Wild Woman

My mentor for being a "Wild Woman" is dying from stroke-related brain damage. She is in her mid-eighties now, and lived a very full life. Thelma was my mother's best friend, and also became a good friend of mine. Although I am feeling sad that she is leaving us, I am happy that she will go to meet my mother, Ellie, in Heaven very soon. Thelma never quite got over losing my mother twelve years ago. She mourned more for Ellie than she did for any of her husbands.

I unsuccessfully searched all morning for older pictures of Thelma, especially of walking on Martha's Vineyard. There are just too many boxes and bins of loose pictures in my house. Thel loved The Vineyard. My mother had five weeks of timeshare on Vineyard Haven, and the two of them used every one, every year. Thelma also had a week just prior to one of my mother's weeks, so they combined it for long vacations that made them so happy. Once my mother stopped driving distances, Thelma drove. They loved nothing better than to visit friends made at Harbor Landing, see sights not yet seen, especially different beaches, watch the ferry come and go, and just sit quietly reading together. I credit Thelma for bringing the "Wild Woman" out of my mother. Ma was always the good girl: quiet and reserved. But, Thelma told me stories of my mother I never would have heard, and I was so grateful to hear them. They were best friends and loved each other very much.

I became good friends with Thelma over time too. We also had many happy and very frank talks as girlfriends. I will treasure those talks always. We would walk on The Vineyard together and she would share her stories.  She also helped me to understand my mother better. Like my mother, Thelma had many children. She had different husbands, and her last one was a motorcycle rider, decades younger than her. I love thinking about Thel riding on the back of a motorcycle in her middle years, smoking cigarettes and drinking booze with the best of them. She loved life and lived it as fully as any woman could. I admired her a great deal.

She was honest and fully in touch with her feelings. She felt guilt for some of her behaviors in the past, but worked every day on forgiving herself and moving forward. I loved talking with Thelma.  We talked about being single for many years, and about how much she loved men and missed sex. We laughed about our respective exploits, and shared many intimate memories that I will hold close to my heart forever.

My mother died before she saw me married and living as a happily married woman. Thelma then became my second mother. She loved Larry, and kissed him full on the mouth every time she saw him. He loved her for that, and says that is how he wants to remember her.

She was incredibly supportive of me as a grown woman. When I bought my first house alone, she consulted with me about the plants I had and taught me how to split a large hosta. Later, she presented me with a lovely photograph she took of the front of my little house with the Rhododendrons in full bloom. Then, she painted a wonderful picture of the house and gave that to me also. She was a very talented artist, who not only made a small living scavenging others' belongings on trash day to sell at flea markets, but sold her painted shells and slates as well. I still treasure those gifts.

Old Cottage in Tiverton

She came to the cottage in Tiverton with me for a private "girls" weekend. This cottage was the last of the original summer cottages on our street, and before we built our current house. If Ma couldn't share my newly acquired blessings, then Thelma was a good "second". We had a lovely weekend talking and enjoying being by the ocean. I so loved my alone time with my good friend.

Our last trip together was to bring her to our lakehouse in South Carolina. She told me my mother would have been so happy for me. She loved it at the lake and we enjoyed a lovely, intimate long weekend there together. She shared my wonder and appreciation of nature.  I remember walking on the dock in the early morning and her eyes grew large with wonder at the dew collected on the lovely spiderwebs that lined the dock railings. We talked about how beautiful they were and she was so happy to share it with me. It was just like having my own mother there. I will always be grateful to Thelma for giving me that gift.

Like most active women who end up with "their wings clipped", Thelma was angry with her body for failing her slowly over time. She hated losing her independence and the ability to do everything she used to do. But, like the "glass-half-full" woman she is, she made lemonade from the lemons that were lobbed her way. She just kept plugging along and finding other little joys to treasure all the same. Her dog, Oliver, is a huge love of her life. Like my mother, she loves her dog like she loves her children. Thelma loves everybody.

My heart is aching at losing my friend any day now. But, I am happy to think that she will once again be a "Wild Woman" in Heaven. Thank you, Thel. See you later. I love you.

Afternoon Date

Yesterday, as part of our Independence Day week-long celebration, Larry and I went on a date. He "bagged" mowing the lawn and we drove to College Hill in Providence for the 2:00 p.m. showing of Moonrise Kingdom. This new film that was just released on June 22nd in Rhode Island has a cast of big stars: Bruce Willis, Francis McDormand, Bill Murray, Ed Norton and Tilda Swinton. Harvey Keitel also had a small role. It was primarily filmed in Rhode Island on Prudence Island and in Tiverton. As we were coming home one day, Larry and I came upon a big "hull-a-ba-loo" on Fogland Beach near our house. The neighbor's field across from the beach road was filled with cars, many people were on the beach and there were people directing traffic. We had no idea what was going on, but discovered later it was filming for this movie. We have waited for its premier mostly out of curiosity. We weren't disappointed.

This film is not your normal blockbuster movie. It's more of an "artsy/campy" film. It will probably go to DVD quickly as a result. It's a period piece from 1964-1965. The acting was excellent and the movie introduced two wonderful young actors: Jared Gilman and Kara Hayward as the twelve-year-old lovers who run away to be together. Both children were precocious but characterized as "emotionally disturbed". They discovered that they are kindred spirits, and desperately want to escape their sad lives. In fact, every character in this movie was portrayed as unhappy and dissatisfied with their lives. But, the characters were entertaining and definitely not boring. It must have been fun to play these roles with a straight face, because we interpreted them as "tongue in cheek".

The director did an excellent job portraying early 60's mentality, and as Larry noticed, authenticity of props. There was lots of use of technology: a portable record player, a tape recorder, ham radio; and he noticed the knobs and units looked true to the period. The soundtrack was very, very interesting as well, and I actually downloaded one song by the young girl's favorite artist: Francoise Hardy (Le Temps de L'Amour). We enjoyed this movie, and recommend it as a change of pace.

After the movie, we drove to my father's old neighborhood in the Smith Hill neighborhood of Providence. Using our GPS we found Candace Street and drove the entire length, which wasn't that long, to try and remember his family home. The last time I visited the house, I was either twelve or fourteen, I think. I don't remember much about it, and the neighborhood did not help rekindle much recollection.

All I remember was an over/under duplex (I think) with a long, narrow alley next to the right side of the house with a chainlink fence to separate it from the next house. I thought I remembered a tiny back yard, but that may have been our Aunt Helen's house before she moved to Greenwich or Greenfield. We only visited our father's family once a year, so I don't remember much about them. I do remember the kitchen was dark and our Uncle Dan ate raw oysters in front of us. He'd shuck the shells and slurp down those slimy suckers with a loud nasty sound. It was disgusting to me then. I think I realized which house was his on our tour, but I cannot be sure. My sister, Jeanne, said she remembered it instantly. I did not. I saw the last house on the right with an alley like I remember, but the house, yard and asphault lot next to it were not recognizable to me. Oh well. At least I was there.

Lastly, we drove a little over two miles to a restaurant recommended by Eric, my personal trainer, Los Andes. Eric told me the neighborhood wasn't that great, but the decor inside the restaurant was very nice. He was right. One of the benefits of dating in the afternoon, especially going to "the city", is that one can actually find on-street parking without much trouble. We only had to take one large turn around the College Hill area because of all the one-way streets going the wrong way to get a very convenient spot sans parking meter close to the theater. We pulled right up in front of the restaurant, again without a meter, and could see the car from our table. We were the only patrons, as the restaurant opened at 4:00 p.m., and the time was 4:10.

As the only patrons, the manager/owner introduced himself and we told him it was our first visit. I mentioned that a friend had recommended the place to us, and that made him very happy. We were well taken care of by our very friendly young waitress, and the food did not disappoint.

Apparently, Los Andes is known for its ceviche. I recently made ceviche, so I had to try it. Basically, the ceviche we were served in a martini glass was lightly fried and deliciously seasoned. The muscles, shrimp, talapia and calarmari were very tender, and the seasoned mayoinnaise dressing on the side was really good. We enjoyed this appetizer very much.

Larry and I both ordered entrees from the specials menu: he had a delicous prime rib with some kind of pesto on top made with cilantro I think. Larry says it was not like any prime rib he's ever had. It was really tender and very delicious. It came with roasted vegetables and he asked for mashed potatoes, which were red bliss and also very good. I ordered the lamp chops which were also really tender and delicious. They were coated with a wonderful yogurt sauce and thinly sliced cucumbers. I have never tasted such a sauce and will definitely order this again. In the end, I had to eat the chops with my hands because I just had to get all the meat that I couldn't cut away with a knife! My roasted potatoes were lightly salted and delicious as well.

Of course, as I have to do whenever I try a new restaurant, we had two desserts: flan and "tres leches" cake with two espressos. The flan was nicely dense and good, but the cake was fabulous! We will definitely come here again and highly recommend you visit as well. Shortly after 5:00 p.m., a man was setting up a microphone and seat. We didn't stay for the live music, but will plan to include this on our next visit. Oh, and they had an extensive wine list, mostly Chilean and Argentinian wines, plus a full bar.

All in all, it was a great date that ended with our Toyota Solara's convertible top-down: riding home with the wind in my hair and air blowing up my sundress. Ah.

It's Independence Day!

Last night, Larry and I took our folding chairs, our clip-on bug repellent fans and bottled water to Bristol, Rhode Island. Bristol claims to have the oldest 4th of July celebration in the country. Well, I don't know about that claim, but they do know how to throw a multi-day party! On July 3rd, we arrived at the Mt. Hope High School (athletic) Field to watch the 2012 Drum and Bugle Corps. Competition. Eight groups competed from around the country, and it was magical.

When I attended St. Catherine's Elementary School in Norwood, Massachusetts, I played French Horn in its drum and bugle corps. Although I bent my horn from banging it on my bedroom dresser when I couldn't master the scales, marching in military style with that group was one of the best experiences of my life. I loved marching in parades and in competitions. In my young days, the competition was all about perfection: our uniforms: the creases, the tassels on our very clean boots (which I found stored in the eaves of our family home with the toes eaten out by squirrels); right up to the erect feathers we wore on our tall hats. Girls wore skirts and boys wore pants. We trained in the Town Armory to perfect our drills: turning on a dime and moving on command from our leader (Master?). Anyway, I loved it and I hold a special place in my heart for those competitions. For years, I have wanted to attend one, and this year I finally conveniently got to: in Bristol.

The competitions now are nothing like those days. They are more like Cirque du Soleil performances. There is the perfect-looking band with feathered tall hats, but I didn't see any boots (just comfortable matching shoes), and they got to wear sparkles. Along with the band were dancing, acrobatic others in even more colorful costumes. They were the flag throwing, baton and faux rifle-twirling accoutrement and their acrobatic dancing reminded us of not only Cirque but a cheerleading competition. It was really fun, entertaining and in some cases, truly amazing. These are huge production numbers with props including wooden horses and shadow (one-dimensional) figures! And the music was mostly jazz, contemporary numbers we didn't recognize with only a few songs we did. It was very, very impressive and dramatic.

Teams hailed from Nashua, New Hampshire (Spartans); two teams from New Jersey (Raiders and Jersey Surf), Florida (Teal Sound), Texas (Crossmen), Iowa (Colts), Pennsylvania (The Cadets), and last but not least from Fort Mill, South Carolina (Carolina Crown). Larry had to look up their home town when we got home, because the program incorrectly hailed them from Fort Sill. There is no Fort Sill in South Carolina. Anyway, Carolina Crown took the crown in this competition to win first place! We were very excited! I also liked their costumes the best (white with champagne sparkly panels on their chests), plus their performances were the most like Cirque, with costume changes and huge metal-looking cubes added to their flags, guns and batons. They also performed the largest dance routine and it was really, really good.

Just like Santa at the end of a town parade (or Macy's Parade), this competition finished with The Cadets using a Christmas theme. Their handlers walked and rode around with Santa hats on and their equipment transport was decorated with holiday lights. Their dancers' costumes cleverly and artistically resembled wrapped presents while their musicians wore cream uniforms with burgundy sashes and trim on their hats.

I was mesmerized by all the gleaming trumpets, French horns and tubas, including many kinds of snare and base drums playing a medley of Christmas tunes. Their marching was perfectly erect, but they were not in military formations. They were side-stepping, twirling and moving like a synchronized dance team.

Boy, have drum and bugle corps competitions improved! If you've never seen one, you must go. It is all-American, entire-family entertainment. Cheer on your favorite team. And on July 3rd, we were treated to the Bristol Harbor fireworks display in the background. People in the neighborhood also lit off their own rockets as the teams performed. When the last team played, the harbor display was in progress and I wish I had my camera to capture the magic of colorful bursts in the sky directly over those feathery tall hats. Magic.

Up is down.

Lately, I've been realizing that there is absolutely nothing on television. You know the saying: fifty-million channels and nothing to watch. I spent my whole life relying on television for my entertainment. Now, I am happy to report that I have rediscovered my upstairs porch. Sitting up there feels like being a little girl in my own tree house. The Cherry, Spruce and Sumac trees are completely filled in now, and I can't see my neighbor's house at all. It is so private and quiet up there at night.

Down below is the Sakonnet River with Portsmouth on the far shore. Most spectacular of all are the sunsets. With this cooler, less humid weather we've been experiencing lately, sitting in my tree house is a dream. Instead of laying in the grass looking up at the clouds, I sit up high on my porch and watch them slowly float by. Last night, I saw one formation that looked like a huge troll doll. Remember those? It was very creepy, but hilarious. Then a new formation was created and for the first time, I realized that up can also be down.

While looking up at the beautiful cloud formations in multiple shades of blue, grey and white, I saw one that made me feel like I was high on a hill looking down at a secluded stretch of sandy beach that meandered along small mountains or large sand dunes with sea grass on top mirroring the shoreline. I must try to paint this image. It was glorious!  I almost forgot where I was.

I was looking up and down at the same time! It was truly magical. Unfortunately, I was afraid that if I ran downstairs to grab my camera, the sight would be gone, so I took what pictures I could with my phone. Of course, I don't have the hardware right now to download any pictures off my phone, so they are useless. Instead, I had to commit this unique and lovely image to memory.

Then the clouds cleared and the beautiful, bright half-moon shone in the peak of the pergola roof over the porch. It was so beautiful. I am truly blessed and grateful.

Dad

I loved my father very much, but I am having a hard time finding happy memories of him to share. I'm sure there were many, but only the embarrassing or angry ones come to mind.A psychic once told me he had a very difficult childhood. Living in the Providence Irish "hood", I'm not surprised. We learned recently that his mother was really his grandmother. He wasn't left on the doorstep after all like we were always told. I grew up thinking we didn't know that side of the family biologically, but now we know we were led astray. The people we got to know really were our blood family. I find that fact very comforting.

He was the bomber for Jimmy Stewart in WWII. I always admired him for being in the war with a celebrity. As far as I know, he was never injured and came home with an honorable discharge. My brothers have all the papers and certificates attesting to his military achievement. I am proud of his service.

He met my mother on Hampton Beach in New Hampshire when she was about nineteen and he was in his late twenties. My sister, Jeanne, has a beautiful picture of them on that beach. They were a really beautiful and happy-looking young couple. That picture always brings a smile to my face and to my heart. They had a lovely wedding at The Women's Club in Newton Highlands, Massachusetts, and looked so handsome and beautiful. Jeanne gave us each a framed, blown-up picture from their wedding one Christmas. I treasure mine, as I'm sure all my siblings do theirs.

My father's favorite saying was, "Don't let them shut it off or take it away." That's how this "live in the moment" guy ran our family and trained us. We lived beyond our means, but we had things no other family had like a swimming pool: first above-ground; then in-ground. The pools were a wonderful way for us to be together as a family and bring our friends home.

Other family outings included day trips to Ashland State Park, when my mother packed a huge picnic lunch and we played by the pond, swimming and running around all day. In the early years, our parents took us to the drive-in movies. My father hated  indoor theater, so the drive-in was the only way my mother or any of us would get to see a movie with him. It was really fun. Most of the time, we fell asleep in the back of the station wagon before the movie was over.

There were several years we rented a house for a week on Rexhame Beach in Marshfield, MA, or "U Need A Week" cottage on a lake in New Hampshire. I have so many fond memories of those vacation weeks, picking blueberries, playing in the sand and waves, hanging indoors on rainy days playing with my "Colorforms", or swimming in the lake and having ice delivered for our "ice box" by the ice man. Many times, our grandparents, Gummy and Papa, joined us. Those were wonderful days. We still have silent, black & white, home movies of Rexhame Beach that make us laugh every time.

I guess there are more happy memories than I first remembered. My father was an unhappy man in his heart; angry, but incredibly intelligent. He never graduated high school, but loved to lecture us when he got drunk. He was an alcoholic, and life with him was not easy to say the least. But, he was a loving man. He loved babies. He couldn't get enough of them. When after thirteen pregnancies and twelve children, my parents stopped having them, he got tremendous pleasure from the next generation, "Give me that baby!", he'd growl and sit with it on his chest contentedly for hours. He'd smile and watch television, while each baby slept on his chest happily.

He did the best he could with what he had. He was a hard worker. He always had more than one job. He was a "live hard; die young" kinda guy. He died of a burst heart aneurysm in his sleep at age fifty-seven, a year after my brother, Paul, died from viral meningitis. His heart broke when Paul died, and I believe that was the beginning of his end. As the oldest, I was the substitute father when Dad wasn't around. A lot was expected of me, and I learned early on to be a parent. My father learned by doing, and so do I. He took risks, and taught us to do the same. Only in taking risks does one learn and grow. But he took chances as well. He lived unsafely, and had lots to prove to the world. I loved him, but I also hated him. Hate is a very strong word. I didn't hate him, I just resented his extreme behavior and he made me very angry. His drunken behavior was embarrassing, and I resented that too. But he was a sad man. My heart aches for him.

I had a dream a year or so after he died. He came into my bedroom, leaned against the radiator with arms folded across his chest looking very sad, shaking his head back and forth and said, "I really fucked up." I took this to mean in his life. But, I believe in life after death. I believe he has been reborn in my nephew, Michael. Michael is doing very well now. He is married, owns his own home and seems very happy. Knowing Mike is happy, makes me believe my father is finally happy. That fact makes me happy.

I love you Dad. Thanks for everything. I learned a lot from you and I really appreciate it. I hope you are happy now. I have to believe you are.

You're never too old to really live.

The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel is a movie of hope and dreams. It's a feel-good movie that demonstrates life doesn't end when we get older. Characters are challenged to follow their hearts and defy familial and social expectations. Others decide it's a great time to begin a whole new life...in India.

The story reminds us that change can be a good thing, and that making the best of a bad situation really is the preferably choice. For one, returning to India means fulfilling a life-long search for love and redemption. It is a heartwarming story full of great lines. Dev Patel's character as the young hotel manager says it best, "Everything will turn out fine in the end. If everything is not fine; it's not the end!"

The scenes in India made me realize that I am not interested in going there anytime soon. I don't know how that country really is, but the streets were crowded, noisy and chaotic. One character just could not adjust and had to get out. I don't know if I'd be like her if I were faced with living in that environment for the rest of my days. But the remaining characters found comfort and purpose amidst the chaos, and those discoveries made for a well-rounded, very sweet film. Larry and I both liked it very much. I don't consider it necessarily a "big screen" movie, so nothing would be lost by watching it through Pay-Per-View or Netflicks on the small screen. Do see it, though, if you haven't already. It will make you smile and feel good when you walk out of the theater.

One of the fun parts of seeing this movie for me was going to the Jane Pickens Theater in Newport, RI. This building has been around for over one hundred seventy years and has been a theater for over ninety of those years. Walking into the foyer was like returning to the movie theaters of my childhood: old buildings with one screen in a huge room full of comfy seats. By the end of the movie, I didn't even smell the mustiness anymore that so insulted my nose when we first sat down. I felt like we were sitting in Grandma's attic. It was charming.

There was only one preview of the soon-to-be-released movie, Moonrise Kingdom, shot in Rhode Island, specifically here in Tiverton and on Prudence Island off of Bristol. The rest were commercials about Newport and the America's Cup Race coming back here on June 23rd. We also learned that Rhode Island School of Design (RISD) has designed a complete renovation of this building; combining its historic features with a contemporary twist. I don't know the plan for this renovation or the timeframe, but if it happens, it will give a new facelift to an already wonderful old gal.

Another "road less travelled".

 It occurred to me during my long walk the other day, how easily negative thinking can take hold. I can be upbeat and happy one day; down and depressed the very next day. Sometimes these darker feelings take a few days to build before I realize I'm caught in their net. I'm not a psycho, I"m just in a life transition with no clear path foward. It's ok. I'm just trying to relax into it and see where it leads.

These feelings surface as a result of old internal scars I carry, just like everyone else. The scars result from emotional and psychological injuries experienced, one at a time, over the course of my life. During my youth, I barely acknowledged my injuries: sloughing them off trying to be the "tough Yankee", just like my grandmother. "Don't cry", "Don't be a baby", "Toughen up", "Shake it off".

As I grew older, I began to question the validity of this philosophy. I didn't see my grandmother as a particularly happy person, but I decided long ago that I would be. I also realized that every choice I made in life fell into two categories: will it make me happy or miserable? If the latter, I tried to choose differently. I had a child alone because his father was a miserable person: very nice, but very unhappy and angry. I asked him to marry me because it was expected. When he said, "No", I was very relieved. I really didn't want to marry him.

I bought a house alone, with the help of a generous benefactor friend who I repaid over time, because I didn't believe I would meet someone in time to buy one with a husband. I had a house in mind, and the timing was right, so I just jumped in with both feet, like  I usually do with risk. The house I wanted in Newton was not the house I ended up buying because the owner wouldn't sell it to me for the price I wanted to pay. I was much happier with the house I bought in Natick anyway. It was a great choice, and now my sister is enjoying it. It became an heirloom I didn't expect.

I know I am a different type of person from anyone else in my family. Acquaintances think being different means creating a role-model image for others to follow; breaking the ice so others can see a new path as being possible. I agree with these ideas, but being different is also very painful and lonely. There are positives and negatives to any life choice. Achieving balance with these swings is very important to being happy, but developing a tough skin is even better protection. The problem is that I had an easier time with sloughing off criticism or humor at my expense years ago. I have a much harder time doing that now.

I spent much of my life fighting for whatever I wanted. I have high expectations of myself and others. Larry thinks this is the source of many of my problems. He's right to a certain extent. Having expectations only leads to disappointment. Some philosophers say one should strive to have no expectations of anyone or anything; therein lies true happiness. Once again, I think a balance between these two extremes needs to be struck. How can one move forward without some expectation of a positive result of one's actions?

Sometimes I feel like a flower being choked out by the weeds. But, regardless of the amount of weeds that grow up around me, I strive to bloom brightly nonetheless; grow taller than those who try to choke or suffocate me. In so doing, I become stronger and brighter, but those efforts are not achieved without their own kind of pain. My mother used to say, "You can't be beautiful without a little pain" (or something to that affect). And then there's always, "No pain; no gain".

I don't believe in the power of pain. I believe if things are meant to be, they should be painlessly acquired. I have experienced this painless happiness many times, so I know "I'm not just blowin' smoke out my ass." My mother-in-law above all else taught me the power of our minds. She had a condition called, Conversion Disorder. I witnessed the power of the dark side on her when her condition caused medical symptoms that fooled even the professionals. But watching her pain also made me realize this power could be harnessed toward the Light. Following this latter path is much more difficult, but I have to believe it will be much more fulfilling as well. This is the road I travel. Hope I see you along the way.