Can She Make a Cherry Pie, Charming Billy?*

Can you smell the cherry filling and the golden-brown butter dough?

It's 3:23 p.m. on Friday, a blue-sky summer day. Yesterday, Dan and I came over to this house, owned by his brother John in Belfast, Maine. Right on the coast. The bay is at the foot of the hill. 

We picked cherries (pie cherries, sour cherries) from his 40-year-old cherry tree and pitted them. It was an old-time chore, and it was nourishing. It felt like time stood still. 

Felt like we three were quilting together around a table, though not out on the prairie. We talked as we pitted dozens of pretty red globes. We talked about the milk delivered in glass bottles that the Hurleys got in Teaneck before their parents divorced, when money got tight. As the youngest of five brothers, Dan did not remember the milkbox. But as the oldest, John did.

Then today, when all of the Hurley brothers went for a walk at 1 p.m., I came back over to bake a cherry pie--actually two, since we picked enough for double.

John has turned to the recipe for Fresh Cherry Pie from The Joy of Cooking, a golden source for everything. But I used Melissa Clark's New York Times version from 2023, adding a little capful of almond extract.

This morning, I met my sister-in-law Sheila at the outdoor Belfast Farmers' Market (since 1980). I got a sweet-smelling sweet pea bouquet plus red and rainbow beets from New Beat Farm and a cucumber and cream cheese bagel sandwich from Spark Bagel (that had a very long line). Also: Hibiscus Rose Iced Tea, very good. I'm still nursing it.

I love these simple pleasures. For an extra $2, I purchased a small mason jar to ferry the sweet peas back to New Jersey tomorrow.

The jury is still out on how the pie will taste. The crust looks a bit too browned and hard but oh well. Melissa Clark suggests serving with whipped cream or ice cream.

I hope you can breathe in some simple joys. And I hope I can continue to do so once I return home.

*From an old English nursery song. Song lyrics here.

Drinking in Maine Peace

Dan, Figgy and I are up in Maine. Punch didn't want to join us, and things didn't exactly go well when we forced her to come last summer. We can't leave our teen at home alone, so Florida Orange (our goddaughter) and her husband have Punch visiting down in Florida. Very nice. They have a sweet new baby girl and Punch loves tropical climates and babies, so it's a good fit. She flew down from Newark Airport and is away the same week we are. We are house- and cat-sitting for dear family here, so that's lucky, and nice, too.

Some notes of peace and joy:

• Beautiful breeze in the trees.
• Fun ride up with Figgy. But by the end, 10 p.m. ish, she said Mom, you talk constantly. Which I do. I'm driving back with Dan Tuesday. Fig has to leave Monday for work.
• Taking care of Pat and Martha's garden. It is so lovely and fertile, bursting with orange, yellow, rose-red, geranium-pink. I wish our gardens were like this. The Maine coast just seems perfect for bright, colorful blooms.
• Lovable fat cat.
• Boats in the harbor.
• Book in my hand.
• Vermont yogurt for breakfast.
• Good coffee from Downshift in Belfast (espresso blend).
• We plan a day to walk and sightsee at Acadia National Park.
• Dan went to the strawberry farm this morning but the red gems were all picked by 11 a.m. We hope to go back Monday or Tuesday, 8 a.m.
• My mother-in-law came to the BBQ. Her daughter rented a van and her sons helped her in, and drove her back. She is 95 and even though she is forgetting a lot, she is remembering some things, too. Like my name, Alice. She also liked looking at the pond and the trees and feeling the breeze.
• Hotdogs and burgers on the grill, cooked by Mike. Grey Poupon mustard.
• Quiet time to process my brother's death. It was June 11, so quick and so recent. I have many thoughts about this, especially that John was estranged from us for decades and at the end of his life, we were involved in the most intimate details, even in cleaning out his apartment in the East Village. He told me last year that he had started to bake desserts weekly and was enjoying it. Going through his cabinets--vanilla extract, cake mix, boxes of brown sugar, cans of frosting. It all felt intimate, all of it. Not just his clothing and photos and letters but also his groceries, the chicken in the freezer, the can of San Marzano tomatoes I brought him January 1. The balsamic vinegar, the boxes of pasta.
• The walking bridge here in Belfast, so lovely. Taking strides by people on the side who hold fishing poles over the bay.

I'm trying to stay in the moment. We have been in touch with Florida Orange and Punch.....they seem good, too. Plus F.O. and husband have a big dog! Punch loves dogs. Good night.

My Eldest Brother Has Left the Building

My brother John. Photo from @internationalbarnyc.

Please check this charming story from The International Bar in the East Village, via the owner, my brother John’s younger friend Tyler. ("I love that guy," Tyler said when he heard John was in the ICU earlier this month.)

STORY FROM EV GRIEVE: https://evgrieve.com/2025/06/rip-john-garbarini.html?m=1. That post links to the obituary I was honored to write about my brother. He would have turned 73 today.

Another of his close friends, stylish artist Bobby Dean of Sophie’s Bar in the EV, held the first memorial service mentioned in the obituary. Dan, Figgy, Punch, Sis, Celia, Nancy, Nicole and I all attended that one, along with many admirers. We brought subs (prosciutto, mozzarella, eggplant etc.) and Torrone nougat candy from old-school Russo’s and mini pastries from venerable Veniero’s, 2 doors away. (Our Italian grandma, Rosie, often brought us Torrone when she visited Dumont.) A table in the corner held a framed photo of John; a martini with olives (his favorite drink, Bobby Dean said); a copy of The New York Times crossword puzzle; and a pitcher of blue and pink hydrangea blooms I clipped from our shrub in Montclair. We toasted our brother and friend.

I’m out of town on a planned trip now so will miss tomorrow's farewell at The International Bar. Sis and friends Edie, Walter and Margaret, I think, will represent.

I regret to say that our family's relationship with my brother was strained and estranged for many years after our mother's death in 1981. He was smart, talented, well-read, funny--and an enigma, a man of mystery. I blogged about it here. But Sis and I were back in touch as of 2023 at least, so that is good. 

With Dan, we met John for lunch at a Mexican restaurant one spring day. On Good Friday 2024, I had lunch with my friend Celia in the city at a restaurant that serves food like Ukrainian Veselka. I told her my brother's apartment address and she said it was right around the corner. We found the hidden apartment, behind a building with a locked gate and a special code, and said hi face-to-face. And on New Year's Day 2025, Dan and I drove in, met Celia, entered the code and dropped off some homemade Marcella Hazan Tomato Sauce; a black & white photo of blonde toddler John with our young mother, near the waves on Cape Cod; a small bowl from my parents' wedding china for remembrance. John came to the door, sat on the seat of his walker, talked with us.

Dad told me once: "Mommy and I used to swing John Joseph in the waves and he laughed so much."

May there be laughter, peace and healing after we leave this land for the heavens. And a feeling of unconditional love, acceptance and respect.

The John Garbarini coasters Tyler made, so cool.

Catching Up: Spring Break & Easter Sunday

Figgy and me on Easter Sunday with Sis's sweet dog, Galena, aka Little Professor. 🍒🌸

Sorry to scrunch this all together in one post, but it's a constant push-pull. Do I have time to blog, which I love and miss, or should I Swiffer the dirty kitchen floor, feed the pansies and perennials in the garden, take a walk or send out story pitches? 

Load the dishwasher so I'm set up in a clean kitchen to cook another healthy meal or wait for Dan to get back and wade through that full counter and sink? (I'm opting for the latter today. But keeping up with an organized, usable kitchen cycle also encourages Punch, who enjoys cooking, with and without friends, including code name Romeo.) Yesterday I made a broccoli Cheddar quiche and still haven't cleaned up. If I have an assignment, I do focus on that first and foremost. After all, an editor is waiting on the other end. But in between, things get murkier.

Last week (April 14 to 18, including Good Friday) was Punch's high school spring break. It was Dan's idea to spend a couple of nights in a nice/splurge hotel in the city, where we could go to a Broadway show, see NYC sights on foot and P and I could get spa treatments. We took the NJ Transit train in and out of NYC from Montclair and the round trip cost (for each senior! age 62 and up) is only $8.10!!!! It was more comfortable than a crowded airplane, and the ride is under an hour. We enjoyed facials and pampering, and Dan and I saw "Oh, Mary!" on Broadway. Lots of laughs and wit, period details and a clever twist on Lincoln-era history. Cole Escola, 38, born in Clatskanie, Oregon, wrote and stars in the play. They are gifted.

Back in Montclair at 11:30 a.m. Easter Mass, I saw a single, beautiful white flowering branch on the altar. (My true friends at Bartlett's Greenhouses & Florist, a 100-year-old (+) family business in Clifton, do the Saint Cassian's flowers.) I saw pretty pink fashions on women--a mom and wife in flowy, taffy pink pants, the hems pooling over her high heels. A twenty something, with her boyfriend, wore an expensive sweater with subtle pinks and golds in the weave. Her brunette hair had a few copper highlights from the sun. I didn't spot a single Easter bonnet, but maybe I just missed them. I arrived late and didn't get a seat. Being old*, I had to go downstairs and sit a bit because unlike most Sunday Masses, Easter Mass was long, well over an hour. A long time to stand in heels. I liked the priest's white and gold vestment, the little girls in floral dresses, their well-dressed, well-behaved and attractive young parents, Dads in sweater vests, good shoes. I liked it all, that slice of Catholic life on a happy occasion. I thought of my own parents, how it must have been to bring four children to church. Wow.

Two nights and three days in a NYC hotel. Love that blue sofa.

I felt like we had a NYC studio apt. for that short time. Sunset was pretty. 

But I couldn't sleep the first night, Sunday. Trucks backing up, brakes screeching all night. 

Sanitation trucks? Mail trucks? I was up til 4:30 a.m. The second night, I slept like a baby.

 

Code name Romeo, Punch and Punch's friend in hotel room, 19th floor.

The friends bussed in and joined for one night. We had a suite.

Breakfast was included in the room rate. The lattes were everything I hoped for.

Sis and me on Easter, Branch Brook Park cherry blossom trees. 🍒🌸🌸

Now I'm back and I feel refreshed. And glad to have blogged again.

*I say I'm old in jest. I may be 64 but I feel like I'm 40. I don't feel old except when I acknowledge signs of old personhood, such as having to pee more often; owning deep frown lines and sun spots; and occasionally forgetting someone's name or an experience. Oh, and I like to be in bed by 10 p.m. latest, earlier if possible.

Grace & Dignity

Two words I hope to embrace more in my life. Enjoy your day.

Note from the Farmhouse: Thanksgiving In Maine

Saturday sunset, 4:11 p.m., Curtis Light in Camden, on the far right. I went lighthouse-chasing while Dan and his brothers took a walk. Fig saw a friend, and Spice was with her cousin and aunt.

View from the 100+-year-old farmhouse in Belfast, where we are staying. Pat and Martha bought it and made it into an amazing Airbnb.

At the Lost Kitchen in Freedom, Maine, on Friday.

                                          Cheese board, hot cider. See The Lost Kitchen.

Well, my fingertips have not touched this keyboard for days, despite my best intentions. Dan and I arrived by about 8 p.m. Wednesday to a Hannaford supermarket in Belfast stripped clean of every can of spray whipped cream, every drop of heavy cream, and even Cool Whip, even frozen vegan whip, everything. (The one thing I didn't hunt down was Dream Whip, sold in boxes.) We searched in desperation for the required pumpkin pie adornment. No one wants naked pie. But apparently, Thanksgiving brings on a dairy stampede. Belfast Variety, open 365 days a year, with gas pumps, had two tall cans of Oakhurst sweetened whipped cream and we went there first, so I got one. Luckily, as in other years, my sister-in-law Martha snapped up a quart of pure whipping cream before the shelves were bare.

I knew we should have gotten it in Montclair but Dan is always in too big a rush to start the long drive. Fortunately, I got a tub of dairy-free CocoWhip at Whole Foods West Orange on Tuesday to cobble together a vegan no-bake pie for Figgy.

It is late, already 10:45 p.m. I've been off-kilter. I ate too many sweets and probably should not have made Fig that pie, but rather bought a vegan dessert. The cobbled-together dessert had a graham cracker crust, vegan mini marshmallows, chocolate chips, peanut butter and that fluffy CocoWhip.

But would an alcoholic make spiked sangria? I was tempted and succumbed. Sugar addict layering sugary things. Nope, not good. 

Today is a new day.

We were all planning to drive back today, Sunday, but Dan really wanted to do this family hike at Camden Hills State Park, where they walked to a cabin and, incidentally, made s'mores and hotdogs. It was a big group, and sounds refreshing, but I can't hike a mountain. I get too tired. So I walked over the Belfast bridge in the bay, and that was pretty. Figgy drove Spice home to Montclair so they can go to work and school tomorrow. 

We have tasks and packing in the morning, so I better resort to a list here. I hope you had a nice Thanksgiving.

• Sitting with Figgy as she crocheted on a couch in the farmhouse. Hearing everyone compliment her on the sky-blue top and knee-length sweater coat she had made, and wore Thursday. I really don't want to write here about Spice. Things are still very rough around the edges. How much is enough? How much is too much? Questions from a battle-weary mother.
• Seeing our big family this long weekend. Nieces, nephews, nephew's adorable little boy, 100 percent Hurley, with that brown hair and mischievous spirit. Girlfriends, husbands. Dan's four brothers (John, Mike, Dave, Pat), their wives (Therese, Sheila, Martha). My mother-in-law! Four of her sons carried her into our car and she stayed in her wheelchair  for the holiday meal. Her daughter stuck close by her side.
• The turkey James carved perfectly, rich gravy, Martha's great salad with beets and apples, Ian's homemade rosemary dinner rolls! 
• The Lost Kitchen in Freedom, Maine. My niece Mariah told me about it on Thanksgiving. The holiday shops were open Friday and Saturday. Mariah thought I would like it. She was right. So did Spice. I got my first Erin French cookbook, with beautiful photos, stories and recipes; Maine taper candles; the restaurant's coffee bean blend from Deer Isle, etc. How could I not have known about this, and about Erin? She and her husband were outside, stoking fire pits and helping us find a seat. It was an experience to remember.
• Drove by the first house in Camden where poet Edna St. Vincent Millay lived as a girl. Did not want to be a stalker, and house number (100) was not visible. 
• Curtis Point Lighthouse, so lovely with its green beacon. Good view from the overlook.
• The winter star was lit atop Mount Battie. I saw it on my 6 p.m. drive back to Belfast.
• The lavender store, which I always love, and the Swans Island shop, with blankets and scarves, both in Camden. Beautiful. 
• The Christmas tree by the Belfast Post Office is shining bright. The tree lighting was yesterday.
• Walk over the Belfast bridge. Chilly but pretty.
• Cup of cinnamon-orange tea with my niece Leah today in her Dad's comfy High Street kitchen. Long talk. We've grown closer.

 

Bees Sting, Owls Watch

Moey has three younger brothers, and this photo is by Ryan Cassidy, the son of her baby bro, Jimmy, born when we were in fourth grade. I hadn't seen Ryan in a while but last night, he showed us some photos on Moey and Ted's deck. He is gifted. It takes a close, patient and quiet eye to capture nature like this. LMK if you need a wildlife image. I will send you Ryan's contact info. Photo copyright Ryan Cassidy.

Summer stung like a bumblebee this year in many ways. But the details are too personal to publish. 

Still, pollinators are good, so maybe this sting can turn out to help our family somehow grow and reseed. IDK. Take the stinger out, follow a winding path to eventual flowers or dripping golden honey?

It takes great effort to step back and accept. Risky behaviors, unsafe choices. I hope and pray, but that only goes so far for me. It doesn't give me endless serenity and trust. I can't change the past--not my own flawed behaviors and certainly not the teenager's early god-given road.

So what can I do? I can apply salve (I took a bath with a luscious Dolly Moo bamboo & blue tansy bath bomb today, smells so good and clean and the color is so pretty). Even combed on a little black mascara, swiped on Prada lipstick, dipped into Bobbi Brown beachy nude cream eye shadow. I can take a peaceful nap. I can continue to love even when I do not want to, or think I possibly can. I can follow a code of tolerance and love. 

I can judge and criticize less.

Yesterday was Moey's bday. Dan and I went over to the deck for thin crust pizza, vegs and dip, chilled shrimp and to sing happy birthday. Her parents are 87 and 86 (ck); I can't believe it. When they had Moey 63 years ago, Mr. C. was 24 and Mrs. C. was 23. Ted was there (Moey's husband), their fun, smart son, Kevin, and Ryan Cassidy, their nephew. He is into wildlife photography. Look at that amazing photo above!

Well, I might watch another episode of "Emily in Paris" on my laptop now.

Good night.

I enjoyed Friday night with Figgy. I wish I had a good Spice photo 

but she won't take pictures with us too often lately. I sunk pretty Papyrus unicorn bday candles into this vegan Jeni's Lemon Bar ice cream for Figgy. I wish they had sugar-free, for me. (The website says $12 but I found it at Wegmans on sale for $6.99.)

Hope on Two Wheels

Please excuse any typos. I again misplaced my reading glasses, this time perhaps at the Dockside Restaurant in Belfast at dinner last night. I can't go back to check yet because it is closed today (Monday).

Our hotel has bicycles all ready and waiting, tires pumped full and hard. Bells on the handlebars, a basket, helmet and lock for each bike. Guests can use them for free. I plan to bike Route 1A over to the old foot bridge into Belfast. I think it will lift my spirit, which has been lagging and dragging since Saturday night due to sister squabbles, mean words, tight quarters, four of us in the hotel room. Toxic times and scary stuff. Today is a good window to go because the weather is sunny and sweet, Figgy went shopping in town, Dan drove in to see his Mom and his bros, and Punchy's cousin, Izzy, took her to the beach.

Meanwhile, some photos:

My nuclear family with our nephew's son, Wilder, at Leah and Greg's wedding party Saturday at Mere Point, Maine. The wedding couple, so much to love in each other, and the world loves them back. The abundant mason jars of farm-grown pink peonies and sweet peas, yellow snapdragons--so perfect. Excellent coffee (it was chilly and overcast), tapas and an ice cream truck from Stone Fox Farm Creamery.

Our niece Anna, who was a flower girl in our wedding 33 years ago, and Figgy.

River Bridge view with fairy lights, pocket-size ice cream shop in Camden.

View from our hotel.

I pray/aspire to stop simmering in fear and resentment. To put them down. To trust God to watch over and guide me and the ones I hold close.

"We don't struggle," my longtime friend reminded me.

Okay. The view is pretty here.

I've been sitting here in the lobby, went on a 10 a.m. Zoom support group on my phone. Figgy said she gathered shells for me yesterday and left them on the hotel dresser. Will go and see them now.

Cleaning House 🧽 🧽 🚿 🚿 & False Alarm

Last day, rub, scrub, dust, sweep up any sand at the family house, built in 1979. Shake the throw rug outdoors. (Sis did).

But not until after the two-hour Early Bird Walk 8 a.m. at the Sanctuary. So great. Purple Martins, Baltimore Orioles, Snowy Egrets, osprey nest, terns, ducks, willets, turkey vultures, painted turtles, frogs, fiddler crabs, beautiful marshland and sea grass. A wonderful naturalist leading us, young, enthusiastic and deeply smart David. As if on cue, there were moments I saw as Oh look, binoculars up, everyone in unison! David set up his scope on a tripod so we could take a close peek. So cool. And we had a couple all the way from Austria in our group of 12. The fellow had flown to the U.S. with his scope and tripod.

Meg did so much cleaning! Vacuuming, doing the whole bathroom. She was like a white tornado whipping through. Her husband, Greg, put the white lace Victorian curtains from Cape May back in place. (Fun-loving doggy, Galena, pulled at them when we left her in the house for dinner Monday.) Meg and Greg parted by noon for Vermont. 

Sis and I are still at it, Windexing, unloading last dishwasher load, taking off our bedsheets, vacuuming more, packing up fridge, hauling out garbage and recycling to dispose of in Connecticut vs. going to the dump here and paying, overstuffing the car, packing up doggy bed, mini crate, her food and other necessities. One of us (I) may have childishly overpacked. I should probably change that.

Great news, we talked to Will and still time to come up to house at least once again this summer, he said.

Hooray!

Drinking in Cape Cod Beauty & Joy

We left at 9 a.m. for the Sharks & Seals walk and talk at Coast Guard Beach, led by park ranger Valerie. It was everything we hoped it would be, and free of charge, of course, part of the Cape Cod National Seashore event schedule.

It started raining, we saw seals bobbing in the waves, Valerie passed around a shark's tooth and showed us a seal's skull (its sharp teeth can hurt when it bites). 

We met a lovely couple from England in the group, Patience and Simon, and discussed the merits of good English teatime. (Piping hot boiling water to brew the tea.) They live near the coast, the place you see in "Wicked Little Letters," that great English dark mystery comedy film Figgy and I took in last month at the Clairidge. It stars Olivia Colman, Jessie Buckley, Anjana Vasan and others, a stellar cast.

Greg, Sis, me and Meggy on Coast Guard Beach after the Sharks & Seals walk.

We went out to breakfast and lattes at The Whisk in Orleans, a first for us, and good. Then stopped by Nauset (as opposed to Nauset Light) Beach, to look for more seals but didn't find them in the misty rain. Back home to rest and read, play Wordle. 

For dinner, we drove to Chatham and Sis treated us all to a splurge dinner at The Impudent Oyster, a popular, longstanding restaurant that my brother Will and Kelly love. It's the kind of place with excellent whipped potatoes, good wine, ample helpings of steak au poivre and halibut. I had bouillabaisse (BOO-yə-BESS, -⁠BAYSS), a traditional fish soup, with steamed Wellfleet oysters, mussels, scallops, clams, shrimp and lobster, and a slice of garlic toast on top to dunk in the rich fish broth. The dish came with a lobster bib and metal cracker. I had to open the big claw to coax the meat from the bright orange shell. The bread and butter for the table was not as divine (or warmed?) as I remember from rare visits 20+ years ago, but.....

The restaurant is right near my beloved Lilly Pulitzer store, a shrine to pretty fashion and accessories, where I bought beautiful summer shift dresses for both of our little girls back when. And around the corner from the adorable Candy Manor, a fixture with its signature pink awning and hand-dipped chocolates, but both shops were closed for the night. We stopped by the little white lighthouse, which never closes, its beam spinning in the fog.

Then 30 minutes to drive back home on winding Route 28, past water views, charming houses with white picket fences and hydrangeas, two historic windmills.

It is never boring here. There is always something to see, hear, do, read or eat. Breezes. Birds calling. The Cape Cod Times (now $3 at the Superette in Eastham!). Fudge in square metal pans. Donuts people line up for. Shellfish. Cocktails. Souvenir sweatshirts, some quite soft and pretty. And people who live and work here, workers, teachers, contractors and women who stand behind counters in candy shops and banks. Summer help, college kids serving swirled frozen custard cones, rolling them in chocolate or rainbow sprinkles. The handsome, helpful young man at the bike shop who has been there 10 years.

Well, tomorrow we clean and lock up the house, but before that we rise at 7 a.m. to get ready for the Early Bird Walk at the Wellfleet Bay Wildlife Sanctuary, 8 to 10 a.m. Seems like things are going okay at home, and that is great progress compared to other years. I am much more relaxed being away with Dan at home. Fingers crossed, prayers in my heart.

I would like to write more but I want to rest.

More photos here. Good night.

Chatham Light, overlooking Chatham Bars Beach.

Sis at Nauset Beach.

Caped Wonders

We did a lot today, but this is dinner at Mac's in Wellfleet with Meg and Greg, 6:17 p.m.

I used to pack up my laptop and sit in my car in the dark, alone, in front of Ben & Jerry's or Dunkin' Donuts in North Eastham, near the Post Office, to get an internet signal and write a blog post every night on the Cape. Now I know how to set up a personal hotspot in the low-tech house using my iPhone and my MacBook. I can stay home and write.  

But I'm older now, and a good night's sleep is not just a requirement, but a treasured luxury. So I won't do long blog posts late at night when I should be dozing and dreaming.

We have kept busy, four of us in the house, all adults. It's really fun. For example, today:

• Beach and lighthouse gazing. Up early, drive to Nauset Light Beach on the National Seashore about 8:30 (before it officially opens in the morning, at least now, and a ranger checks you in at the booth, and you pay or show your pass) so that we can bring in Sis's puppy, Galena. In beach season, dogs can only go before or after closing (to lifeguard-protected areas).
• Back for breakfast. Greg made eggs and whole-grain toast, I had high-protein Bob's Red Mill oatmeal with berries. And lots of good hot coffee was poured. Meggy brought some java from Vermont Artisan Coffee & Tea Co. in Waterbury. We sat around the table and talked and laughed, and planned what we really want to do before we head home Friday morning. Our lists included outdoor showers (Sis and me), birdwatching (all of us nature nerds), Nauset Beach to see seals, bike path, etc.
• Showers. I love how quickly you dry off in that fresh air outside.
• North Eastham Post Office. My mother loved it and so do I. I mailed something to my brother Will and will mail a postcard from there, too, probably to Figgy in her apartment. If those P.O. walls could talk...think of the decades and decades, the homemade fudge and Girl Scout Cookies sent to Vietnam, maybe? IDK. To soldiers in World War II? The care packages in padded envelopes that my friend and I mailed to our girls at Frost Valley YMCA camp. When Punchy was a baby, I sent out invitations to Dan's surprise 50th bday party from the North Eastham P.O. 
• Idle Times Bike Shop. We checked the rental prices ($30 from 9 a.m. one day until 5 p.m. the next day). I hope weather and time cooperate tomorrow.
• Wellfleet Bay Wildlife Sanctuary! Ah yes, back to my favorite spot on earth. I think we were padding along the soft sand trails from about 1:45 p.m. to 3:30 p.m. Green Heron, baby Baltimore Orioles in nest, giant green frogs in pond, birdsong, fiddler crabs, and memories of scrubby orange foxes, a muskrat, Snowy Egrets and tiny Fowler's Toads seen with my family when Dan and I and our girls (especially Figgy in tow), were much younger. The breeze, that beautiful breeze. Also, quick sweep of the gift shop to check the edit. No dogs allowed at the Audubon, because they would disturb the delicate sanctuary balance. So Sis didn't join us today but she will tomorrow (sans Galena) at Coast Guard Beach for Seals & Sharks walk and Friday for Early Bird Walk 8 to 10 a.m. at the Sanctuary.
• Mac's on the Pier in Wellfleet. Known for its fried whole belly clams and Wellfleet oysters and scallops, we beelined there because Greg likes to get fried clams once each Cape Cod trip. (So does Dan, generally, but he is home working and supervising Punchy who has school, God bless him.) Meggy had a lobster roll and I had famous Wellfleet oysters, lightly breaded and fried, not heavily battered. Plump, tender and sweet.
• Check in with Figgy and Punch. The former took the latter and her friend out for sushi in Montclair. That was nice. I asked Fig to check in tonight, because Dan was hired to write 60-Sec Novels at a party near Times Square, NYC. It's 11:27 p.m. and I hope he is back home by now.
• Hot Chocolate Sparrow. I planned my one ice cream/main treat of the trip--an ice cream cone dipped in the hot melted chocolate the Sparrow only offers in the summer months. I haven't gotten coffee there yet, but I def plan to by the car ride home, if Sis doesn't mind stopping. Peeked through the glass window to see a young woman tempering chocolate. Enjoyed seeing chocolate seashells, dogs, mice, cats, cell phones, most everything.
• Sunset at Great Pond with Sis and Galena. So beautiful. The sky looks almost bruised with colors but no, not bruised, just streaked with rainbow sherbet strokes over placid water. So pretty.

Thinking of Dad a lot up here, and Figgy, Dan and Punch, and our close friends and their three kids. Memories of coyotes, night fires on the beach, stars, ranger-led walks, my mother and the three weeks we spent here that first summer in 1980. (She died in May 1981.) I see my parents and their hopes and dreams all through the house. Their generosity, their gift. Will and Kelly say they are selling the house pronto. I can't yet fully face that and mourn. The Cape is in me, and I will be back, either off-season in hotels, when rates dip, or Airbnbs, etc. 

Good night. 

Skipper and Young Romeo Go to Prom

At our home. One thing Skipper and Romeo have in common, among other things, is nearly jet black hair. Also, they both love to season food with Latin adobo and get drinks/"bevs" from Panera, QuickChek and Starbucks. They seem to talk frankly and deeply. She is 17, he is 18. 

Here are the photos from Skippy's/Punchy's prom night Thursday, May 30 with her boyfriend, code name Romeo, a senior. Skipper is a sophomore (she started kindergarten late). It was at The Legacy Castle, which looks elegant. Romeo is from Wayne, about a 15-minute drive from here.

I started calling our girl Skipper in this blog a while ago, because she reminded me of Barbie's little sister, following Figgy. I do not mean that she is plastic, or shallow, or just a doll. It is an affectionate term. Skipper is real, very real, and brainy in her own way. And both she and Romeo have caring hearts.

The weather was beautiful. We were all happy to celebrate such a happy occasion. My next-door neighbor and friend, Julie, told me Montclair High School now does pre-prom photos at Van Vleck House & Gardens, so we went to that gated property. So lovely. 

Most of us here have busy lives and jobs, including Romeo's young mom, pretty blonde Y; Romeo, who works many hours at a restaurant and saved money to buy his car, shown; Skipper's young grandma, a school principal, who looks so much like Skip, who in turn looks so much like her late birth Dad, and her birth mother; Figgy; Dan; and me, though I work freelance from home. So it was great to all meet up pre-prom. Mimi brought sub sandwiches, cheese and crackers, watermelon chunks. I wanted to catch some family photos in the gardens.

Skipper and Romeo with his mom and two younger brothers. I love that purse, which Dan and Skip found at Bloomingdale's on prom day. It has a chain for a shoulder option. Y helped us with dress shopping at David's Bridal in Paramus. As an older mother, I am not fully on trend with prom styles and satin platform shoes.

Selfie by Dan. Skipper and Romeo and his family again, plus me, Skipper's Mimi, and dear Figgy on the end. 

Mimi and Skipper. So beautiful.

Romeo and his brothers.

Romeo and his chariot. He worked hard to save money.

And here is a link to photos from Figgy's senior prom, 11 years back. She was 17 at the time, as Skipper is today. We got a good shot of just Fig and Skipper on Thursday night, but no one has been able to find it on their phone yet. 

I'm going to the family house on Cape Cod Monday morning for four nights with Sis, Meg and Greg. Will report back. I look forward to bird watching walks, Great Pond, the bike path--and lobster.

xo

Joan Didion + Prayer

Joan Didion, John Gregory Dunne and Quintana Roo, likely in Malibu, 

or somewhere else on the California coastline. 

Photo by Julian Wasser from here.

I'm reading Blue Nights, a memoir by Ms. Didion. Much of the weave connects moments with and memories of her daughter, Quintana Roo. Quintana was adopted. 

I have loved the author's crisp, precise writing since I took Slouching Towards Bethlehem, an essay collection, from my sister's book shelf in our shared bedroom to read on the long bus ride to Atlantic City to visit my boyfriend. Words carefully parsed, sentences lean and slim, but they say so much. They say everything.

Something in Ms. Didion's steeliness, especially for such a small woman, inspires me. She sees it and says it. I also read that she enjoyed buying beautiful clothing, such a little cashmere sweater, for her girl or herself, sometimes even matching. I did that, too, with Figgy and later, Punch (though not matching for Punch, since she was away from our fold from age 15 months to 6.5 years).  

Dan returned on the red-eye today after being flown out to Palm Springs to write 60-Second Novels at a fancy party at the Dinah Shore estate. He was home by 11 a.m. and then had to leave by 6 p.m. (in an Uber, still no running car) to write stories at a party in NYC, a bar mitzvah.

I was so low. So low about many things. Coincidence that Figgy moved out a week ago yesterday? Did the significance of that escape me? I'm happy for her, and she is happy, building an IKEA dresser with her friend, choosing pretty accent colors for her bedroom, setting up her plants. But with her absence, I'm fretting these days over worries I have about Punch and Young Romeo. With Figgy gone and Dan away, my lens has zoomed in and frozen. I need to zoom out.

Our kitchen sink is backed up. Don't ask, we had an expensive new garbage disposal installed but we can't turn it on until an electrician or two comes to install an outlet under the sink, since this model has a plug. I managed to catch up on all the dishes, by hand (vintage china) and in the dishwasher tonight. I have a half-price-after-Easter pot of tulips on the mantel. Can't tell what color yet, since the flowers keep their secrets in those tight green hoods.

I went on two Zoom support groups today and made two phone calls. I prayed, in fear and desperation. Over the known and unknown, over things I can't control. I think I am okay.

Good night.

Fun with Celia in the Greatest City in the World

SMØR Bakery in the East Village, so close to where my friend Celia lives, in Stuyvesant Town, and just doors away from my brother John's apartment*. Who knew? Thanks, Celia, for taking me there. Photo by Karsten Moran for The New York Times. 

I took the train into Penn Station (the Moynihan Hall renovation is finally coming along) to meet my friend Celia for lunch in the East Village.

It's late, so I will do a punch list:

• Round trip NJ Transit train ride from Mountain Avenue Montclair only $7.15 for a senior. Bargain.
• Two subways, the E and the 6. Good to be back in the midst of things. Police presence, two friendly officers helped when I doublechecked that the uptown E would go to Astor Place.
• We ate at Little Poland, a restaurant not far from the Ukrainian hotspot Veselka (which was packed) on Second Avenue. They had little, freshly baked loaves of Easter bread by the register, $6 a pop. I got one for my family. I had Swedish meatballs, steamed carrots, red cabbage, potato pancake.
• Celia and I went to PlantShed on Second Ave. Gorgeous flowers (fat fuchsia roses on long stems), heavenly candles and lotions, tiny flowerpots, a nice cafe with good-looking pastries, such as  teddy bear financiers, and matcha coffee drinks. We just browsed, but I would like to go back.
• I realized my oldest brother, John, lives a block away. I called him, and then Celia and I popped by. He couldn't come out, but he looked much better than when I saw him last, in the hospital. I really like his neighborhood. We will be talking soon.
• SMØR Bakery on East 12th Street! Oh my goodness. I can't wait to return. Nordic, with hearty loaves, sandwiches, pastries etc.! The sesame sourdough rolls are SO GOOD, chewy and thoroughly seeded. Scandinavian-inspired space, shelves stocked with jarred herring, imported licorice bears and rich chocolate spread (like but not Nutella). Here is NY Times report. Smör/SMØR means "butter" in Swedish.
• Celia (who is Jewish) took me into Immaculate Conception Church on First Avenue. I think I've been there once before, but had forgotten. Good Friday liturgy....we caught a glimpse of the holy service, the procession, the crucifix swathed in crimson cloth, full pews for the 3 p.m. service. We didn't go in past the glass doors but saw beautiful statues in the alcove.
• MTA crosstown bus. Liked it.
• Dan had a poker game here with Michael, Dean, John and Gary tonight. It looked like fun. Dan is always happy when surrounded by his friends or his four older brothers.
• After driving Punchy to Fort Lee for a birthday party, I motored over to Whole Foods in West Orange for Easter basket treats for my family. Also pink tulips, lavender epsom salts, oat milk creamer, vegan butter, etc., delicious-looking mango-filled vegan cookies for Easter dessert that I can tell everyone will like.
• Car wouldn't start when I left Whole Foods. I had to call AAA; thank God we have it, and cell phones, too. Anthony came fast and towed our car back home, while I sat in the warm cab on a cold night. We also had to pay (a lot) to Uber Punch back from Fort Lee. We are hoping to get a new car soon. Figgy and her car were at her new apartment Friday.
• High stepping, with those subway steps, the NJ Transit train and getting up and down from Anthony's tow truck. (Back home, Dan was there to help me.) I am getting older. And for all the truth and beauty of life, that is sobering.

Good night to you.

*My other brother, Will, lives in a NYC apartment too. I am the baby of four.

Tough Day

Image from here.

And the forecast calls for another tough one tomorrow. But winds and weather can change. And also, umbrellas and rain boots do exist.

And I am taking care of myself, so I don't slip and slide in the storm.

Good night.

Good Night, Oscars

America Ferrara, from People Magazine's prompt online report. 

Long live the "Barbie" movie phenomena.

Fun watching from home with Dan and Figgy. Dan lit a crackling fire and made popcorn in the kitchen. (I added butter to mine.) Fig and I loved the hairstyles, the dresses, the music, the men and that one pinstriped women's suit with sparkle on the pinstripes, the sheer, jeweled long sleeves on another lady winner's dress. We exclaimed over America Ferrara, bringing back memories of The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants young adult books by Ann Brashares that we both read when Fig was younger and then the two movies based on the books, with America in a starring role. We fawned over Ryan Gosling and Margot Robbie (Ken, Barbie). All three of us liked the music, especially "Ken," and some of the audience shenanigans.

In spite of herself, I guess feeling too separate in her own way to join us in the living room and watch, though I invited her, I caught Punchy catching singer Billie Eilish onscreen. And when I noted from my stuffed chair that Al Pacino is old but has a new baby, she looked away from her group FaceTime call and bowl of cornflakes to sneak a peek at him, too, as she walked back upstairs.

I enjoyed a text thread with my friends Kim, Nan and Liz, who watched with friends and family in Brooklyn and Silver Spring, Maryland, and that was fun, too. Fast and furiously commenting! And earlier, Sis drove over from Connecticut to join for best Oscar Shorts 2024: Documentary at the Clairidge on Church Street. They were very good, with a social consience. My favorite, "The Last Repair Shop," was also the Academy's favorite. So good, such close observation and heart.

Good night. Monday morning will be here soon.

Hand to Heart, Fingers to Keyboard in a Maine Kitchen

It's a wonderful life in Belfast. The tree lighting and visit from Santa Saturday at 5 p.m. 

at Post Office Square. Photo by Eric Sanders, a friend of Santa's.

"Santa is very popular," Eric wrote when he posted this epic photo on Facebook. 

Thank you, Eric, for this remarkable visual memory.

My friend Shirley and I try to text each other three gratitudes every morning. As life takes the wheel, and we allow that, we forget to stop and text. Today I will do it again.

But now, sitting at the kitchen island in the Mill House, a wonderful place built by my talented brother-in-law, I want to dash off a list before we clean up and scoot home, after seeing Dan's mother first.

Graces

1. Figgy. I hugged Fig, encircling her closely in my arms, at the Belfast tree lighting yesterday. This is a rarity lately, that hug. Her belted wool coat against my worn Tory Burch camel sweater. She is so petite compared to my 5'9". Funny how it happens that way. (Punchy stayed with Romeo and his family back in NJ and had a big Thanksgiving there.)
2. Abraham's Creamery. Wow, the jug of small-batch pumpkin kefir from the Belfast Co-op. That's why I love shopping there, the farm finds. Ingredients: Fresh goat milk, Maine organic maple syrup, pumpkin, pumpkin pie spice and cultures. It is so good. I see they make one with wild Maine blueberries when in season. Triple yum.
3. (I have to speed up now.) Bar Harbor. The long and rolling road to get there. Want to go back to Window Panes, where I bought a favorite tablecloth decades ago.
4. Belfast. Old-time charm, lampposts on the lane, strings of Christmas lights. Imagine all the important, loving, heart-warming and -wrenching letters and packages sent and received from that historic P.O. during wartime, peace time, Christmastime.
5. Mrs. Claus. Mingling at the tree lighting in her white knit poncho, long dress, red cap (Diane). Mrs. C. is always a delightful standby, kind and sweet.
6. Santa and Buddy the Elf. Two Hurley brothers arriving on fire engine, possibly M (it's a secret) and my Dan.
7. Thanksgiving. At Martha and Pat's, 24 people for dinner, though all could not fit at the table. (Overflow at kitchen island and in living room.) Ian's tender dinner rolls made from his mother's recipe, Sheila's turkey and gravy, Martha's and Erin's pumpkin pies, whipped cream by Leah, Pat's coffee.
8. This beautiful view. A pond, trees, birds, farmland. Hard to leave, as usual.

But we must.

In Maine, Melancholy, Family, Blueberries & the Mountaintop

                    The movie "Peyton Place" was filmed in and around Belfast and Camden. Image from here.

Dan and I arrived Wednesday at 5:30 p.m., in time for an event to celebrate his brother David Hurley's 34-foot "Sturgeon" mural, newly mounted near Penobscot Bay in Belfast. 

The Hurley family is large, and earned gold-star attendance, from Mary, the matriarch, almost 94, to her sons (missing Patrick only), daughter, two granddaughters. Of course, Dave's wife, Sheila, their three smart, handsome grown sons and one lovely daughter-in-law. (Mary has six other grandchildren who were not there.)

Dave is a gifted artist. This is important public art. The sturgeon is steeped in history and the long Native American name for the river here relates to the fish. Dave met with the historian from the Penobscot Nation, and brought in a father and son from the Burnurwurbskek Singers, an indigenous drumming and singing group. Mary and I, sitting arm to arm in the crowd, loved the drumbeat.

The refreshments were clever: Homemade peanut butter, mini chocolate chip and other flavor cookies rolled and cut into large fish shapes, almost 6 inches long. Bowls of red Swedish Fish and Goldfish crackers. (The snacks reminded me of the Smarties candy I brought for Dan's Smarter book signing in Montclair. )

But soon after, the melancholy set in. The blues.

Tired, mopey, feeling sorry for myself. More coffee. Why bother? Look how I'm aging. Look how we are all aging. I don't like my hair color; it's too brown. My hair is not as full. My mother-in-law is in her nineties. Look, look how life gets in the end. So many days, she doesn't feel good. See how a woman ages. I never saw my own mother old like this. It's scary.

We won't be here forever. It's sad. I'm low-energy. I used to hike and walk much farther and faster.  Now, I'm just too tired. I might as well take a morning nap and let Dan go alone to watch that cardboard boat race. Why should I go? I don't want to laugh.

I was 26 on my first visit to Maine. Reverse the numbers for my age now.

And this is my first trip up in 28 years that did not include one or both girls. Figgy is working at her new job at the university and Skippy chose to be with her boyfriend and his Dad in Pennsylvania. I missed them both. I was glad for the liberty to focus on just Dan's and my plans but sad for the way it feels to be an empty nester on vacation. Seeing young Figgy in my mind's eye on a mountaintop, scrambling for blueberries like the bear cub in Blueberries for Sal and Skippy, age 7, walking in and around the Camden shops with me. I am also sad about growing older, having some health problems and worries.

Tomorrow morning, after coffee with family, we are heading to Mary's to say goodbye and then drive back home. 

I did hit some trusty Maine high notes here though, with and without Dan:

• Tiny wild Blue Barrens Farm blueberries at the Belfast Co-op, about $5.50 for a pint. So many, and so mini. 
• Quick pop into the Glendarragh Farm Lavender Store on Main Street in Camden. Beautiful hair clips, lavender honey, wool throws and more. I bought a glass bottle of lavender hand soap for my sister-in-law and a tube of hand cream to soothe myself at bedtime.
• Two brothers (Dan and John) and I drove up the auto road to Mount Battie in Camden Hills State Park. I will never, ever tire of that view of the Camden cove, or of Edna St. Vincent Millay's lyric words on the plaque up there. She lived in Camden and I want to explore some of her papers one day in the Camden Public Library*.
• Walk on the rail trail this evening. Pretty.
• View of the bay from our first two nights at Fireside Inn & Suites in Belfast. Rolling hill, atmospheric weather.
• Family dinners with Pat and Martha, who hosted us for three more nights. :)
• Mike took Dan and me out for a boat ride in an old motorboat Pat bought over 30 years ago. It was nice.
• Young's Lobster Pound.

*Per Wikipedia: Camden Public Library also shares Mt. Battie's view. It has the first couplets of "Renascence" inscribed along the perimeter of a large skylight: "All I could see from where I stood / Was three long mountains and a wood; / I turned and looked another way, / And saw three islands in a bay."^[71] The library's Walsh History Center collection contains the scrapbooks created by Millay's high-school friend, Corinne Sawyer, as well as photos, letters, newspaper clippings, and other ephemera.