They say the house has lost its character. Lost its charm. It’s no island home. Home no more. Electrified. Modernized. Resized. Beautified.
Italian tile bathroom. Slate counter tops. Stainless steel appliances. Wide arches. Leather couch. Tiffany window panes and copper hanging lanterns. Piece by piece, bit by bit, this artist’s home is dismantled, broken down and built back up as a modern day palace. Real nice. Someone said. Classy said another. At least they kept the artwork…Gone are the kerosene lamps, the rustic galley kitchen, the cozy rooms with creaking floors. More windows to let in the light. Less trees to block the wind. Everything is open, has flow.
There is a reason why the word “bittersweet” exists. Such negative and positive rolled into one mouthful we struggle to swallow. Bitter because the changes are so modern. Sweet because the changes are so modern. Room by room it’s a child growing up. Rooms like faces changing.
I am all messed up. Turned inside out and tired. Really, really tired. Here’s the deal. I went home with a reading plan in place. I knew everything I wanted to read and even the order in which I would do all this reading. I even made a big deal about lugging all that stuff home. It didn’t happen. I got to Maine and everything fell apart.
In a stream of excuses here’s what happened: I didn’t bring the right books. I didn’t bring enough to books. I chased my nephews around instead of turning pages. I scoped out the neighbor’s new porch. I gorged on blackberries and crab apples. I couldn’t make time for the library let alone the internet. I held hands with my husband. Hiked huge hills with great friends. Watched sunsets with a glass of pino between my knees. Ate savory and sweet scones from Sweet Bob. When I did pick up a book it wasn’t one on my list (Islands by Anne Rivers Siddon comes to mind).
So, here’s the deal. I just escaped paradise. I’m just back and I’m just out of sorts. I don’t want to take a shower for fear of washing away my island residue. Last night I slept with the light on because the silence on the street was not the silence of the ocean. For once, the cat wasn’t the compatible companion. I have no clue what books I am supposed to be reading for September. I have no clue and right now I don’t care.
So, September is: slogging through tons and tons of email. (Yahoo = 234, Google = 565, LibraryThing = 3, work = 199, RealEstate = 66). September is Rebecca Correia on the 12th. September is Sean Rowe’s new album. Otherwise, September is slow to start.
Where did August go? Sweet August raced by me like lightning in a stormy sky. For reading I was all messed up. I read two books out of turn and one completely by mistake! So much for planning! Anyway, August was:
All is Vanity by Christina Schwarz (Others will tell you Schwarz has put out better, but I say this one was good, too!)
Boy with Loaded Gun by Lewis Nordan (really, really interesting book)
A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius by Dave Eggers (another nonfiction…okay, I admit it. I read this out of turn!)
Postcards by E. Annie Proulx (really dark!)
Devil in a Blue Dress by Walter Mosley (I need to explain this one!)
What I admitted defeat on was Far Field because it just wasn’t light reading for the last month of sumer. I’ll pick it back up again eventually.
For the Early Review Program on LibraryThing:
Blackbird, Farewell by Robert Greer ( a really fun whodunit about a basketball star murder before his big NBA contract even began).
For the fun of it:
Top Chef: The Cookbook by Brett Martin
Islandsby Anne Rivers Siddon
August was also Sean Rowe, the Police, and Swell Season. It was getting a chance to hang out with really good friends, even for a second. It was Monhegan and a restoration of resolve.
I am here. I would say “I am home” but I still have the salt on my skin and the wind in my hair from the boat ride. It’s too soon to say anything other than I am back. Like leaving a lover I cannot be untrue to, if that makes sense.
I left blackberries, rosehips and a mocha dream in the fridge. I left sour apples on the tree and artwork in the gallery. I left kisa on the porch staring at the ocean (left that, too). I left the sunshine for five hours in a car talking to myself.
My phone is officially turned back on. My email is once again active. I have crawled out of a coma of contentment to rejoin the workforce; the living.
643 pictures and not one rainy day. Rocks. Sea glass. purple and blue mussel shells. I’m scratched from the brambles. Bruised from who knows where. I read the wrong book but drank the right wine. Cooked for friends. Cooked with family. Laughed at my nephews. Laughed with my sister. I think I did everything I wanted and thensome. But, somehow I wasn’t done.
So much to say about being home and leaving it. This is not the real deal. Not yet at least. More later. xoxoxo
This is my friend Sarah. We started off as coworkers. Even though she has moved onto bigger and better things we have remained friends. She has a huge smile and an even bigger heart. Here’s the proof: she walking a full freakin’ marathon for charity – yup 26.2 miles in one day. Here’s her story:
You are a charity walking machine, but this is your biggest yet! What made you sign on?
Last year I walked the half marathon and I loved it. Even though i was sore for a few days afterwards. I asked my dad to participate with me this year and he really wanted us to walk the whole marathon. I knew I couldn’t get a better walking partner than my dad (who has RUN many marathons) so i agreed to walk the full 26.2 miles!
How are you training for it, besides one foot in front of the other?
My ideas for training started with a book, and a set schedule but I struggled to get into it. Yesterday I walked 6.2 miles, and i am feeling it. my plan is to walk at least twice during the week for 3 miles or more, and then do my long walks on the weekend. my long walks will be 10, 13, 18 and 21 miles. In September I will start to shorten the mileage to get ready for the event.
When and where does this HUGE walk take place?
This is the part that hooked me both last year and this year. The walk is the Boston Marathon route. I have watched my dad run this marathon so its an honor to be able to experience this with him. Especially since neither of us our in running condition to do the real marathon. This is the next best thing.
This is something I asked our friend Rebecca: most athletes I know have a ritual or lucky talisman – something that inspires them before the event. What’s yours?
The things that inspire me most at these events are the volunteers and the photos that remind of us we are participating. The marathon has a mile marker with a photo of a child who is battling cancer. Those kids are fighting for their life, all i have to do is keep walking.
Here’s another question I asked Rebecca: Are you walking in anyones honor or memory, and if so, what is his/her story?
i am not walking for one particular person but for the general cause. I am amazed at the courage of anyone that goes thru cancer. To be honest, I am scared of someone I love or myself having to go thru something like that. I admire the strength of those who have cancer, their loved ones, and the people in the medical field who try to beat the odds and get them through it.
I’m not trying to guilt anyone but if walking a marathon and asking for your help in donating can help the fight against cancer then it is the least I can do. It is what I’d hope someone would do for me or someone I loved.
Speaking of donations, how much $$ do you have to raise? my dad and i need to raise $250 each.
My mother’s email read, “D died suddenly. All in shock.” No sh!t. Shock is an understatement. Kisa came to bed and said, “I think I know what happened. Yaz went into the hospital early this morning and D couldn’t take it.” Despite my self stunned state I smiled. He had a point and could possibly be right. No one loved the Red Sox more than D, except maybe his daughter.
I want to think that’s exactly what happened. Home is just too small of a place for mysteriously sudden passings. Things like that just don’t happen. We read about them in the news. We see them on television. They shock us yet we manage to shake our heads and say Glad that wasn’t here. But, but. But! In our little world when people die we usually see it coming from a long way off. Like a ship on the horizon we see the approach and brace ourselves for the arrival. We have time to think, time to prepare. Even my father sent us signs. Headaches, high blood pressure. We should have seen it coming a mile away yet we chose to be stunned.
“All in shock” is definitely an understatement.
Edited to add: Nothing could have prepared me for the passing of LeRoi Moore. It seems so unreal. I’m still trying to wrap my brain around the fact that a founding member of the Dave Matthews Band, just 46 years old, is dead. I have to blink my eyes and scratch my head. Three days of bad news. Is it September already?
I don’t out and out ask for assistance all that often. I don’t always spell it out and say Help. Me. But, those close to me know when I am searching for support, hunting for help. In so many words I asked and in so many ways they answered. Such was last night.
For reasons unknown I have been feeling silent and still. Like a pond with hardly a ripple. I wanted a wave of life and laughter to wash over me and lift me out of a self-induced torpor. Let’s go out I told my go-to girls. Where? They were surprised when I told them. It’s not like me to not have a plan. It’s not like to me to not know what I’m getting myself into. They only knew I needed their support and they answered the call. Wish we had a rally song because I would be humming it now.
Pouring rain. Little sleep. Too much wine. A borrowed car. Running late. Leaving early. None of it mattered. We converged on Jill like a hurricane and ordered vodka, chocolate, and chilies. We rolled our eyes at the cliches and silently cheered on the gold. Smoke and strobes. Run songs ruined. When the time came my friends rallied around me like a fortress. Not letting a single thing hurt me or help me lose control. When I said I was done I didn’t know it until I was surrounded by support.
Now it’s the morning after. I’m hearing Sublime. I’m hearing something about bitches. Sublime bitches? You betcha. Thanks, ladies.
My sister asked me if I was ready for next week. Am I ready? I have been mentally ticking down the days, practically the hours until next week. Too bad it’s the end of next week that I have to wait for. The wait can kill me.
I’ll start off by making the drive to Portland. Part of me wants to load up the billion ME/CA only returnables and finally make a return on them (think of all the nickels I’ll get! They might pay the parking meter…) Then maybe I’ll be able to get through the basement…
Then it’s a boat trip to Peaks. I’m tempted to bring running gear because the run ways out there are so beautiful. It’s a crazy mix of ocean, pines, pavement, big luxury houses, small shacks, horses, wildflowers, dirt and sea salt air. Different scenery than what I see everyday and different is good. Very good.
Babysitting the Bebe. I’m sure my sister is worried. I haven’t dealt with a child under the age of 30 in over a decade. There’s a voice in my head that reasons, “how hard can it be?” while another counters, “there’s a reason you don’t have one yourself.” Oh yeah. So, I’m looking forward to being a cool aunt trying to stay calm. I’m only half kidding.
Then. Then. Then! There is Monfreakinhegan. CanNOT wait to get there. It’s been almost a year. A full fukcing year. I tell anyone who will listen I am never doing that again. Memorial Day, 4th of July, Labor Day & Columbus Day. Those will be my dates next year. Count on it.
Kisa sent me a link today. Said it was my day for my kind. My Day. A day for Lefties. A day dedicated to 10% of the population…those being not right handed. Imagine that! Needless to say I automatically joined the club and then immediately questioned my qualifications. Even felt a little guilty about printing out the certificate…(but it’s a pretty certificate).
I’m not entirely all right brained. This dominate right hand world has taught me a little something about compromise. Think about it. Try using a computer mouse in your left hand. Try holding a pair of scissors upside down. It’s a little screwy. So, I adapted. Here’s more: I throw a ball equally as bad with my left as with my right. I play golf right handed. I zest lemon rind with my right. Nutmeg, too. Peel potatoes righty. Even pick my nose with the right. So, am I right to belong to a left-handed club? Hmmmm….
Happiness is…taking a half day to visit the farm. Happiness is knowing everything is going to be alright, eventually. Happiness is….
I play this game all the time. Whenever I am overcome by being happy I have this habit of identifying the source of emotion. I haven’t acknowledged my feeling until I can fill in the blank. Something I picked up from therapy. A little weird, but there it is.
Today, coming back from the farm I felt giddy, euphoric even. My impulse was to think “on the verge of a psychotic snap” because I had just spent 40 minutes standing in the pouring rain, searching for tomatillos, the ones that had burst through their paper-lantern shells. I had given up on the cherry tomatoes 10 minutes earlier. We were allowed two quarts and for some reason my heart wasn’t in hunt. The recent storms have knocked down all the trailing twine and posts so picking tomatoes off the vine is literally hunching over, pulling up sodden leaves to look for orange orbs. We already have so many! So, I opted for just one quart and moved onto my goddess, the tomatillo.
I don’t think I can fully express my obsession with this green tomato-like, apple-like, hint of lime wonder. As the rain continued in sheets, soaking me to the bone, I stood there quietly, carefully surveying the harvest. Only the ones that had successfully burst through their paper shells were ready for picking and in the pouring rain it was impossible to tell. Out of the corner of my eye I spotted a cobalt blue raincoat standing and staring on the other side of the row. “Are we crazy?” the man under the cobalt asked me when our eyes met. “I wouldn’t be out here if it weren’t for the tomatillos.” I replied as I raised a hand in greeting. My hand said “Yup, we are crazy” even as my voice made excuses. Soon he came around to my row and said “what’s a tomatillo?” I pulled one of out my bag and launched into cooking school mode. “They’re like a tart tomato, think granny smith – think Mexican food…” Meanwhile an obese drop of rain hung on the man’s nose, another in his eyelashes. A mosquito bit my neck. “Ah…” the man nodded. Why, I’m not sure. He told me the raspberries were worth the rain. I was anxious to move onto Italian flat leaf parsley but didn’t say so. Instead, I laughed and admitted the raspberries might have to wait a week. My sneakers were filled with silt. My canvas pants clung to my calves. Mud graced the cuffs. Grit was in my teeth from sneaking a cherry tomato. Dirt was under my nails and I’m sure, smudged on my face. Rain’s wet had found it’s way through my raincoat. It started to run down my back. Still I wished my picking companion a nice weekend and grinning like a fool, made my way back to the car.
Green peppers, zucchini, summer squash, onions, carrots, hot peppers, cucumbers, eggplant, lettuce, kale, cilantro, dill, honeydew, watermelon, arugula, thyme, sage, plum and cherry tomatoes…and tomatillos. Happiness is all that.
I think I’ve said it a billion and one times. Today makes a billion and two. I always root for the underdog. That doesn’t mean I like the self-professed Homer/Family Guy; the guy who is proud to be life’s class clown fukc-up. Kisa, when I first met him said “I’m dumb.” But, that didn’t mean he was describing his whole IQ in a nutshell. He meant when it comes to meaningful relationships he’s not Mensa. I like that honesty, that soul-baring GiveMeAbreak mea culpa. I’ve Never Done This Before kind of virginity.
Let me clarify one thing. Underdog doesn’t mean under-confident, under-powered, under anything. Really.
I think I speak for every woman out there when I say tough is attractive. There’s a reason why the bad boy wins and nice guys finish last. Sometimes. Confidence is kickazz. Awkward is…well…awkward. Daring James Dean trumps goofy Gilligan every single time. Why am I saying this? Well, I’m tired of that guy saying he’ll never find someone. I know why. He knows why. He sells himself short. He takes pride in being a punching bag, the punchline to someone else’s joke. Meek is murder on meeting people. It’s frustrating when the personality has flat lined five minutes into the conversation. The underdog is scrappy, a fighter, a face to be reckoned with – not walked over. I was telling a friend about Kisa and she exclaimed, “but he’s such a nice guy!” Yeah, he’s nice, but not exactly innocent when it comes to trouble.
I came across someone’s Woe Is Me-ness the other day. If I had a remote I would have changed the channel. No, if I had a remote I would have hit the mute button. No, no, no! If I had a remote I would have shut the whole thing off. Here’s a tip, boyfriend: you are smart, you are funny, you are even cute to boot. Stop whining about what wasn’t or what was at one time and wonder what could be. Stop telling me how everything about your life falls short. Do something about it. Do something about you. Really. Be a man for fukc’s sake. Or, if you can’t be a man, be a bad boy.
It is awful to wish the summer away. To look forward to Labor Day…but I can’t help it. The time has (finally) come for me to go home. And I haven’t been there since last October! August is all about going back to the island. I’m bringing a truckload of books:
All is Vanity by Christina Schwartz (in honor of Womens Friendship Month)
Boy with Loaded Gun by Lewis Nordan (in honor of Lewis Nordan’s birthday)
Far Field by Edie Meidav (August is the best time to visit Sri Lanka, believe it or not)
Dog Handling by Clare Naylor (August has a “woman’s day” so I’m reading what Pearl calls “chick lit”)
Professor and the Madman by Simon Winchester (National Language Month)
It seems traitorish to think that the island’s library won’t have any of these books, but I can’t take the chance by assuming they do…and here’s the funny part- I don’t leave until the latter half of the month. I’m acting as if I won’t read a word before then! I’m actually hoping to have All is Vanity and Boy with Loaded Gun finished and off my list before leaving.
I scored another LibraryThing Early Review:
Blackbird, Farewell by Robert Greer. I am excited about this new book for odd reasons. For starters, I love the title! There is something about blackbirds. I love how they are associated with something dark and ominous. Dangerous. If you ever get the chance, check out Jamie Wyeth’s art. He has some great blackbird paintings. I also love the song ‘Blackbird’ (Jerry Garcia’s version is my favorite). Nearly everyone who has ever made me a mixed tape has put that song on one for me. I don’t know why…Maybe they have insight about my broken wings and the need to fly? Anyway, this book doesn’t have anything to do with blackbirds….funny.
August is also a Police concert (awesome, awesome, awesome by the way – blog coming soon), more trips to see Sean Rowe, Swell Season in my back yard, maybe Rebecca Correia. Should be an interesting month! Speaking of flying, I hope it does!
July flew by. I hardly knew where the month actually went. Here’s how it went for reading:
Bilgewater by Jane Gardam ~ lovely young adult book.
Blackwater by Kerstin Ekman ~ a dark story set in the woods of Sweden.
Finding Caruso by Kim Barnes ~ brotherly love set against sibling rivalry.
Citizen of the Galaxy by Robert Heinlein ~ Sci-fi story about a boy finding his way.
Chasing Vermeer by Blue Balliett ~ a young adult mystery.
Friend of My Youth by Alice Munro ~ short stories that center around women and their relationships.
Jackson’s Dilemma by Iris Murdoch ~ a muddled tale of twisted relationships with someone named Jackson in the middle…
Lie in the Dark by Dan Fesperman ~ whodunnit set in Bosnia.
For LibraryThing’s Early Review Program:
What We All Long For by Dionne Brand ~ previously published in 2003
Just for the fun of it:
Bobby Flay’s Mesa Grill:Explosive Flavors from the Southwestern Kitchen by Bobby Flay with Stephanie Banyas and Sally Jackson. Made several recipes out of this and loved every one.
The Food You Crave: Luscious Recipes for a Healthy Life by Ellie Krieger. Meant to make more recipes from this, but every one I tried was amazing.
Music of Coal: Mining Songs from the Appalachian Coalfields (Introduction by Jack Wright). This is actually a two cd/book set published in 2007. Because Natalie Merchant contributed to the compilation I just had to check it out.
Kim Lyons’ Your Body, Your Life by Kim Lyons & Lara McGlashan
We have settled into some semblance of a Sunday morning routine. Catching up on myself’s shows first thing in the morning. Awake but not getting out of bed, cheating morning and waking and thinking for another hour. The Food Network. Coffee. Hot and fresh brewed. I’m up but not.
Later. House hunting. We map each address in order of distance and time. Open houses. That one doesn’t start until 1pm. Let’s save it until last. Go here first. So it goes. So many questions. How is the neighborhood? Is it a hood? Can I walk the walk or will they send me running? How far from the street is it? How many cars can fit in the driveway? What if we actually (gasp) have people over? Garage? Kitchen? Counter space? Gas or electric? Can I socialize while stirring and sauteing? Will my butt hit the fridge while standing at the sink? Fireplace? Ceiling fans? Ranch? Colonial? Cape? WTF? Basements finished or frightening? Security system or do we get a dog? Closets walk in or full of skeletons? Porch, deck or patio? All three? Lawn to mow? Dude room? Workout room? Laundry room? Indiana room? Mudroom? Guest room? Gawd forbid we want someone to actually spend the night! Bathrooms 1, 1.5, or 2? Central air? Central vac? Central to work? Hardwood or wall to wall? Marble or laminate? Grand or gross?
We walk through old house after new house, roomy room after teeny-tiny room. Agents follow us with the details: one owner, built in —-, new roof, updated kitchen, close to schools…I take notes to show interest but have no intentions. No set plan. Everything has something. Nothing has nothing, well, except Sanders. Can’t decide. Don’t want to decide. Not now. No rush to move. Kisa brings up another house. I shut him down. Let’s not go there. Literally or figuratively. I’m done with the red house on the corner. We’ll keep on looking. Keep on searching.
And so next weekend we’ll watch tv in bed to wake up and catch up. Coffee and the paper. A map. More open houses. New emails. New agents. New addresses. Keeping with the new Sunday routine.
They say the house has lost its character. Lost its charm. It’s no island home. Home no more. Electrified. Modernized. Resized. Beautified.
Happiness is…taking a half day to visit the farm. Happiness is knowing everything is going to be alright, eventually. Happiness is….
~*LunaSea*~ 