Pull the Curtains on Today

Glimmers of hope and goodness, yes, but hard times, too.

Not convinced I am properly equipped to be the mother of my teenage girl. To hug these bends with her, to keep my hands on the wheel, my eye on the road, on the horizon. To help her keep her eye there, too. To not lose sight of the forest for the trees. Not spin totally out of control at the roadblocks. And by that I mean, as her mother, to not fall apart but rather think clearly, calmly and constructively.

Can't say too much in this public space, so that's the beginning, middle and end of this post.

Lower the shades, pull up the covers.

Struggling, I say to you, good night.

Should Old Acquaintance Be Forgot and Never Brought to Mind?

My parents loved going to Elaine and Romeo Bergamini's home in New Rochelle, NY for New Year's Eve. Elaine and my mom were lifelong friends and on December 31, they toasted the new year with two other girlhood pals--the two Dots [short for Dorothy]--and their husbands.

I tagged along when I was a young teen, sitting in the backseat of the Chevy Nova, hanging out in the basement with the younger of the Bergaminis' nine children. I witnessed the adults' laughter and love. The shrimp, the drinks [Manhattans for my parents, most likely], the "meltaway" danish from a local bakery at midnight. The milk in glass bottles, a novelty to me. The smiles, the pure delight these friends showed at just being in each other's company on the brink of another year.

For years now, the New Year's Eve party has been disbanded. The group of eight dwindled long ago to just Dad, and [we think] one of the Dots, though Dad has lost touch with her.

So tonight I went to Van Dyk to see Dad before heading to the festive party Paige and Gary hosted--a party with sparkly clothes, paper noisemakers, delicious food and ice-cold champagne. None of us in wheelchairs, none of us in adult diapers.

I brought Dad some Swiss cheese [a favorite] and we had some chocolate and called David Bergamini, the youngest of the nine, on my cell phone. He now lives in the New Rochelle house with his own wife and kids.

Dad's smile was big when I handed him the phone to talk to David. When he passed it back to me and David and I got to talking for a while, Dad said more than once, Ask him if he's heard from Dot. He hadn't.

Other Voices, Other Rooms
I don't know, David--if you turned the lights off and sat in that dining room tonight, could you have channeled them all? Seen your mom and mine laughing and chatting, their cheeks flushed, circle pins of pearls or woven gold on the bodices of their wool dresses? Seen your mother's kind, wide smile? Seen your dad and mine talking like brothers about the small, simple villages in Italy that their families came from?

Would you hear the clink of glasses, the oohs and aahs when the big chilled cocktail shrimp were served?

What were our parents wishing for? What did they toast? What did they have, and what did they want? Most of the eight died way before their time.

If you turn out the lights and listen, what will you hear?

For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne.
We'll take a cup o' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.  

Homeward Bound

The Belfast Boathouse, right at the bottom of John's street.
Sug and I like walking there. How dull it is to walk at home, in comparison. Photo by Kevin Kratka, http://www.kratkaphotography.com/.

I generally don't like leaving Maine or the Cape once I'm here. I've gotten so comfortable. I love exploring another place, getting hot cocoa in another place, taking naps in another place, walking Sug in another place.

Tomorrow I will wake to an alarm for the first time since Christmas Eve, when I went to the morning yoga class. We will pack our bags and head for the hills--the ones we'll slice through on our way back to Jersey.

It feels boring to go back home. When we drove up under the stars, our car was full of wrapped gifts and cookies to deliver. Now, the bows are off and the tins are empty. Plus, we will be driving in stark daylight.

Tomorrow will be a week since I've done laundry, opened bills, faced housework, or done any work work. I've taken my turn to do many dishes here [John doesn't have a dishwasher], but I didn't mind a bit.

The other reason I don't like leaving Maine is because our biannual trips are a big mile marker, and who knows what will happen before next time--whether we all will change or remain the same.

We've come twice a year for the 20 years we've been married--over Thanksgiving or Christmas, and for Fourth of July week [except some years, like when it was my mother-in-law's 80th birthday in October 2009, so we came three times]. By this summer, Figgy, and all of us, will be six months older [and in my case, maybe wearier]. How will my father be? Will I be trimmer? It will be swimsuit season in July! [I always hope I will have lost weight between these markers but it does not always happen.] How will our house be? What about our work, our health, our finances? How will our Figgy girl be? How about our nephews and nieces? They will be six months older, too. That's a big jump.

Sure, I will see Leah in NYC, since she lives there. I might see John, her Dad, if he comes to visit. I might catch any of the brothers--or our nieces or nephews--as they drive through the area. But it's not the same as being here, with them all popping in to John's house at different times, all of us sitting down to bowls of chili on a cold winter's night.

Sigh. The time has come. Must face the fact that I will brushing with John's tube of Tom's of Maine toothpaste for the last time until next time.

Signing off grateful for gracious hosts like John and Leah, Eileen and Mike.

Sweet dreams.

The Good List

Chase's Daily, on Main Street in Belfast, ME,  has the best homemade breads, fine cheeses and farm produce.

Good things today:

• Reading.
• Shopping for groceries at the Belfast Co-op--perusing all of the wonderful things, the spices sold by the ounce, the carob, the fresh local turkey breast, the tiny handmade chocolate turtle candies [45 cents each], the trout spread, the smoked Maine mussels. Considered getting shrimp for the enchiladas I was making tonight, but the man behind the counter said the shrimp were not due from Port Clyde [Port Clyde!] until the afternoon. I was getting my ingredients ready so I could do dinner right upon returning from the mall. [Yes, Figgy and her cousin Taylor are plunk in the middle of gorgeous nature, but she and he wanted to go the Bangor Mall to meet a friend. It was a one-hour drive to get there.]
• Going to Chase's Daily for a wedge of Fontina cheese for the enchiladas [in retrospect, a tangy Cheddar would have been better], and a single perfect Boston cream donut, light, airy and artfully topped with dark chocolate frosting. The young woman who worked there and I were raving about how incredible it was, how unindustrial, unlike the ones stamped out at Dunkin' Donuts.
• Rolling past snowy mountains and icy lakes. Seeing beautiful bare trees, dark, stark and storybooklike against the sinking sun at about 4:45 P.M.
• Taking music turns in the car with Figgy and Taylor, so we each played our list for 15-minute intervals. It's only fair--I can't listen to their stuff all the time. They plugged their iPods into the sound system--I played a CD I love, with "Home on the Range" on it. They rolled their eyes, but I didn't care. A dose of old-fashioned music is good for them, and it feeds my soul.
• The time to sit and observe Bangor in action while the teens I came with roamed the mall. Watching jeans, hairstyles, jackets, boots go by. Noting that babies are adorable everywhere. Seeing a couple interact shyly at Zales: The Diamond Store, right across from my chair. Checking the stock at Hickory Farms, where everything was marked down 50 percent [the sausages, cheese blocks, cheese balls and fudge went fast]. 
• Talking to Dad--about how much he paid in the past to get a driveway shoveled in a blizzard, and how he loved the plate of Turtle Bars I brought him last week.
• Cooking dinner, and Leah making a fresh green salad in a big wooden bowl. All of us eating by candlelight.
• Watching Hitchcock's The Birds with family tonight in this cozy house with the picket fence...screening the rental video has become a winter tradition we love.

Good night.

Snowbound with Jackie's Cook

This is a photo from Jackie's earlier life, prior to meeting Marta--but I love the glimpse of this family scene.

Of course I could have gone out today. I usually do, to get exercise in the cold fresh air. But nope, except for ducking out with Sug several times so she could do her business, I stayed inside John's house, napping, visiting, listening to music, watching H. make bread and soup for supper, and reading. Talking on the phone, too, to check in with Dad, Sis, Moey. Texting my friend Anne. Chatting with H.'s brothers around the old farmhouse table about the landmarks here in Belfast, Maine that appear in the classic movie Peyton Place. Eating one too many Turtle Bars, I'm afraid.

John and Leah have nice cookbooks I love to read. Today I've been absorbed in Cooking for Madam: Recipes and Reminiscences from the Home of Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis, by Marta Sgubin, governess for Caroline and JFK Jr. and later, cook for the family.

I love reading all things Kennedy, and this book is peppered with references to family traditions and favorite dishes. The recipes sound good, too. Diana Vreeland loved Marta's Shepherd's Pie so much that she requested it when coming for dinner.

I'm cooking dinner one night here, and maybe I will make one of Marta's recipes. Here's the amazon link to the book, published in 1998 with a cover price of $30: http://www.amazon.com/Cooking-Madam-Recipes-Reminiscences-Jacqueline/dp/0684850052/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1293507120&sr=1-1.

Good night. Drifting off on a sack of flour and a puff of sugar dust.

Snow, Snow, Snow

I love the old Technicolor movie White Christmas from 1954.
This is one of my favorite scenes, where the foursome sings "Snow" on their train ride to Vermont.

When I spoke to Sis at 10 P.M., she said they already have about a foot of snow in her part of Connecticut. Here in Maine, a big group of Hurleys [H. and all four of his brothers, plus assorted kids, wives, girlfriends etc.] had piled into Mike and Therese's movie theatre to see True Grit at 7:10. I liked it a lot, especially the look at life in the late 1800s and wild chances taken on the wide open land. I also liked the main character's straightforward confidence, unusual in a girl of 14, especially then, I would imagine.

By the time the movie was over, the snow was falling and the streets were thickly frosted. The strings of old-fashioned lights that the town puts up every year looked so pretty.

Leah and I walked home [just five minutes], loving the sparkling freshness. H., Figgy and our nephew Taylor drove instead. Figgy said her boots were too slippy to handle snow.

We hope to sled tomorrow. Still saying my prayers, still a lot to ask God for, a lot of patches to be lovingly sewn in a very imperfect life. A lot to trust in, a lot to forgive [if I choose to], a lot to face, a lot to struggle to understand, a lot to muddle through. But I can square my shoulders and lift my chin and stand up to you, Life. Yes I can.

Good night.