and strained by a Pandemic.  These children no doubt will convey the sense of hope their parents gifted them with...they will bear names like Grace, Hope and many derivatives of Greek words that speak of light and miracles.  My own seven week old grandbaby Lucille, whose name means “of the light”,  will hear stories of the struggles and ultimate joy her parents lived to see on the day of her birth, January 20th, 2021.  You and I , Dear Stranger No More, will share the knowing that all cannot be lost when there is new life still!  

As we fly over the eastern coastline, our good fortune in making such a trip as this is not  lost upon us.  The gratitude we feel is surely amplified by our understanding of the heartache and loss experienced by so many.  Our world is changed, our lives different in ways we cannot even fully grasp, our bodies bent a little more perhaps.  But, we agree, that as sure as the sap swells the branches in spring, slowly feeding buds and blossoms, our own lifeblood is flowing a little more gently these days.  The cold and damp of a RI March will still make us grumpy, but for shorter spells thank goodness!  You will seek out and find the crocuses that emerged in your absence, I will note the greening of the grass in my yard.  

We will part as a new type of friend, that once in a lifetime couple of hours relationship, shared and not to be forgotten.  There are no expectations, just memories and smiles to carry home in our hearts.  We are like so many moving through life, sharing spirited and colorful conversation on a waiting palate,  and moving  gracefully off the page again-off to our grandmotherly and womanly lives, gently renewed for the knowing of each other.

THANKSGIVING...GIVING THANKS

I awoke to silence and savored it for a few lazy turns in my bed.  I arose to the sounds of Gounod's Ave Maria, brought to my sleepy ears by Bob's speaker and some algorithms that merged to create a  welcome morning playlist....mechanical yet so humane as to touch my soul nonetheless.  

Yo Yo Ma persists as the lists plays out. My first thoughts are of my 100 year old Memere's funeral, where I sang this very selection from the choir loft of Holy Family Church in Woonsocket, RI.  The ensuing revery leads me to the page where I must record the emotion, or perhaps the impact...YES, the impact of this music in this time, in this space of life.  

It is a Saturday so like and so unlike any other in my 67 years.  For nearly 44 years of marriage, this Saturday has signaled the start of a holiday week, and a day to rise, shine and shop.  Thanksgiving looms later in the week, this year on the 26th of November.  For so many years a list (or two or three ) occupied the counter of my various homes, most recently the one in our cozy apartment nestled in Bristols quiet southern stretches.  The LIST overflowed with potential purchases savory and sweet to be procured, packaged, prepped and served to crowds of varying sizes each and every year. The Thanksgiving grocery challenge proposed an exhausting and anxiety producing shopping excursion, often in more than one store and over the course of more than one visit.  Yet those trips, hazardous to my mental health and sanity as they often were, became the stuff of memory..todays memory.  

The playlist finds its own way down a course of selections, the current one a quiet piano interlude, detached and delicate...no challenge to my ears, just as there is no challenge to my mental peace of mind today.  There is no need to worry or hurry, to refine a list and cut coupons, to arrive early and return late.  There is no need to clear a large space in a small refrigerator for the bird which occupies so much of our traditional feast. There is no large shopping expedition to be experienced.  No one will cross rivers to us or encounter woods to travail...for THIS Thanksgiving Day will come and go as most different in my life...a quiet and solitary meal, with Bob and I the lone diners at our expandable and welcoming table.  Covid -19 has determined the numbers.  Daily regulations issued by the CDC and our Governor result in a non existent guest list. We submit to save lives, our own and those of our loved ones.  The raging virus claims people daily and stretches human resources to frightening degrees.  To eat alone will be our nod of submission, one that that does not even approach the level of sacrifice so many are living.

 Loss of loved ones, permanent physical and spiritual damage all due to this pandemic, human nature which drives us closer not farther from each other in troubled times...these are the components  a menu of human suffering, with a long journeys night still ahead.  Cause for gratitude, there in the smallest of the fine print but there none the less.  "We will see this through"...light at the end of the tunnel...vaccine on the horizon...pensive, persistent sounds ring from the piano now...cause for reflection, hope even.  

In spite of the pain that lone dinners may bring, worry that our minds may conjure, sorrow that our souls may feel, loss that our spirits may entertain...life does indeed go on... grandchildren still in the womb or simply hoped for- all innocent of the strife-will come and stir the hope that is missing, soothe the sadness that prevails.  

Thanks Giving for what is today, what comes up on Thursday, for the family in our lives that waits to travel, the holidays and the living past and yet to unfold, the blessings of peace if only in our hearts or our local community, the food still abundant and lovingly prepared, the multitude of human endeavors that continue to bring life and hope to those closest to us and to those whose names we do not know.  Somewhere amongst the garbled history and the shiny trappings of our existence burns a quiet flame of selflessness, and it is this that draws us to one another.  It is  this that makes stressful lives and hearts pause, assess and act to bring about good.  

Thanks Giving...what will the mechanical playlist conjure this year?  Will I pause long enough to let it fill my aching soul with the hope that comes from awareness?  Will I let the notes touch my heart and bring up gratitude?  If so, the day will be marked as traditional in the one way that cannot be taken from me.  I will count my blessings and Giving Thanks will be enough.      

Pain

       

SENSIBILITY 

Over the past two months I have been coerced by an angry body to face the limitations that come with negligence.  Each morning since the initial eruption of pain, I rise tentatively and quite frightened of the sensations to come.  Abuse, overuse, underuse...there are many diagnosis for the neglect of ones skeleton and fascia. The result can be a heavy load to bear as I face the pain that stops habits, good and bad in their tracks.  Restoration and recovery are my work now...no choice but to face the product of my mindless journey to this space and learn from it.

  

REFLECTION

If this pain were a color, it would be that gray blackish brownish hue that results when you give a young child a paintbrush and an array of tempera pots.  Layer upon layer of activity leads to an unknown and unintended destination.  The colors come innocently at first, as do the quiet twinges of sensation in my body, warnings really of what may be ahead.   Growing intensity and passion rule, as one experiments with a brush stroke here, a smash or a splay there, all of which satisfy some urgent purpose.  Pre-schoolers plod on insistently, without analysis or thought it might seem, to the finish line of their masterpiece.  In the end pots lay depleted of their contents, brushes once multi streaked and supple now dried and distorted by the ravages of colorful sludge.  The paper canvas is saturated and will accept no further assault.  The creator rests.

 So too the muscles and the joints of my body..saturated, overwhelmed and colored dismal - having grown ever weaker with the layers of abusive activity.  Over the din of aching and stabbing complaints, my body sobs at the heaviness of the hue that lays draped over my person and spirit.  

No masterpiece here, but perhaps the same enlightenment that occurs to the little ones.....

What happens when you___________________________

"Every good thing must ....."

Every good thing must...come to a new beginning

           January 13th and reason to write.  I am again in my favorite coffee shop and had a short but friendly exchange with the barista about her badly chipped mug and it's possible harboring of contaminants.  My sister would probably chide me for my invasion of the young lady's privacy as well as for my unsolicited advice.  Perhaps she's right, but sometimes I receive new affirmation and the gift of gratitude from complete strangers when I exhibit such "normal for me" behavior!   Today was one of those times, and no doubt further encouragement for my "stepping outside the lines" behavior.  In her defense, my sister is 9 years younger and far better behaved than me...perhaps the product of more experienced parenting by Pauline and Andre after three rowdy boys between us! 

            Alex, whose name I know because she asked my name and introduced herself with a handshake after my advice was given, is new at Empire.  She was drinking from what I could see was obviously a well loved pale blue mug that said "Hello Darling" in a comfortable script type font.  When I drew the chips and cracks to her attention and noted that they are a welcome landing for bacteria to grow on, she grew truly chagrined.  Soooo, I turned that frown upside down, as my motherly instinct directed me to do!  I told Alex she could repurpose that mug to serve as a planter for a succulent or ivy. Maybe I also told her to buy one at Stop and Shop (?) just in case she wondered about such a purchase in a New England January setting?  Yes...I did.  I also suggested that if she was not a plant person she could always use the mug as a pen/pencil holder.  

           Is it true that her generation has no call for those writing implements in an age of endless phone storage and communication possibilities?  She did not roll her eyes!  Actually, she thanked me!  She looked longingly at the mug again though, and I knew she would miss it as the vessel for sipping that she had become accustomed to.  I know this because my spirit recognizes like minded spirits, and I have been in just such place!   So, in "fixer" fashion that can sometimes be mistaken as nosy and smother mothering, I offered a new and optimistic thought based on a an old idea..."every good thing must come to an end" is what came to mind, BUT "every good thing must come to a new beginning" is what I told her.  Alex smiled, then asked my name, extended her hand to shake mine and introduced herself.  She said, " I like your spirit".  I smiled, thanked her and headed over to the  booth with my tea, affirmed and uplifted...oh and,  inspired to tell you!  

GRATITUDE...LIKE THE CALM AFTER THE STORM

        It is early morning and my husband, who turned sixty six while we were sleeping, is savoring his birthday sleep-in snooze.  I am awake and checking off  list items in anticipation of our Thanksgiving trip to New York.  Except...now I am taking that well deserved pause to reflect and be grateful.  I reflect a lot but cannot seem to manage the pause, the writing of it.  I realize that after the storms that life presents us, one must do a thorough cleaning of the debris shaken from the trees or the shelves or the soul sometimes...and then assess...and then rebuild... or at least re organize...be that the spirit or the space.  
        This Thanksgiving week is just that.  I have been shaken loose by the mini eruptions of emotion as I again remember the loss of my mother and Bobs, just this year.  They left us peacefully, before the full bloom of spring, two months apart.  No doubt they have much to be grateful for, as their unanticipated(to us) passings, and their journey to final moments were brief... each accompanied more by a quiet tide of emotional suffering than a physical one.   I imagine heaven is made of husbands to dance with once again, and sisters to share a word or a day with as well.  It is a balcony from which to view the earthly goings on of those they call family, living a different life here, but one still familiar.    I imagine there are no storms in heaven...much to be grateful for!  I do believe they are with us still, in our manners and traditions, the capabilities and the challenging demeanors, the invisible bonds of love and angst, the ultimate "YES" and the struggles with forgiveness.  
Thanks for the lessons ladies!  For you I am most grateful.  All the storms of those final years, the lessons learned about aging and graceful living, regret and persistence taught me what I am made of.  Sadness still creeps in, like the leaves that blow into ones path even after the raking and the bagging of autumns debris is done.  
      Tears and spills stain the fresh tablecloth that covers the wear of the table.  There is no hiding wear and tear nor pain and loss.  There is cause for gratitude though...in the memories made at that table and the lessons learned so long ago about bounty, style, finesse, beauty.  There is gratitude for endurance-for that is what is we soak in as a result of the ravaging waters of living.  It is there whether we know it or not, appreciate it or ignore it.  Like the calm after a storm, there is loss to face indeed.  Steps may seem heavier and bodies so hard to energize.  After all assessment, there are choices, and so many decisions to make...the stuff of exhaustion!  Endurance finds us unexpectedly and we move on.  
       The year has indeed been stormy, accompanied by the whining and the tremors of incredulous happenings in the world beyond my doors.  I could make the list of so much to be unhappy about, and  forgive myself for the drowning of it in excessive eating or drinking or complaining or moping.  But,  the daughter in me has learned that this healthy body will not exit stress and malaise quite so easily!  There is a breeze of fresher air gently lifting me from my chair, and a pink morning sky that signals a new day rising.  I will follow the impulse to move to a place of gratitude once again. 

     Out on the harbor I am so grateful to see from my window, there lies a stillness...a calm.  The day looms innocently and free of expectations.  Let that be my vision as I head out into its arms.  Let me be gently nudged by gratitude should the thoughts or occasion arise.  Let nothing shake my sense of wonder, nor break the core of endurance I am building within.  Then, like one who weathers a storm, I shall emerge ready to move on, beyond the debris and distractions to the shelter of a beautiful world...still.  Thanks giving indeed!

Lost, Without a Map

Lost, Without A Map             October 7, 2019      

Life has a way of delaying some things...trips, new discoveries, understandings.  In an effort re-enter this writers space, I recognize myself as a little lost and so in need of a map!  I have always been one who appreciates the tangible evidence that a paper map can provide...the proof that roads exist and I will find my way, whatever the destination. There is no map for this space in my life.  I am in need of a self guided rescue, one dredged from a weary spirit.   Unlike the quick  clicks that bring me WAZE and instant direction for the journey, spirit is sluggish today. 

This day marks six months since I said goodbye to my mom.  The spaces around me, whether at home or on the sidewalks of town are blurred by unexpected tears, appearing like pesky pedestrians on the edges of my path...not easily ignored or avoided.   Writing, like the soothing touch of a travel mate in the passenger seat, will my recourse.   I admit this may be an exercise in self pity, but some trips are just that, and must be endured.  

Mom, even at her frailest, was true North.  From the earliest times I can remember, she gave direction and example in how to conduct oneself in so many situations...but not the one that matters to me today.  At times the weight of not seeing her stops me like a roadblock.  The detours are necessary but just serve as a reminder that once again, I am not in control.  I can dredge up one of her favorite mantras..."You have to talk to yourself"- a phrase that I know helped her through many a disappointment and challenge.  But Mom...it's you I want to talk to! 
You were so quiet in your final days, finding a gentle smile when you could, but mostly withdrawing.  I know you were tired.  I know life without Dad had become so very lonely, even as you tried to find companionship with the new and old folks in your life.  None of us could compare to the routine and comfort that life with Daddy had provided.  Your path in this life was slowly crumbling and you could only find your way to him. 

I miss your strength Mom, even though I so wearied of those habits that diminished your health and well being.  You knew what you were about...always.  You did not trod an easy road to heaven, as you had a strong heart and the "bonne sante" that kept you vital, even to the week of your passing.  You asked me, "Why is it taking so long" when you wearied of the process of dying.  I could only whisper that all would be well and sit by you.  How I wish I could have sat longer, and learned how one faces the ultimate challenge of letting go.  I don't want to let go Mom!  I look for signs of your presence.  I believe they are with me, but buried too deep in my own nature and lifestyle to differentiate.  I don't see you in dreams or signs Mom.  Perhaps you were too big for a mere symbol to comfort me.  Perhaps your legacy to me is to accept, to talk to myself and eventually find a temporary rest stop where I can feel your love, and smile with the assurance that truly we will meet again.  

It's that road map thing that gets in the way of acceptance Mom.  There is no document for this time, ...only faith and the experience of living the ride.  I can do this, but I sure would love a glimpse of you in the rearview or the side mirror from time to time...just to know you're still part of my journey.  Think that can be your new super power Mom...to share with the little girl inside me that still feels lost from time to time? 

WINTER ADVENTURE IN A SPACE LONG AGO- A LETTER TO MY GRANDCHILDREN

Hey Grandkids..this one is for you!  

Four of the six of you visited last night for dinner and a few lively hours.  When I awoke this morning, my heart was still smiling and full of hope!  

The subject of skiing was in the forefront of the discussion, as you are all in different phases of learning the sport.  While I remain a total chicken around downhill courses, I am so thrilled that you are sharing in an activity that your parents have enjoyed for some time.  The lessons and the helmets, along with proper equipment and good mentors assure me that you are as safe as it is ever possible to be.  Since you have all outgrown my wrap around arms, I suppose the safety measures out in society, and the love of your parents will have to suffice.   Enjoy!  

I remember my own skiing experience many years ago.  Memere and Pepere, my folks and your great grandparents , decided it was time to expand our experience of  the outdoors and get some good exercise.  Neither of them were skiers, but being ever resourceful they outfitted us as best they could at a nearby Ski House with used equipment to get us started.  I  was in my late teens at the time, and not at all as brave or agile as my three brothers!  In  fact, I was the pensive shaking soul who stood at the top of the "bunny slope" waiting for the other skiers to clear so that I would have the course to myself, hence not having to steer much!  I recall an unofficial lesson or two, perhaps from my Dad, in  how to come to a stop with my legs and feet pointed inward- a position I find much more comfortable now than I did back then...but only on my yoga mat!

While a freshman at RI College, I joined the Ski Club, because it sounded like a good idea.  Again, I was alone quite often at the top of the smallest run at Diamond Hill Ski Area, an enterprise which no longer exists as such.  I believe the current vineyards that grow there are a friendlier place to stretch my legs than the ski area proved to be!  You will no doubt find your own preferences and passions change over the decades too.  

At any rate, I continued my participation with the Ski Club because I liked being outdoors in the winter and away from school once a week.  
The season and my downhill skiing experience did not end well for me though.   Because I was quite tense while descending the icy hill on a frosty March day I fell.  The old fashioned bindings of my skis did not release, and I broke my leg in two places.  You might think this was a disaster, but the memories of my parents care at the time, and the new me that grew from this crisis is something I will always be grateful for. 

 Now do not let your parents stop reading in order to keep you from worry!

Yes...it hurt and it was scary to be taken to the hospital in an ambulance.  But at the other end was my Dad, your Pepere,  telling the doctors how I was to be cared for at every step.  My Dad was always a very discerning customer, and able to make himself clear in the politest if sometimes too persistent ways.  He requested a certain orthopedic doctor and I was treated very well.  My mom showed up every day with magazines and to keep me company.  I could not shower, so she brought me a dry shampoo product to use as well as a mirror to check out my 18 year old reflection.   RI  Hospital was there to help me, and both my folks assured that my care was the best.   I left with a leg cast that stretched from my foot to nearly my hip!  Over time that was cut down to a shorter cast, but the adventure in plaster lasted for six months!  My legs are rather good looking today, so it ended well!

I commuted from home in Bristol for a few weeks, and it was my mom  who helped me move back into the dorm after that.  She arranged with the campus security folks for me to be driven from building to building in a cute little golf cart in order to attend classes, until I conquered the rhythm of my crutches!  

This is a long ago memory for me, but one that I wanted to share, because who I am today has a lot to do with that time and space in my life.  Hugo and Andre will receive this story, because you  are also active children, currently learning to swim and play soccer....which makes me so proud and happy for you. Your mommy and daddy are making good choices to keep you healthy and having fun!

So here's what your Baba learned because long ago she skied, got hurt, got better and kept on growing!

1. I learned that you should "go for it" and try new things, even if they are initially your parents idea and maybe not your own.
2. I learned that the love of parents and their experience in making good decisions is a gift that one can be grateful for throughout your life.
3. I learned how to be a smart shopper and look for quality and expertise whether in a doctor or the stuff I buy.
4. I learned that even broken parts can be fixed over time, though it is a good idea to learn to do something well and stay fit as much as possible!
5. I learned that even years later when my body complains of an "old injury" there are practices that can help me feel better.
6. I learned how to cross country ski and snowshoe, because I felt more confident and could still enjoy the great outdoors in many places and  here in RI.

I learned to be a life long learner when it comes to being as healthy and as fit as I care to be.  That way, I feel better AND keep up with your Pops in the great outdoors!

You are living in a time and space where you too are so lucky to be learners.  My wish is that you will always be grateful for the love that has brought you to this life and to the very special people you call parents. 

Oh yes...I am learning still,  that after a time even our children and grandchildren can teach us something!  What a world! 
                                                        Love, Baba

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