Priceless sand dollars

Saturday, August 13

I woke up early and put on my sand dollar earrings. We were heading for the beach.

I've owned these earrings since 1989, when we lived in Savannah. I have rarely been to the beach since--a couple of times for family get-togethers. Our children only visit the beach with friends--they thought John and I must not care for oceans.

But the actual reason was choice: we chose to spend our summers at our cabin on the Clarion River, near grandparents and cousins; when our children were young, additional beach vacations were just too expensive. 

This summer, our son Willem is an actor/tech at The Lost Colony in Manteo, NC on the Outer Banks. Our daughter Kathe joined us in Richmond on Friday night, and we drove down together. A long, slow drive. Lots of time to read the signs along the road.

 Willem joined us, and we spent a few hours together at the beach before he had to report to work. We sat in the front row and enjoyed the pageantry of this show that I hadn't seen since I was a little girl, but I've never forgotten. Will is the soldier on watch in this photo.

When we headed to the beach, I was hoping for a sand dollar. But this beach has only shell shards. A beach vacation has plenty of opportunities to feel as if dollars are disappearing into the sand. But, as those commercials used to say, it was priceless. All 3 of our children within 24 hours.

My Red Hot Chili Pepper

We drove to Richmond today to help Phoebe, our third child, move into her sophomore dorm. Quite a contrast to last year, when everything was new and intimidating.

Now, her college is her comfort zone; tonight she begins her training to be an orientation advisor for incoming freshmen. She was glad for our help, but glad to see us go so she could get about living her life.

A big part of her life is her club frisbee team: The Red Hot Chili Peppers. Phoebe loves her teammates--an impressive group of dynamic, athletic, women--and this sport which she says values teamwork more than any other sport she's played.  

I bought this pair of beads last spring at a bead shop in Leesburg, VA from a cup full of glass fruits and vegetables, planning to wear them to see Phoebe at Richmond. Mission accomplished. Now I can give them to a Red Hot Chili Pepper.

Remembering that Life is Good

Today we loaded our bikes and boats onto our cars, our clothes and gadgets, coolers and dry goods, and our two dogs Rosie and Folly into our cars, and bid good-bye to our cabin on the Clarion River for another year. 

The morning disappeared in a bustle of cleaning out the fridge, draining the water, loading the cars, packing away linens and anything else our winter tenants (chipmunks, mice, bats, and last year squirrels!) might want to eat or turn into nests.  

I snapped this photo of my copper earrings, purchased this summer at a funky little shop in Clarion, PA called Artfunkle. As I packed, I kept reminding myself that life is good; but I'll miss The Pinery and the many joys of summer.

I snapped this photo next to my bed where I keep some of the rocks that my daughter Kathe and her husband Jim painted to give as wedding favors two summers ago. I'd been meaning to use them in a photo all summer, but I kept forgetting. Picnics and paddling and wildflowers and hikes through the pines--The Pinery, the cabin that John built board by board with his own hands.

We finished packing, and drove away from our summer getaway. We bought this land 25 years ago when we lived in Brooklyn, NY and needed an acre to call our own. More that anywhere else, this acre is our home.

Now, I'm back home in Virginia, at a house I love. Life is good.

Happy Birthday, my son

My son turns 23 today. Twenty years ago, he looked a bit different than he does now, but then, don't we all?

I know that he’s grown a beard, because I’ve seen the pictures on Facebook. That’s also where I discovered that he’d gone sky-diving over the weekend.

But some things haven't changed. He loved tales of fantasy and adventure then, and he loves them still today.

I haven’t seen him all summer, since mid-May when he left to work as an actor/tech in The Lost Colony. As we do each year around Willem's birthday, my husband and I are packing and cleaning and preparing to leave our summer cabin. School starts soon, and we need to settle into our home in Virginia again.

But first we’ll head to the Outer Banks of North Carolina to see Willem, The Lost Colony, and the beach. A glorious last hurrah for this glorious summer.

None of the earrings still sitting in my traveling box appealed to me this morning. So as I raced out the door to yoga, I grabbed a pair of beads and a pair of hoops. Presto, earrings!

This afternoon as I packed, I put my summer earrings into a box to take home--all except today's pair, which still dangled from my ears. So I hung them on the empty wire to photograph.

I imagine that image captures some of what Willem will feel when he finishes his last performance of this season, the same play night after night, 6 days a week, 15 weeks without a break... and then it's over. One more semester of college, after so many years of school... and then it's over.

New adventures await.

Time for a paddle

At seven o'clock, when I was a child, we sat down around the dining room table to share a meal and discuss the topic that was at the forefront of my father's mind, often an idea that he'd just heard discussed by Huntley or Brinkley or Walter Cronkite, or a tale of one of his adventures that the news inspired. I loved dinner time, even in summer when my friends had all eaten earlier and were back outside playing kickball or dodge ball. I knew that I would be out in time for Sardines or Midnight Spook.

Here at our cabin, we have no TV and even radio reception is poor. The two of us rarely sit at the table anymore, but instead perch on chairs on our deck or next to the fire. We eat when we're ready to eat. And then, at seven o'clock or later if necessary, I like to head out for a paddle.

I paddle upstream first, with the sun on my back. My route follows the far bank where a channel allows my paddle to dig deep and power me against the current.

Tonight, since the solstice is seven weeks past, the sun was low on the horizon. Its rays refracted off the flowing water creating a shimmery effect on the river bank and its low-hanging branches. I reached out so that my paddle could catch the shimmer. As I paddled, I identified familiar wildflowers and trees by name: monkey flower, forget-me-not, hornbeam, boneset...

I love my evening paddle. And I love my Dagger Quintus, the one that I bought 21 years ago along with my first used kayak at the Nantahala Outdoor Center in North Carolina. It has bashed and scraped many river rocks over those years; I hope that it will last as many more. I've tried other paddles, but this one I love. Its heft, length, and grip suit me.

Today's earrings dangle from one of the paddle's blades in this photo. I bought them at the Sawmill Center for the Arts as a model to use in making other earrings. I thought they looked a bit gaudy and dangled too low.

This morning when I saw them, I saw paddles. It was raining hard, but I put them on, confident that today, sometime, I would paddle. Tonight at seven, I was on the river, my paddling earrings shimmering in the sunlight. Paddling on.

Bright Wings for George

At a reunion of my mother's family, held at the Seattle home of my brother some 7 years ago, my cousin George pulled a slender volume out of his coat pocket and announced that since he was the oldest member of the family, it gave him the prerogative to share some poetry. He proceeded to read some of his favorite poems from Billy Collins' most recent collection. George's melodious southern speech patterns were punctuated by his chuckles and frequent glances into the eyes of his audience. George knows how to bring worth to each moment, how to connect with each soul he encounters, how to enrich lives. 

Already, George was experiencing signs of Parkinson's and perhaps had an inkling of the Alzheimer's that was soon to begin to plague his short term memory. But at that gathering and each other time we've met, George has taken the time to tell me about my mother's youth, to learn about me and my family, and to convey his love. Each January he writes to me, effusive in his praise of the creativity of this year's card, "the best ever!" once again. "Your mother would be so proud!"

In both Seattle and the following family reunion in Tallahassee, we went on birding expeditions together, once on foot and once in a boat in the lake where The Creature from the Black Lagoon was filmed. I thought of George when I borrowed this book of poetry from a friend. "Billy Collins and birds," I thought, "I wonder if George has seen that."

Tonight when I paddled my kayak upstream, I was looking for birds and thinking of George. I admired a Green Heron fishing on the bank. I smiled at the pair of white domestic ducks that make our river home.

But I was paddling late, and as I turned downstream, I saw not birds but a gathering mist hanging low over the river. I paddled along the bank, gazing at the vibrant greens of the ferns and hemlocks, punctuated by the crimson of the Cardinal Flower. Nearby, mayflies were swooping about. As long as I focused on what was close by, I could see clearly. When I glanced back upstream, fog was settling over the banks where I had just traveled.

The baby in this photograph, taken some 85 years ago, is George, held in the arms of our grandmother. I have other, more recent photographs of him, including one of him reading poetry, but they are not with me tonight.

Tonight George is resting at a place with the delightful name of Palm Garden, trying to regain some strength and put on a few pounds. I imagine him charming the staff and smiling wisely into the eyes of all of his visitors, making the most of each encounter.    

This afternoon, I took these bird charms and added some beads, thinking of George all the while, and wishing I could send him healing balms. The mists may be gathering, but I hope that someone will pull up a chair for me and share a favorite poem with George.

Memories in the Making

My daughters and I were in production mode this morning, making signs for Phoebe to take to college. She'll hang each one on the door of one of her freshman orientation advisees. Last year at this time, Phoebe was anticipating freshman orientation; this year, she will be an advisor.

Our living room has been the site of many such projects over the years: holiday cards, teaching projects, gifts, and, well, ideas we wanted to explore just to say we had.

The earrings I wore today were made right there one winter break about 10 years ago. When asked what I wanted for Christmas, I replied, "Earrings." So I was banned from the room, and my 3 kids made me earrings. This pair of elephants is one that Kathe made using Shrinky Dinks and seeds. I've always loved them.

Ten years ago, it was an ordinary event, making projects on the braided rug in the living room, helping each other problem solve and chatting about life along the way. Now each such moment is a treasure to dangle somewhere in the folds of my memory.