Sunday Morning ~ Dance is for Everyone

Gule ndi ali yense, kulakwa ndi kuthyola mwendo. ~ A dance is for everyone, but the wrong thing is to break your leg.

~ Chewa proverb

September 27, 2020

Hi Everyone,

The summer before my first year of college, my father sat me down to discuss finances. Well, calling it a discussion was a stretch. My father didn’t really discuss anything, though, he always advertised the encounter as such. They were more like declarations. He would tell us what time we were to be seated at the table, he in his captain’s chair, the one enduring his painfully drawn out proclamation sitting diagonally across in the smaller mate’s chair. It always took place after supper but never before the stock market report. Digesting the meal was problematic for the victim (me in this case) anticipating the familiar tete á tete, so it was best to eat lightly. Sometimes it would be sprung on us just as we were going out with friends. That was the worst. One never knew how long these would last. It would depend on his mood and how much he’d had to drink. Usually the more wine the better, but post prandial often meant only one glass and that was not a mood changer. The stock market report was also a factor. His stamina was impressive; it could last for hours. My friends were familiar with my family dynamic and knew not to wait around.

That summer I was happily getting ready to move out of the house and on to college. I couldn’t wait to eat a meal without being told what a disappointment I was and was looking forward to freedom. So when summoned to this financial meeting I took my seat, assuring myself these ego-crushing lectures were numbered. On a positive note, one never had to worry about having a response. He did all the talking and the subject’s role was to nod and agree with whatever he said. That was the quickest way to get to your evening plans. However, sometimes, depending on what I was being forced to agree to, I’d argue. This always came as a shock to him and would send the entire family scattering. That never went well. In my seventeen plus years I’d learned when to confront and when to submit. This took skill. Submission usually meant spending the tortured hour (at least) mentally problem solving how to work around his demands with the least possible damage and detection. I can nod and plan at the same time. 

The lecture often started with the same preamble: how hard he had to work to support us, how lucky we were that we had all the comforts we did, how he was discriminated against and worked from the time he could remember (he had to sell newspapers on the sidewalk for fifteen cents a week! A WEEK!). This would then merge into how ungrateful we all were, how we didn’t understand how hard he had it, on and on. If it had been in a softer tone it may have evoked some sympathy, but it was always angry, like he hated me for having an easier life even as he gave it to me. He was paying for college. That was never even questioned and I’ve gotta say, I wasn’t overly appreciative at the time. I felt like it was combat pay for getting through childhood in that house. I also worked since I was ten, taking over my brother’s paper route. I babysat from age eleven on and when I was fifteen got a job in a tailor shop downtown making $1.75 an hour. I loved that job. My father required all my earnings go into my savings account, an account with his name on it. The five of us had been warned that the first person saying, “That’s my money and I can do what I want with it.” will be kicked out of the house so fast “you won’t even know what happened!”  We silently acquiesced, I for one, thinking what a relief it would be to be kicked out of that house. The only money I kept was from babysitting, careful not to buy anything that would reveal my stash, which, was literally under the mattress concealed in a flimsily locked diary. I was told my bank account was for college so felt I was contributing, though never would have pointed that out. If you liked your job it wasn’t really a job. You were not suffering enough.  

On that August evening, plans with my friends on hold, I was given a list of all the college expenses I would be responsible for: books, fees, transportation, and food. This was three weeks before my first class. I said, “Ok, no problem.”  thinking, wow, that was easy. Then he erupted, “What do you mean NO PROBLEM?! You talk like you are making a million dollars!”  Uh oh. There’s a different agenda going on here. Danger. Shouldn’t ever think it’s going to be easy. I cautiously said, “What I have in the bank should cover all that.” He smugly sat back in his chair, raised his newspaper and smirked, “You can’t use that money.” 

I cannot describe how much I hated this man. The goalpost was always moving, rules never clear, and sabotage always around the corner. He had utter control and enjoyed watching the destruction his bombs created. The realization sunk in that my last three weeks home would now be an anxiety ridden mess figuring out how to earn more money quickly. I stood up, resolved not to break, and left to meet my friends, making sure I was out of sight before i started crying.

Extra babysitting was easy to come by then so I was able to earn extra cash. I planned to eat as little as possible and never come home. That would eliminate transportation costs. I kept my last few paychecks from the seamstress job, and got another babysitting job once I got to school. People in my college neighborhood had well stocked fridges so night time babysitting meant I could eat there and get homework done. I would never admit defeat but I didn’t flaunt success either. It was a stealth game and it always irked him that he couldn’t flatten me, though in later years, he respected me for it. 

I spent years recovering from growing up with a man who hated women and thought he was indestructible. I think of this now for obvious reasons. Perhaps my past is what gives me my sense of optimism that creatures like him bring about their own downfall, which, in his arrogance, he did. Survival and thriving means finding a support system, learning how to get around sudden roadblocks, keeping our energy up, and relishing the sweet reward whenever that becomes ours. And it will. 

There’s a way through, always. Plan. Be strong. Don’t give up.

Love to all,

Linda   

Sunday Morning ~ New Shoots

Bango likauma, libber linzace. ~ When one reed becomes dry, another one shoots out.

~ Chewa proverb

September 20, 2020

Hi Everyone,

I’m sitting on a small cliff overlooking Cobscook Bay. The sun just came over the horizon, the tide is going out, the campfire is blazing, and the water is boiling. I’ve got my tea and that makes my morning about perfect. It’s the last day of summer, though you’d never know that by the temperature. My tent is just behind me and on this cold morning it was an effort to get out of my toasty sleeping bag. But I could sense the sun about to break over the distant trees and needed to be out here to feel it’s first light.

I was lucky to get this spot. I arrived at the ranger station an hour before they opened hoping to nab a spot on the water. A ranger pulled up in a truck and asked if I needed help. I told him I wanted a campsite which, I know are first-come-first-serve. He told me I could drive around and see which are free, “But” he said, “ I know number thirty is open and it’s a nice one for tent only.” I drove through the quiet park to number thirty. I had to walk through a bit of woods from the car, up over an outcropping of rocks, onto a peninsula that jutted out into the bay.  I caught my breath and ran back to the car to save my spot as first in line. What a sweet birthday gift it would be to get that spot. When other cars started pulling in I decided to go stand by the window, masked and cold in the drizzling rain, but determined there would be no question about who was first.  

I got the site, gleefully set up my tent in the rain, covered all my other gear with plastic, and went back to the car to explore the area. There are plenty of coastal trails to hike and the forecast was for clearing. I walked for miles in the grey, windy drizzle but the coast is always gorgeous no matter what weather. I was back at camp well before sunset and as I cooked my supper the clouds started breaking up. I ate amid the most glorious light performance. It was a great start to the next year of my life. I thought of my mother, who hated camping but would have been happy if I was happy. I looked around for a sign she was with me but didn’t find one, so thanked her knowing she’s out there somewhere.  

When it was dark and I saw the first few stars, I crawled into my tent to read until the book got bleary, listening to the calm water and loons calling, and slept like a baby. I hadn’t angled the tent flap appropriately to watch the sun rise from my sleeping bag, so got up early and lit a fire. Sunrise with tea. I sat for awhile, taking in how quickly those rays could warm me, happy, and thought I’d check my cell phone and see if there were any birthday messages to make my morning even better. The first one I saw was a cryptic group thread saying how bad this year was going, and on Rosh Hashanah no less. I panicked. What? What happened now? I scrolled and found voicemails and other texts with the news. My heart fell, sinking into the rocks I was sitting on. 

I’ve always been as fascinated with the passage from this life as with the passage into it. I worked as a hospice nurse before going to midwifery school and find the experiences similar. I’ve thought about how death gives meaning to life and how cognizant I was of minute details every time I was with a person who had just passed. I remember standing on the doorstep of a family’s home to direct the coroner to the house. It was after midnight in a rough neighborhood and I remember watching how the streetlights reflected on the cars as if it were magic. I looked at the scroll of peeling paint on the railing. I watched the doctor get out of his car and thought how big his eyebrows were as he looked at house numbers. I wondered if he kept his clothes laid out next to his bed for times like this. I wondered at myself for wondering all this as a young woman riddled with cancer lay stiff in her bed, her mother wailing in the living room. I’d had to tell her she was gone.  

I recollected while absorbing the magnitude of the loss for our country now. I watched the dry wood catch fire and thought about how amazing it is to strike a match and have it burn. I put the matchbook back in my pocket with the toilet paper. I put milk from a nearby farm in my tea and wondered why it hadn’t separated. I noticed the water boiled almost as fast as it does in my electric kettle at home and wondered why some fires are hotter than others. I looked at how huge the tides are here. I thought about how the tide doesn’t care who died. I thought about the power she had. Was it like the tide? Could I somehow relate the two? I thought about the collective gasp of horror that rose when the news broke. I thought how strange it is that one person should carry that kind of weight and wondered what it felt like to her. I thought of her like an ant, so tiny, so strong. 

I admit I have been frustrated with all the handwringing the past few years with every new illness. I’d cringe at what was at stake. Why not be calculated in handing it over to a protege with fewer health problems? There was a tiny window, but nothing was guaranteed and who could have known what would happen. It’s no use thinking about that now. Face it. We’re here, left to pick up and carry her torch on the path she paved for us. We have the power and she knew that. She is an angel on our shoulders now. Face it. 

I drove to Reversing Falls and walked along the coast, in and out of denial. Reversing Falls is formed by a narrows separating two bays where the water current reverses with the tides. The Passamaquoddy called this “Place of boiling water”. When the tides are changing the outcropping of rocks beneath the water and the change of directional flow make it look like the water is boiling. I sat and painted on a rock in the sun, the water boiling all around me, and thought, yes, things can be so different from how they appear. I thought of how my perception of this country has been shrouded by unrealistic notions of goodness and reality is now sinking in. I felt the same way as my marriage ended. This can’t be happening as it most certainly was. Then I thought of how everything got better when I accepted reality and worked with what I’d got. I wondered how we let so many women’s lives rest on the shoulders of this one woman, now gone at the worst possible time. 

I watched the boiling, roiling water and wondered how many brilliant women like her had been exterminated in the camps? That thought led me to think of what a strange species we are for all the reasons that make no sense to survival. 

I thought I’m happy I believe in angels. It’s comfort now.

Rest In Peace and thank you. We’ll take it from here. We’ve got this. 

Love to all,

Linda

Sunday Morning ~ All in Good Time

Cikacita mang’a, cileke, mawa cituluka. ~ When it shows a crack, just leave it alone, tomorrow it will come out.

~ Chewa proverb

September 13, 2020

Hi Everyone,

A calm has come over me this week. The anxiety I carry about our future has been building to the point where I felt short of breath and panicky on a daily basis. Taking a break from the news and being with my granddaughter has been the healthiest thing in the world. I know California is burning and our Democracy is on the brink of extinction, but this week thoughts of impending doom were relegated to some distant corner of semi-reality. 

Amelia and I took a little camping trip to Moosehead Lake, 118 square miles of fresh water in the northern Maine woods. Forty miles long, it’s the largest lake in New England and a landmark in Maine I’d not visited. Living on this beautiful Island and working at a job requiring me to be constantly available, kept me close to home when I wasn’t traveling internationally. It’s time to explore the parts of Maine I’ve ignored. The drive north was dotted with Biden signs, a reassuring sign in a part of the state known for it’s conservatism. The sun shone, roadside stands displayed pretty stacks of vegetables, traffic was minimal, and I had good company. We sang songs. I pretended everyone could do this. We lived in a fantasy world for a few days. 

As we drove through Monson, the beginning of the 100 mile wilderness on the Appalachian Trail, I thought about a friend who had through-hiked the trail several times. My last text from him was at the end of July telling me to enjoy the canoe trip. He was being treated for pancreatic cancer and said he was feeling better and was hopeful about the new treatment. I told him I was glad, but wondered. He died last week. I let the unfairness pass over me like a wave, thought about his pragmatic spirit, and resolved to embrace whatever goodness there is in this life.  

The state park we were heading for was on the lakeshore. I’d tried all summer to get a reservation there but none were available until this week, and even then I could only get two nights. It seems everyone was heading for the woods. Embrace. I taught Amelia how to set up the tent, how to blow up the sleeping pads, and stake the rain fly. She told me she was excited and nervous to sleep in the woods. She wondered if bears would come. I told her the tent looks like a very big animal so nothing would bother us but there would be no nightlight. When we finished reading the light had to go out or every insect in the woods would be attracted to us. That made seven year-old sense. We spent the afternoon at the lake (sort of) swimming. The water was warmer than I expected but still cold so up to my knees was all I could manage. She, however, was all fish until the shivering made her retreat to the towel. We went back to our site and lit a fire, ready for the next lesson: campfire cooking. The woman next to us came over, socially distanced, to introduce herself and ask if we needed anything. She saw it was a “girls” outing and wanted to let us know they were well equipped if we were short of supplies. Lovely and considerate. We thanked her and told her we’d come over if we found ourselves in trouble. We cooked our pasta, cleaned up, let the fire die out, too full for marshmallows, and got ready for bed.

Next morning we packed up and drove 20 miles north up the western shore of the lake to the boat launch that would take us to Mt. Kineo, an impressive mountain with a side of sheer cliffs, situated on an island. I had hiking on my agenda and Amelia struck a deal that she’d hike the mountain as long as I went swimming afterward. “All the way in.” she demanded. I agreed, thinking it was an easier concession than my own kids would have demanded. They usually wanted something like toys or candy. This I could commit to, even though I hate swimming in cold water. An uncomplaining partner on a hike, however, is worth it. 

We arrived in time for the eleven o’clock boat, to discover it’s cash only and the fee was about quadruple what I expected. I didn’t have enough money on me and wasn’t sure I’d have time to find an ATM. Arriving at the same time were a couple from Wisconsin, lamenting the chilly temperature. I asked if they knew of an ATM close by? They didn’t but offered to pay our boat fare. I said I couldn’t let them do that, but they said, “No really, we have plenty of cash.”  I’m telling you, the world is full of wonderful people. We just don’t hear enough about them and I am determined to tell their stories. I found out there was an ATM just up the road and had time to run there, get cash, and get back in time, but that couple put a smile on my face the rest of the week. I was sure to let them know that.

Amelia made good on her end of the deal with nary a complaint and on the boat ride back she reminded me of mine. I told her I wouldn’t think of reneging on my end and she looked smug as she planned the itinerary. “You have to stay in as long as I tell you.” which, I didn’t remember as part of the deal, but acquiesced because I imagined having some control would feel good as a child, something I certainly never experienced when I was seven. It was emotionally satisfying, though physically painful, to hear her squeal with laughter as I forced myself to submersion in water that would have been a bit cold for me to drink. 

Driving home a physical calm came upon me. It was like some divine swaddling of reassurance that we would all be ok. I wondered if the woods could really have that much power, but it was more than that. I don’t know what the future holds but believe somehow in our collective good. Not in a passive naive way, more in a way that makes me feel like all this effort will be worth it. Maybe it was the Biden signs, maybe it was the dose of childhood wisdom, maybe the decision to let go of relationships dragging me down. Or maybe it’s just the Lyme is gone and I feel better, but I feel lighter and ready to face the challenges again. 

Love to all,

Linda

Sunday Morning ~ The Glad Game

Madzi adzala, mlamba usekera. ~ The waters become plentiful because of all the side rivers.

~ Chewa proverb

September 6, 2020

Hi Everyone,

My granddaughter is with me for two weeks, her delayed start of school turned problem into gift for me. It is such a balm having her here. I have been craving human contact, a hug or even a handshake would be nice, so being with her for two weeks of endless cuddling is the healthiest, most healing thing possible. If ever an event could illuminate the importance of therapeutic touch, this is it. 

Amelia has an impressive movie inventory at her disposal. She could play all the leads, knowing scripts by heart and able to perform with flair. I regaled her with stories about my childhood movie experience: We could watch them only when the networks decided to show them, usually once a year, AND we had to be ready at the time they started. That meant, dinner done, pajamas on, channel and seats chosen. She looked at me wide eyed. “You could only watch Frozen once a year?” she asked incredulously. I told her Frozen wasn’t a movie then but the movies I loved were only shown once a year. She asked which movies I loved? Wizard of Oz was a biggie, but my favorite was Pollyanna. She’d never heard of it. I wanted to show her an alternative to the animated musical extravaganzas she adores and thought watching it together would be fun. I tried Netflix but it isn’t there. I checked the actual brick and mortar library but they didn’t have it either. I thought I would have to buy the DVD but that meant Amazon which I have been boycotting. A big dilemma.

My neighbor invited us to a campfire Monday so Amelia and I masked up and walked over there to sit as far away as possible from the two other women and still be able to toast marshmallows. We started talking about movies and I told them I wanted to watch Pollyanna with Amelia, a movie they probably never even heard of. They told me of course they’d seen it! The Glad Game! They loved all the Haley Mills movies! I found this so sweet and incredibly reassuring to hear affinity for feel-good entertainment is something we share in the neighborhood. I’m clinging to shared values anywhere I can find them. Amelia got more excited with such a ringing endorsement from women closer to her age than mine. 

We walked home in the full moonlight determined to figure out how to watch that movie. I braced myself for a day of figuring it out, subscribing to a service I didn’t want, prepared to pay whatever it cost. I set aside the whole day Friday to work on it. This is how inept I am at passive entertainment. I am completely dependent on my children for this. I’ve had boyfriends willing and able but they come and go and are currently gone. I was determined to become self-sufficient. I can build my own house I should be able to find a movie to watch. A friend told me all the Disney movies are now on Disney Plus which Amelia excitedly told me she could get on her iPad. That made me feel foolish and a poor provider but it saved me a whole day of fretting. I said we’d check it out after all our other activities. I had built this movie up to be the epitome of entertainment and I started getting worried it would flop. I hadn’t seen it in at least fifty years. I started thinking it probably moves slow and she’d get bored. I, of course, wanted her to love the movie as much as I did. Wanted her to go through life looking at the bright side. Maybe even dissuade her from sneaking out at night in the future. We talked about it all day Friday. As we hiked a lakeside path to swim off the rocks, she asked more questions about what life was like when I was her age. “How old were you when you first saw Pollyanna?” she wanted to know. I told her I was about her age. I told her what it was like to negotiate with my brothers about what we would watch in the evenings as everyone had to watch the same thing. There was only one TV and three stations to choose from. This struck her as the depths of deprivation. (I wonder if we learned better negotiating skills because of that?)

Friday evening, after we’d eaten and cleaned up, Amelia handed me her iPad. She showed me where Disney Plus was, I typed in Pollyanna, and there it was! Yup, 1960. That was it. I saw it was a two hour and fifteen minute commitment. Do attention spans even last that long now? I felt both ridiculous and ecstatic. I was literally getting my credit card out but all we had to do was hit play. Miraculous. The only problem was we had to watch it on her iPad. When I lamented this to my daughter she said, “Mum, your TV is not much bigger than her iPad, c’mon.”  Which is sort of accurate. Then she wanted to watch it in bed. I reluctantly agreed with the understanding it was a big concession for me. I insist on eating meals at the table and watching whatever in the study. But as Amelia said, “It’s Covid! We need to be flexible!” And the idea of just turning out the light and going to sleep was appealing. And if she got bored and fell asleep I wouldn’t have to carry her upstairs. I’m going soft. 

The movie has held up well!  Amelia loved it, laughed a lot (which thrilled me), and buried her head in my shoulder when the old man caught them sneaking around his house. I cried at the end (as I always did), and we both raved over the costumes. The acting is silly and mediocre, but in keeping with the period, so forgivable. I was struck by how airbrushed the sticky situations were but found it a relief from real life right now. I was horrified when the doctor carried her downstairs like a bride. She had a spinal cord injury for God’s sake! Couldn’t they make that scene a little more realistic? But otherwise, seeing everyone come together for a cause (and orphans no less), standing up to a bully (philanthropic but controlling), and melting hearts, well, it has given us lots to talk about. Amelia asked what my favorite part was. I had to think about it, but said my favorite part of the movie was that they showed how powerful one little girl can be. She changed a whole town just by being kind and finding good things to focus on. Then she asked what was my least favorite part? I said, that she was climbing a tree at night in slippery shoes and didn’t get inside the window and make herself more secure before reaching for that doll. She listened intently then asked, “Wait, did that really happen?”

News blackout this week. Bliss. 

Love to all,

Linda