The Circle Game

The Circle Game This summer has been all about change and I have to be honest I don’t like it. It’s one thing if you’ve initiated change but when it’s been thrust upon you it’s not usually something that you wished for. From something as small as having your supermarket rearranged so that you now spend all your time aimlessly wandering the aisles and muttering, or having a favorite store close (I’m still in mourning for Jordan Marsh and Filene’s) to the more serious loss of a job or a loved one. I understand that change is growth but it’s also painful. The biggest change for me came about in June when I learned that the Department of Education (DESE) had not refunded my adult education school, the Blackstone, for the coming year. This meant that I had to close it down, lay off my staff and find spaces, somehow somewhere, for my students. After hearing the news I walked around in a fog of denial. Surely, this had to be a mistake—they couldn’t just shut down a school that was the last opportunity for so many adults, the last place for them to get another chance at success. But of course they could. Every five years all the adult literacy programs in Massachusetts have to reapply for the money that enables their existence and money is getting tighter by the minute. I’m not quite sure where DESE wants my students to go when we close our doors. But I suppose it’s not my job anymore to worry about Randy and Matias and Laura and Deanna and the rest of the adults that I have come to know and care so much about. I’ll have to adapt to the change just as they will. They left us one site at the Perkins Community Center in Dorchester. My long suffering boss, Mike, installed me there as the site counselor coupled with teaching and administration duties. What worries me is that this school holds classes in the evening from 6:00-9:00 and my energy levels aren’t what they used to be. I’m keeping my finger crossed that at 7:00 each evening I won’t fall asleep on my desk. Fortunately Lisa and Matt’s summer wedding proved a lovely distraction as did having a house filled with daughters, their friends and loved ones, so for once change was wonderful. But the knowledge that Matt and Lisa would soon be moving to San Francisco was hidden in every corner of my mind waiting to slither out—and it did last week-end when they moved some of their furniture and various other boxes filled with their lives into our attic. They were really leaving. Shatz and I find it both wonderful and funny that they will be moving to their new home slowly over the next few weeks—driving cross country, discovering new places. Funny because we did the same thing the year before we were married 37 years ago. In fact Lisa and Matt will be seeing some of the same places that we passed through all those years ago. It was about that time that Joni Mitchell’s, The Circle Game was popular and now the song haunts me: And the seasons they go 'round and 'round And the painted ponies go up and down We're captive on the carousel of time We can't return we can only look behind From where we came And go round and round and round In the circle game Last week Shatz and I took the day off to explore the Fruitlands Museum in Harvard. It was a beautiful day, just the two of us on the road again, heading toward lovely summer vistas. We wandered in and out of the galleries dedicated to the various groups that had lived in the area: Native Americans, the Shakers, and Louisa May Alcott and her family of Transcendentalists who had set up an agrarian commune on the spot. Afterwards we had lunch outside in the museum restaurant gazing at the expanse of hills and mountains as we ate. We talked about the kids’ upcoming trip, and how similar their experience is to ours. Suddenly Shatz asked me, “Could you do that? Just decide that you want to move somewhere else for an adventure?” Then he stopped short with a funny look on his face and said, “Oh I guess you did,” remembering my travels to Israel and then back to the States. But Lisa and Matt’s decision seems different, healthier. I was running away when I left for Israel and later when I returned to the States. In the beginning I desperately wanted independence and later I needed to escape the grief of being a widow. Lisa and Matt are heading off for the sheer joy and adventure of it. Then it was my turn to question my 36-year partner even though I already knew his answer. “Do you have any regrets at all about your life?” “No, never,” he answered. “Regrets only hold you back. I always look to the future.” And that’s why I love him so very much. He keeps me from keeling over with regret, keeps me from battling change fruitlessly, keeps me filled with hope that it’s not so terrible out there after all. Especially with a partner like him to hold my heart. There'll be new dreams, maybe better dreams and plenty Before the last revolving year is through.

HItchhiker's Guide to our Attic

A Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Attic In two weeks Lisa and Matt are moving to San Francisco for their great adventure. This means many things: they will indeed have wonderful adventures, they will be warm while we freeze in New England, we will miss them unbelievably, and finally, the contents of our attic will increase yet again. It seems that no matter where my children travel, they never forget these touching words: be it ever so humble there’s no place like mom and dad’s attic to store stuff. As I’ve said before, there are nights when I lie in bed gazing at the ceiling wondering when the attic will crash down on our heads. It’s not a thought conducive to sleep. The attic runs along the entire length of our house. On one side the former owner created a separate area to serve as his work space. This is the room that is currently filled to the top with my daughters’ various moves and adventuring, beginning with college. The rest of the space holds their childhood in plastic containers—every last beanie baby, little pony, and Fisher-Price-everything. King Tut would have been found in even better condition if he had been encased in some of the Rubbermaid products that I have invested in. I should have bought stock in that company years ago. Every few years when I go “attic-crazy” my daughters make a half-hearted attempt to throw out some of their precious memorabilia. The problem is that as they unpack each box they say things like, “Oh my God I forgot I had this!” You would think that if you have completely forgotten you had something it would be easy to throw out, yes? But evidently not since as my daughters clutch their newly found treasure they plead piteously, “But Mom it’s part of my childhood!” Well so was chickenpox but you don’t see me holding on to that! Last month we hired a contractor to do some repairs. When we asked him about the condition of our shed he said that he would have to demolish it and build a new one. He told us that part of the expense would be renting a dumpster to hold the old shed. He stopped when he saw the beatific look on my face. “Are you serious?” I asked him. “You’re not playing with me?” I told him that for years I’ve dreamt of renting a dumpster to hold all the stuff in my house that I’m dying to toss. “That’s funny,” he answered. “That’s the usual reaction I get from women when I tell them that!” I might just write a book entitled, “Fifty Shades of Crap” to cash in on this dumpster fantasy. Anyway, when Lisa asked if there was room to store some of their furniture in the attic I thought she was joking. The only reason that we have no squirrels up there is simply because there is no room! Seeing the incredulous look on my face she added, “I mean I would clean out some of my old things before I put anything else up there!” I told her that if she was serious I would happily help her with the attic project. Ironically, if there’s anything I love more than shopping it’s throwing stuff out! To my surprise last week-end Lisa made good on her promise. While I relaxed downstairs reading the Sunday paper I could hear her moving things around, dropping boxes and occasionally talking to herself. After a couple of hours she came down to tell us that she had most of her stuff in piles and could we help her get it down? When I went up I came face to face with yet another of our children’s crazes: 3-D puzzles. Mariel has always been the best puzzler of the family--the harder the better. So when she discovered these 3-D concoctions in middle school her eyes lit up. For the next couple of years she built, with Steve’s help, the Empire State Building, The White House, Notre Dame Cathedral, The Taj Mahal, Lower Manhattan complete with the World Trade Center, and various European castles some of which even lit up. And of course once she built them I couldn’t bear to take them apart so they were displayed—everywhere. Once she went off to college though we moved them up to the attic, where they gave the room a bit of class and a creepy abandoned-city feeling. I volunteered to take them all apart and put them back in their boxes for some future puzzler. So there I sat on the living room floor, deconstructing all of those landmarks, vacuuming the various bugs that had moved in, and shoving thousands of puzzle pieces into Ziplock bags. But when I came to the World Trade Center I just couldn’t do it. It was so incredibly complex and I simply didn’t like the feeling of destroying the towers all over again. So I dusted them off and took them back up to the attic to rule in solitary splendor. I must admit, I was impressed with Lisa’s work. The space looked better than it had in a long time—like a whole new galaxy. We should probably draw up a guide so in the future we know exactly what to throw out without having to search through everything again. After all—that dumpster won’t be here forever.

Wedding Girl

Wedding Girl Our back yard has seen so much--Troops of kids digging in our sandbox, hanging from monkey bars, sliding down the slide and swinging from swings. Games of Hide and Seek, Duck-Duck-Goose and Tag. Softball and soccer rolling through the grass, excited shrieks echoing in the sky. We’ve hunted for snakes and watched caterpillars creeping along. We planted a garden and pulled up our first carrots. When the kids got older we set up a badminton net, swung croquet mallets and spiked volleyballs. We’ve watched the birds that come in an unending stream to our feeders, the deer who creep into our yard in the early morning, and have even seen wild turkeys on Thanksgiving Day. We’ve spotted a fox race across the yard, raccoon babies in trees and a groundhog who knocked himself out on a log trying to escape. We’ve barbecued on Memorial Day, July 4th and Labor Day with friends and celebrated High School graduations. The more I write the more I remember. So when Lisa and Matt asked to be married in our backyard it seemed like a natural extension of our lives. We would invite just the immediate families and celebrate the beginning of Lisa and Matt’s life as a married couple. We only had a couple of months to plan but it didn’t seem that there was that much to do since Lisa and Matt did most of the groundwork. But as the date approached, it suddenly became a race. Steve and the kids worked outside, I attacked the inside. There were menus to discuss, flowers to buy, games to plan for Matt’s nieces. And of course we spent weeks praying for good weather since our plan was not only to have the “formal” ceremony outside but then to change into comfortable clothing so that we could play in the yard afterwards. It reminded me of our wedding. Shatz and I were married in a penthouse room which was connected to a large roof deck with an amazing view. We wanted to be married on the deck surrounded by our parents and then invite everyone out for cocktails and hors d’oeuvres before dinner and dancing inside. We prayed for sun and got it in spades. It was 95 degrees and humid. Though we did get married outside, our guests quickly ran off to the air conditioned hall inside. I still remember the musician we hired playing the keyboard on the deck, looking rather forlorn playing for himself. Last week Lisa and her friend Laurel made beautiful huge, paper dahlias to decorate the yard and porch. We put up tikki torches giving the yard an exotic feel, set up seats, volleyball and horseshoes. And yes, we got sun….plus 90 degree hot, humid skies. Déjà vu. So we cranked up the air conditioning, set out fans and bought tubs of iced drinks to keep everyone cool. Steve and I had met Matt’s father, sister and nieces but this was the first time we would meet the rest of his clan. We were strangers suddenly expected to become family and at first it was awkward. Thankfully, Matt’s nieces, Izzie (Isabelle, 7) and Sydney (5) were the perfect ice-breakers. Gorgeous, bright, fun, they were the bubbles in a glass of champagne. After some getting-to-know-you conversation, Lisa turned to Matt and said, “Okay, let’s go get married!” And so they did. Steve and Matt’s dad, Jerry, officiated at the ceremony. Steve had applied for a one day license (he actually needed a character reference!) from the Commonwealth of Massachusetts and received a very fancy letter with a gold star making it all official. Lisa and Matt had created their own wedding script which included their thoughts about marriage and their vows. The families sat in a semicircle with Izzy and Sydney as the official bubble blowers. Throughout the ceremony, if Lisa would begin to cry, she would stop everything and say to them, “We need more bubbles guys!” I read a poem that I had written and Mariel recited “Happiness” from “You’re a Good Man Charlie Brown”, a record that we had worn down through all our years of listening. We stood there in the heat, torches burning, birds chattering, an occasional squirrel looking over at us curiously, the big, bright dahlias coloring the sky, sniffing and smiling through our sniffles. I held my script and told myself not to cry—but it was hopeless. At least I managed to get through my poem. And then suddenly Steve pronounced those magic words, “By the power invested in me……” they broke their wine glasses and I was the mother of a married woman. How did you suddenly become a wedding girl? Standing there in your cream/dream dress Next to your sweet guy….his girl now, Even though you’ve always been your own girl, You were mine once. My baby girl, My bright-eyes girl. They say that no matter how old your children become You never see them as adults, Always babies. I’ve never found that to be true. Whenever I look at your lovely face I see a woman who finds her own roads. It takes effort to see you as my once baby Searching for mommy’s hand. And that’s how it should be As you marry your beloved Eyes bright open. Take his hand, Say your vows And wedding-girl Become a married-girl Eyes wide toward your future.