“John Fitzgerald Kennedy” (1917-1963) by Alfred Eisenstaedt
I really don’t know why it is that all of us are so committed to the sea, except I think it’s because in addition to the fact that the sea changes, and the light changes and ships change, it’s because we all came from the sea. And it is an interesting biological fact that all of us have, in our veins, the exact same percentage of salt in our blood, in our sweat in our tears. We are tied to the ocean. And when we go back to the sea – whether it is to sail or to watch it – we are going back from whence we came. ~ John Fitzgerald Kennedy (John F. Kennedy in His Own Words)
On August 7, 1961, when I was four years old, President John F. Kennedy, a long-time summer resident of Cape Cod, signed a bill authorizing the establishment of Cape Cod National Seashore. Tim & I spent many of our childhood summers at our grandparents’ homes on the Cape, and we have visited the National Seashore countless times as children, and as adults, too, bringing our own children there to explore nature and discover history.
The Kate is a relatively small venue, very cozy and intimate, and we thoroughly enjoyed seeing Dar Williams perform there. We didn’t even mind having to sit a row apart, in the same seats, Tim in the row behind me. But Tim wasn’t in his seat much, poor guy. He still has a lingering cough from the bad cold he caught early in January. For much of the concert he was out in the lobby, where he could listen to the music without disturbing the rest of the audience.
Dar was amazing! These are some of the songs I remember her singing – no doubt there were some more: February ~ The Light and the Sea ~ The Beauty of the Rain ~ If I Wrote You ~ Buzzer ~ I Have Been Around the World ~ When Sal’s Burned Down ~ Mercy of the Fallen ~ Crystal Creek ~ Storm King, which she dedicated to Pete Seeger. All of us joined her in singing If I Had A Hammer in memory of him, too. Her stories in-between the songs were heartwarming and funny. It was wonderful spending an evening immersed in her music and inspiring lyrics. Beyond wonderful…
“North Star” by Alphonse Mucha
Oh my fair North Star I have held to you dearly I had asked you to steer me ‘Til one cloud scattered night
I got lost in my travels I met Leo the lion Met a king and met a giant With their errant knight
There’s the wind and the rain And the mercy of the fallen Who say they have no claim To know what’s right
There’s the weak and the strong And the beds that have no answer And that’s where I may rest my head tonight
There’s the weak and the strong And the many stars that guide us We have some of them inside us
We recently discovered there is a festive parade in the town of Essex, Connecticut, on Groundhog Day! (February 2) It was fun to see people from near and far celebrating the occasion (also known as Candlemas and Imbolc) by wearing groundhog hats, watching the parade, and then following the procession while banging on pots and pans brought from home. It’s nice to have a holiday to brighten up the season between the Winter Solstice and the Spring Equinox!
If Candlemas Day is bright and clear, there’ll be two winters in the year. ~ Scottish Proverb
We brought our groundhog, Basil, and his new son, Basil, Jr., along with us. The day was not bright and clear in Essex so perhaps there will be only “one” winter this year. Enjoy the parade!
Tim waiting with the Basils ~ 2.2.14 ~ Essex, Connecticut
all the way from Long Island, New York ~ 2.2.14 ~ Essex, Connecticut
2.2.14 ~ Essex, Connecticut
a well prepared spectator ~ 2.2.14 ~ Essex, Connecticut
a little too cold for surfing, if you ask me ~ 2.2.14 ~ Essex, Connecticut
2.2.14 ~ Essex, Connecticut
2.2.14 ~ Essex, Connecticut
all the way from Michigan! ~ 2.2.14 ~ Essex, Connecticut
2.2.14 ~ Essex, Connecticut
2.2.14 ~ Essex, Connecticut
2.2.14 ~ Essex, Connecticut
the shadow knows ~ 2.2.14 ~ Essex, Connecticut
2.2.14 ~ Essex, Connecticut
Next year I will try to get a few pictures of all the folks clanging on their pots and pans!
1° F here this frigid morning… Winter storm Bethany dumped some snow on us Thursday and Friday, and this morning I peeked out the window to see what kind of shoveling job I have ahead of me this afternoon, when it should be a little bit warmer. It doesn’t look like many of our neighbors have been out to shovel either. The world seems so still in the cold.
It was a production getting the bathroom warm enough to take a shower in! But now that I am clean and swathed in extra layers of clothing, I decided to find a painting and type out a few words for a blog post. It’s a start.
Not surprisingly, after nine months of unrelenting stress, my poor husband has succumbed to a bad cold. He’s tucked in on the couch, watching old movies and science fiction movies – a well-deserved rest from his care-giving. I’m bringing him soup, tissues, medicines, hot tea with honey. It’s going to take us a long time to recuperate and rebuild after a rolling stone entered our lives, in the form of his brother Toby.
A rolling stone gathers no moss But leaves a trail of busted stuff ~ Dave Matthews ♫ (Busted Stuff) ♫
I hesitate to write much about the past year and the the joys and sorrows it brought, all blessings, some in disguise. Toby was easy to love but impossible to live with. Yet somehow we did it. I still had much to learn about family love and pain and trust and compassion. My heart is full of gratitude as I hibernate here in the winter to contemplate and heal…
Late this morning, Tim’s brother died here at our home, where he had come to live out his last days with terminal bladder cancer. He was only 53, and he struggled to live fully until the bitter end. We feel blessed by all the family who have come at various times to help us through this sad chapter in our lives. Fran and Josh were here at the end, and we are all relieved that Toby has been released from his suffering.
Our life is a faint tracing on the surface of mystery. ~ Annie Dillard (Pilgrim at Tinker Creek)
On October 18th, the Rodgers branch of the family headed out to Provincetown, at the very end of the Cape Cod peninsula, where we spent many a vacation when our kids were growing up. We thought it would be deserted, since the summer season is well over, but it was Women’s Week, and the streets were crowded with visitors. Exhausted from the emotions and activities of the previous day, we had lunch and did some shopping, but didn’t stay too long. But before we left I kept taking pictures of signs – there were so many creative ones…
10.18.13 ~ Provincetown, Massachusetts
10.18.13 ~ Provincetown, Massachusetts
10.18.13 ~ Provincetown, Massachusetts
10.18.13 ~ Provincetown, Massachusetts
10.18.13 ~ Provincetown, Massachusetts
a couple enjoying Women’s Week festivities together
10.18.13 ~ Provincetown, Massachusetts
10.18.13 ~ Provincetown, Massachusetts
10.18.13 ~ Provincetown, Massachusetts
An historic fishing port, Provincetown is situated at the tip of Cape Cod in an area of spectacular natural beauty, surrounded by miles of dunes and beaches. Provincetown has a diverse and singular history. The Pilgrims first landed in Provincetown in 1620 and signed the Mayflower Compact, a declaration of self-determination and radical thought that characterizes the history and people of Provincetown, even today. Provincetown has been home to sailors, pirates, fishermen, painters, and authors for centuries. In the nineteenth century, Provincetown, with the largest and safest natural harbor on the New England coast, was one of the greatest and busiest seaports in the country. The rich texture of cultural and social influences has produced a sense of place that is uniquely Provincetown. For over a century, these special qualities have attracted artists, tourists, and bohemians who have then blended with the local population and produced a unique community character. Provincetown is truly like nowhere else. ~ Town of Provincetown website
looking towards Pilgrim Monument from out on MacMillan Pier, where fishing and whale-watching boats are moored in Provincetown Harbor
granddaughter Eliza found her own “sign” to bring home
dragonfly magic ~ 10.17.13 ~ Harwich Center, Massachusetts
On our mother’s birthday, October 17th, my sister Beverly and I went early to the cemetery in Harwich for some time alone with our parents and our memories, bringing along Papa’s ashes in a nature-inspired wooden casket. After we placed some flowers around the gravestones of our parents and grandparents, a small red dragonfly landed on our parents’ stone. Its presence was a special gift…
more dragonfly magic ~ 10.17.13 ~ Harwich Center, Massachusetts
A little later, as we were remembering our grandparents, the dragonfly flew over to perch on their gravestone, too, just above the “E” in White. And there was another special moment after the rest of the family started arriving. A small red dragonfly landed on my brother-in-law’s shoulder and stayed there for a long while. John was the one who was Papa’s primary caregiver for all these years, and it was good to have him appreciated and acknowledged in this meaningful way. I like to think it was the same dragonfly, but can’t know for sure…
10.17.13 ~ Harwich Center, Massachusetts
When we had all gathered around in a circle, Tim read my little essay about my father – I knew I couldn’t read it without sobbing – and then my cousin Matthew read messages from his father (my uncle) and his sister (my cousin). And then everyone began sharing their own memories. After that, Beverly lowered the casket full of Papa’s ashes deep into the ground, and then most of us took turns shoveling the earth back over him. It was a beautiful autumn day and our little ceremony felt so natural and intimate.
returned to the earth ~ 10.17.13 ~ Harwich Center, Massachusetts
Our parents are together now. The next thing I knew, everyone – there were 14 of us – wanted to go to another cemetery in Dennis, to see where our great-grandparents and two generations before them lie buried. (Swan Lake Cemetery) It was quite something to show my granddaughter the graves of her 5th-great-grandparents, who were immigrants from Norway and Ireland, and tell her how they met here in America and raised their family on Cape Cod, and how he was a sea-captain…
favorite things, Papa was very fond of this baby lynx picture in his last years, we kept it hanging on the wall in his bedroom
After that little expedition we all made our way over to Yarmouth to eat at the Hearth ‘n’ Kettle, a favorite restaurant of the family. We toasted those who came before us with Cape Codders (vodka, cranberry juice, lime wedge) and enjoyed a delicious leisurely dinner. And then we returned to our rented house and had my parents’ favorite birthday cakes as we gathered around the spacious dining room table – lemon jello cake in honor of my mother and chocolate butter-cream in honor of my father.
10.17.13 ~ Harwich, Massachusetts
In the evening we piled into the living room and watched a football game while shelling and munching on peanuts, and drinking Papa’s favorite beer. It was my kids’ idea – they have fond memories of shelling peanuts with their Grandpa while he was watching football on TV. It was good to be with family – sharing memories together – some of us had not seen each other in a very long time.
Whenever we were at a funeral, for people or pets, ever since I was a little girl, my father always advised us to remember the good times. And so we did.
On October 16th, Tim & I drove to Providence to pick up Nate, who was flying in from Georgia. Then it was on to Cape Cod where we had rented a big house (six bedrooms, five bathrooms!) for several days, so the family could gather and bury my father’s ashes together. When Nate unpacked, he gave me this beautiful gift he brought for me from his nephew, Dominic, age 5. I kept it standing on my dresser while I was there, a cheerful image to behold each morning when I woke up. Thank you so much, Dominic!!!
Little did I know there would be more dragonfly magic the next day…
That without suspecting it you should send me the preferred flower of life, seems almost supernatural, and the sweet glee that I felt at meeting it, I could confide to none. I still cherish the clutch with which I bore it from the ground when a wondering Child, an unearthly booty, and maturity only enhances the mystery, never decreases it. ~ Emily Dickinson (Letter to Mabel Loomis Todd, September 1882)
“The preferred flower of life” Emily is referring to is the Indian pipe, a ghostly flower with no chlorophyll. Like Emily, I was captivated by Indian pipes as a child, whenever I found them while playing in the woods. Native to New England, the flowers are about 3/4 of an inch long, and bloom from June to September. In one of her poems, Emily compares it to a spirit: “‘Tis whiter than an Indian Pipe –” (#1513)
My father has been in the hospital this month with a pulmonary embolism, a blood clot in his lung. He is too old (91) and too frail to tolerate a treatment with clot busters, so the doctor is opting for a conservative treatment with blood thinners. Time will tell if this will be helpful or not. Now that he is home he is hooked up to oxygen around the clock. It’s been a very stressful time for all of us, and I’ve spent many hours at Dad’s bedside, leaving Tim here to cope with his terminally ill brother, Toby.
These Indian pipes (aka ghost plant, ghost pipe) were growing near Dad’s house in the woods, and the sight of them stirred up some pleasant childhood memories for me. I put the camera on the ground for this shot and was delighted with the results! A bug’s eye view!
