After last night I cannot help but wonder if I haven't been working the online dating scene too long.
I've done my best not to become jaded. Indeed, somehow I manage to talk myself into approaching each date with enthusiastic optimism. Of course I do believe unreservedly that I am a great "catch", but my assumption is that there are a lot of great male catches out there too. For that reason I am willing to meet with potential suitors who do not necessarily present themselves well in their online profiles. I mean, heck, I'm a writer so of course my profile is fabulous! But I can understand that not everyone possesses the communication skills that I take for granted.
This is not to say I don't have some minimum criteria that must be met prior to scheduling a first meeting. They need to indicate financial stability. They need to not look like a serial killer in their photos. They need to at least pretend that they are not angry and embittered over the life and relationships they've had so far. (You'd be surprised at how many guys that eliminates from the starting gate.) If they do that then, yes, I'll come out for coffee or wine.
I prefer not to come out for a meal. Most women on these dating sites seem to think that a free meal is the goal. I don't want or need a free restaurant meal. I'm happier to stay home to eat my own healthier food. My goal in meeting these guys is to see if there is any potential. I've learned that it only takes about fifteen minutes of chitty-chat over a beverage for me to know if I want to spend more time in this person's company. My time is valuable and I've no interest in taking advantage of any man's wallet.
That said, last night after painting my nails and applying mascara I went out to meet a guy who appeared to have potential. I asked to meet for a drink but he took one look at my gorgeosity and immediately asked the hostess to seat us at a table. He was mildly charming so I didn't resist. I set the menu aside and ordered a glass of Pinot Noir. He got a Miller Light (clearly not what he normally orders or he wouldn't be those 45 pounds overweight that made him struggle to slip into the cozy booth we were given. The waitress returned three times before we finally ordered two appetizers.
"Fine," I am thinking to myself, "he hasn't said anything too bizarre and he's come straight from work and he's gotta be hungry and we seem to be getting along... so sure, why not?"
It wasn't until about an hour into the conversation that things got really weird.
I don't know this guy. Absolutely nothing about him seemed even vaguely familiar. Nothing. I swear. Like too many first dates, he was consumed with talking about himself. He'd told me about his job, his commute, his education, his ex-wife, his son, his son's girlfriend, the reason he didn't like his son's girlfriend, the crazy things his son's girlfriend has done... He was going on and on about himself and his son with very little room for me to insert anything about me, but I've seen this plenty of times before and I am a patient soul. After all, a lot of that can come from sheer terror on the part of the guy. They are so afraid of lulls in the conversation that they fill up the space with blather that borders on embarrassingly inappropriate self-disclosures. I've heard a lot of that. Really, so far this guy last night wasn't any worse than the norm. I even managed to politely ignore the food that missed his mouth and came to rest where his belly bulged at the buttons of his crisp blue oxford shirt.
And then it happened. He began to tell me a story that I had heard before.
It wasn't just similar to a story I'd heard before, it actually was a story I'd heard before. He was telling me this story - about why he'd broken up with his last serious girlfriend - and he was telling it in words that I had, verbatim, heard before.
My stomach tightened up so much that I put down the bite I was about to take and pushed my plate away. I had just slipped into the Twilight Zone.
He didn't notice my reaction at first and continued to recount his tale. I listened, knowing precisely what he was going to say next, but hoping somehow I didn't. My mind bounced back and forth trying to explain what was happening. Had I met this man before? Was this a prolonged flash of déjà vu? Is there a book all the men read on "Stories to Entertain Your First Dates"? How could I possibly know this story?
Earlier in the conversation he'd mentioned how his marriage had failed after the death of their youngest son. I hadn't picked up on it then, but now, hearing this story about his ex-girlfriend, I could remember exactly how his son had died. Good golly, I've heard all of this guy's stories before. I know this guy. Why don't I recognize him? My mind was in an absolutely dizzying whirl. My upset had become obvious by now, even to this self-obsessed talkaholic. But aside from his noting that I'd stopped eating, he continued to tell me more things I already knew as I struggled to neutralize the expression on my face.
I let the conversation run its course, doing less to encourage him than I'd been doing before my revelation. In time his food and banter ran out, the bill came, and we made our way to the door. He was none the wiser, though I myself was grateful for the cold night air as we stepped outdoors and parted company. I watched his brake lights as he backed up and exited his parking spot. I sat still in my car, completely unsure of what I'd actually just experienced. Is it possible that I had dated this man and have zero recollection of his face? Is that really possible? It would have had to have been within the last three years, since that's when he told me he moved back to NJ. Could I really have met someone within the last three years and have no memory of it whatsoever, save the stories that he'd told, then and now?
I have no explanation. If it had been déjà vu, wouldn't I have recalled his face? Every other déjà vu I've ever had possessed precisely identical scenarios. Those few déjà vu’s were incredibly clear: the faces and conversations were exact replicas. This hadn't been like that. I'd heard the story, but had not been in that same restaurant booth when I'd heard it. And it cannot have been a story that guys want to use for first-date conversations since it wasn't a "good" story; it was unhappy, and strange. So all that's left to conclude is that I had, in fact, met this guy at some time during the last three years and I have absolutely no recollection of it. I’d be concerned that I was having early onset of Alzheimer’s, but he clearly doesn't recall meeting me either. How can two people both not know that they have met each other within the last three years? Or is it possible that this guy was "gaslighting" me?
Twilight Zone indeed.
I had a hard time falling to sleep last night. With all of this still churning in my head this morning, I went to my email inbox and saw that after nearly three years of silence I'd received correspondence from Carmine. My heart fluttered. Oh Carmine, is your swim in the dating pool exhausting you too? I opened the email with a grateful resurgence of sunny optimism, only to find Carmine's email account had been hacked and some schlock web sales pitch had been sent to me, along with everyone else in Carmine's contact list.
Sigh... Is the universe sending me a warning that it may be time to take a break from dating?
On the upside, apparently I am still in Carmine's contact list...
My oh my, how can I continue to be such a cockeyed optimist in the wake of such a bizarre episode? What will it take to crack my rose colored glasses?
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Monday, September 20, 2010
The Moons of Jupiter
JUPITER AT ITS BEST: Tonight, Sept. 20-21, Earth and Jupiter converge for their closest encounter in decades. The giant planet will soar across the sky at midnight, outshining everything except the Moon itself. Although big, bright Jupiter will remain close to Earth for weeks to come, tonight is the closest of all. (From Spaceweather.com)
Last night I sighted Jupiter... so pretty, hiding there in plain sight as if she is just another star. When viewed through even my cheap old telescope (especially now, while Jupiter is so close) you realize that sparkling prick of light is not a star, but a sister to our Earth. So I took my scope over to Mike's cottage and showed Mike & Vicky too... and they seemed pleased and impressed to view the planet and four of its moons, miraculously circling their home planet. And off to the east of Jupiter was our own moon, not quite full but brilliant in the light from our sun which had set four hours prior.
It all made me wonder... where will I be... where will they be... what will life be like in twelve years when Jupiter comes this close again? Will they remember this night with me? Will they remember their younger selves, merely 29 & 30, peering up at the planet over Mike's cottage... a cottage which will, most certainly, no longer exist twelve years from now if Mike's plans come to fruition. Will they remember these sweet romantic days of their courtship when hanging at his summer cottage relieved their city-dwelling stresses? Are they embedding these cool September nights into their memories, to warm them into their old age when children - who have not yet even been conceived - will tickle their hearts as they tickle mine?
Every day, every moment, every experience hangs like smoke in the air, waiting to be dispersed by whatever wind of change may blow. It is all so brief and tenuous... all of everything we see and do. Twelve years ago I could not possibly have foreseen myself, as I am now... Twelve years ago my sons were barely even men at only 16, 17, and 18. Twelve years ago I was merely 42, married and in love, although still trying to figure out how to really get along as a couple. I never thought to see today. I never imagined what time might do to each of us.
In twelve years hence as Jupiter pulls close to our Earth again, will I be here? Will I still be interested in peering at her moons? Will my children's children be clustered at my side, pushing to have a turn to see what the heaven's hold? Will I have the chance to share more spectacularly, splendidly, divinely humble and inconsequential moments like last night with the people I love? And will I remember that I did? And will they?
My heart soars as I open an email from Mike only a moment ago.
"thanks for the jupiter moons, really cool to see!"
How very sweet to think that we may have shared a moment in time that will last forever in our hearts...
Last night I sighted Jupiter... so pretty, hiding there in plain sight as if she is just another star. When viewed through even my cheap old telescope (especially now, while Jupiter is so close) you realize that sparkling prick of light is not a star, but a sister to our Earth. So I took my scope over to Mike's cottage and showed Mike & Vicky too... and they seemed pleased and impressed to view the planet and four of its moons, miraculously circling their home planet. And off to the east of Jupiter was our own moon, not quite full but brilliant in the light from our sun which had set four hours prior.
It all made me wonder... where will I be... where will they be... what will life be like in twelve years when Jupiter comes this close again? Will they remember this night with me? Will they remember their younger selves, merely 29 & 30, peering up at the planet over Mike's cottage... a cottage which will, most certainly, no longer exist twelve years from now if Mike's plans come to fruition. Will they remember these sweet romantic days of their courtship when hanging at his summer cottage relieved their city-dwelling stresses? Are they embedding these cool September nights into their memories, to warm them into their old age when children - who have not yet even been conceived - will tickle their hearts as they tickle mine?
Every day, every moment, every experience hangs like smoke in the air, waiting to be dispersed by whatever wind of change may blow. It is all so brief and tenuous... all of everything we see and do. Twelve years ago I could not possibly have foreseen myself, as I am now... Twelve years ago my sons were barely even men at only 16, 17, and 18. Twelve years ago I was merely 42, married and in love, although still trying to figure out how to really get along as a couple. I never thought to see today. I never imagined what time might do to each of us.
In twelve years hence as Jupiter pulls close to our Earth again, will I be here? Will I still be interested in peering at her moons? Will my children's children be clustered at my side, pushing to have a turn to see what the heaven's hold? Will I have the chance to share more spectacularly, splendidly, divinely humble and inconsequential moments like last night with the people I love? And will I remember that I did? And will they?
My heart soars as I open an email from Mike only a moment ago.
"thanks for the jupiter moons, really cool to see!"
How very sweet to think that we may have shared a moment in time that will last forever in our hearts...
Friday, August 27, 2010
Thoughts on Productivity
Admittedly, I am in love with my life.
I know it isn’t a life that my children seem to understand nor is it one that the average Joe lives, but I love it just this way: the way that it is. I do wish, however, that my feelings about my own existence were not under such constant scrutiny from my own conscience.
I am supposed to be productive.
I am supposed to clean my house – regularly and thoroughly.
I am supposed to exercise.
I am supposed to eat healthfully.
Some of the shoulds that I nag myself with make more sense to me than others, so I embrace them, in moderation. But the vast majority of my days are pissed away in a decadent state: feet up on the couch, video game or computer screen in front of me, a drink by my side (coffee, water, red wine, as the day progresses), and snacks. Here at my summer cottage I break up the bliss with wanderings around my yard, watering and picking as the need arises, though I am very comfortable in putting off the picking until tomorrow.
The watering has turned into somewhat of a grind. I find myself resenting its necessity, though I am too compelled to nurture living things to allow my resentment to kill them off. I made a commitment when I planted. I am bound to the commitments I make. It's my only curse.
But aside from watering plants that appear too desperate to wait, there is almost nothing I cannot justify postponing. The box of hair dye has been perched on the bathroom sink for two days. Today may be the day. Or not. Roots be damned. And I’ve stepped over that basil leaf in the middle of the living room floor at least three times now. I’ll get it, eventually. Probably. Even brushing my teeth can be put off. Nearly nothing matters enough, right now, to be done.
And in the freedom of my apparent lethargy I step out of the billowing curtains into the brilliant heat of a late morning sun and I spot a sailboat on the bay. Through my enormous black binoculars I spy on the couple stealing a kiss and laughing. And there on the bay the sunlight is glittering in a way it has never done before nor will it ever – exactly - do again. And I hear a woman’s voice behind me. She is some four hundred feet away, down and across my lagoon, and she’s on a phone saying,
“Hello? Hello? Can you hear me now?” and I cannot help but laugh out loud and my guffaws echo, as all sounds do here on the water.
Who takes the time to notice these things? Who has the time to take? Just me.
Doing nothing is a great counter balance to my anxiety disorder, but occasionally I worry that my GAD isn’t my only issue. I worry that I may be seriously depressed. After all, who but a seriously depressed person can do as little as I do? Comparing myself to the industrious lives of my dear friends leaves me wanting for some stronger direction of motion, a clear motivation, and some ostensible sign of success (or at least progress). What good am I doing for my world? What contribution can I point to?
Today’s soft end-of-summer breeze blows such concerns away. They can only beg at the question of why my doing nothing is any less valuable than their doing something. Who made these rules? Who set us up this way? Why is humankind so obsessed with “doing” anyway?
The rest of our animal kingdom live simple lives. Birds may build nests in the spring and conscientiously feed their young, but by and large a bird’s life is about eating, singing, and maybe flying south in the winter. There they will eat and sing and hang out with their friends.
I like the sound of that.
I know I am blessed to have a home – two homes actually – and enough money to buy the spare food required to maintain my thirty pounds of overweight. I come and go at my leisure, volunteering at the theater to satisfy my altruism as well as catching free shows to sustain my cultural side. I cook creatively; using many ingredients I’ve grown and harvested myself. Today I made a breakfast quiche and mixed up some crab cakes for later. I used home grown red and green tomatoes, fresh parsley, red and green peppers… there will be fresh mint in my iced tea as I dangle my toes in the pool. I feel like a Princess, yet I live on a budget that the government says is below the poverty line.
In the midst of this economic downturn I would ask, what more does a person want? What more does a person need? Why are all the people around me working so diligently? To what possible end?
The sound of salt water lapping at my bulkhead and the scream of a laughing gull flying overhead: these things ease my soul and whisper “This is enough”.
If I hit the lottery tomorrow, my life would barely change. I’d be able to stop stressing about which bill to pay, but my GAD would haunt my nights none the less. At least I would be sure that there would indeed be enough money to feed me when I am ninety. Aside from that, I have absolutely no interest in increasing my consumption or raising my standard of living. I don’t feel any desire to dress any “better” or have a fancier car. I most certainly would invest in one of those automatic watering systems so I could sleep in on the hot summer mornings when the plants dry out before 9:00 am. But other than that I would be completely happy to eat, sing, and fly south in the cold weather... perhaps north in the hot weather, east when Parisian baguettes call to me, and west when only authentic Pad Thai will do.
Really though, most of that I have already done... so, like I said, I love my life.
I know it isn’t a life that my children seem to understand nor is it one that the average Joe lives, but I love it just this way: the way that it is. I do wish, however, that my feelings about my own existence were not under such constant scrutiny from my own conscience.
I am supposed to be productive.
I am supposed to clean my house – regularly and thoroughly.
I am supposed to exercise.
I am supposed to eat healthfully.
Some of the shoulds that I nag myself with make more sense to me than others, so I embrace them, in moderation. But the vast majority of my days are pissed away in a decadent state: feet up on the couch, video game or computer screen in front of me, a drink by my side (coffee, water, red wine, as the day progresses), and snacks. Here at my summer cottage I break up the bliss with wanderings around my yard, watering and picking as the need arises, though I am very comfortable in putting off the picking until tomorrow.
The watering has turned into somewhat of a grind. I find myself resenting its necessity, though I am too compelled to nurture living things to allow my resentment to kill them off. I made a commitment when I planted. I am bound to the commitments I make. It's my only curse.
But aside from watering plants that appear too desperate to wait, there is almost nothing I cannot justify postponing. The box of hair dye has been perched on the bathroom sink for two days. Today may be the day. Or not. Roots be damned. And I’ve stepped over that basil leaf in the middle of the living room floor at least three times now. I’ll get it, eventually. Probably. Even brushing my teeth can be put off. Nearly nothing matters enough, right now, to be done.
And in the freedom of my apparent lethargy I step out of the billowing curtains into the brilliant heat of a late morning sun and I spot a sailboat on the bay. Through my enormous black binoculars I spy on the couple stealing a kiss and laughing. And there on the bay the sunlight is glittering in a way it has never done before nor will it ever – exactly - do again. And I hear a woman’s voice behind me. She is some four hundred feet away, down and across my lagoon, and she’s on a phone saying,
“Hello? Hello? Can you hear me now?” and I cannot help but laugh out loud and my guffaws echo, as all sounds do here on the water.
Who takes the time to notice these things? Who has the time to take? Just me.
Doing nothing is a great counter balance to my anxiety disorder, but occasionally I worry that my GAD isn’t my only issue. I worry that I may be seriously depressed. After all, who but a seriously depressed person can do as little as I do? Comparing myself to the industrious lives of my dear friends leaves me wanting for some stronger direction of motion, a clear motivation, and some ostensible sign of success (or at least progress). What good am I doing for my world? What contribution can I point to?
Today’s soft end-of-summer breeze blows such concerns away. They can only beg at the question of why my doing nothing is any less valuable than their doing something. Who made these rules? Who set us up this way? Why is humankind so obsessed with “doing” anyway?
The rest of our animal kingdom live simple lives. Birds may build nests in the spring and conscientiously feed their young, but by and large a bird’s life is about eating, singing, and maybe flying south in the winter. There they will eat and sing and hang out with their friends.
I like the sound of that.
I know I am blessed to have a home – two homes actually – and enough money to buy the spare food required to maintain my thirty pounds of overweight. I come and go at my leisure, volunteering at the theater to satisfy my altruism as well as catching free shows to sustain my cultural side. I cook creatively; using many ingredients I’ve grown and harvested myself. Today I made a breakfast quiche and mixed up some crab cakes for later. I used home grown red and green tomatoes, fresh parsley, red and green peppers… there will be fresh mint in my iced tea as I dangle my toes in the pool. I feel like a Princess, yet I live on a budget that the government says is below the poverty line.
In the midst of this economic downturn I would ask, what more does a person want? What more does a person need? Why are all the people around me working so diligently? To what possible end?
The sound of salt water lapping at my bulkhead and the scream of a laughing gull flying overhead: these things ease my soul and whisper “This is enough”.
If I hit the lottery tomorrow, my life would barely change. I’d be able to stop stressing about which bill to pay, but my GAD would haunt my nights none the less. At least I would be sure that there would indeed be enough money to feed me when I am ninety. Aside from that, I have absolutely no interest in increasing my consumption or raising my standard of living. I don’t feel any desire to dress any “better” or have a fancier car. I most certainly would invest in one of those automatic watering systems so I could sleep in on the hot summer mornings when the plants dry out before 9:00 am. But other than that I would be completely happy to eat, sing, and fly south in the cold weather... perhaps north in the hot weather, east when Parisian baguettes call to me, and west when only authentic Pad Thai will do.
Really though, most of that I have already done... so, like I said, I love my life.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Death in a small town
OMG... the guy who came to look at Sue and Bruce's house this morning is back this evening... with his WIFE! OMG... Do I smell an offer in the works?
And do we care that Bruce's ashes have not yet cooled?
Two weekends ago, Bruce died (in the bath tub) across the street. I know they had talked about selling their house down here in the fall - it's a second home for them and they'd had enough - but who would have thought that Sue would march on with her life in such short order?
Not me.
I don't mean that I wouldn't have thought it about SUE. Geeze... I hardly even know Sue... but could I have EVER, not in a million years, marched on with MY life, 2 1/2 weeks after my Joe died?
It does give one pause... I mean... really... what IS the difference? None. Certainly not to Bruce. He's gone. Gone, gone, gone...
I don't thing that Bruce - or Joe - have much of anything to do with it. It comes down to how a widow wants to live her life, after his death.
I've chosen my route and Sue has chosen hers and... gulp... maybe her way is actually better?
Just a thought...
xoxo
.
And do we care that Bruce's ashes have not yet cooled?
Two weekends ago, Bruce died (in the bath tub) across the street. I know they had talked about selling their house down here in the fall - it's a second home for them and they'd had enough - but who would have thought that Sue would march on with her life in such short order?
Not me.
I don't mean that I wouldn't have thought it about SUE. Geeze... I hardly even know Sue... but could I have EVER, not in a million years, marched on with MY life, 2 1/2 weeks after my Joe died?
It does give one pause... I mean... really... what IS the difference? None. Certainly not to Bruce. He's gone. Gone, gone, gone...
I don't thing that Bruce - or Joe - have much of anything to do with it. It comes down to how a widow wants to live her life, after his death.
I've chosen my route and Sue has chosen hers and... gulp... maybe her way is actually better?
Just a thought...
xoxo
.
Monday, July 26, 2010
All Hands on Deck
My oldest son, Patrick, called me last Thursday to announce he was coming that night to start building my deck in Middletown.
We'd only discussed building the deck in passing, although we both knew I really needed it done. Still, seemingly out of nowhere he'd decided that he was ready to tackle the project immediately. Offers like that need to be welcomed - encouraged even - so I didn't dissuade him despite the fact that I knew we were totally not prepared. Instead I mustered sincere enthusiasm, headed to Home Depot for deck plans, and then packed up my stuff and left my shore cottage, heading home to Middletown where he was waiting. We worked through the weekend in 90-100 degree temperatures. My middle son, Mike, came too, plus Vicky, plus a friend of Patrick's. Home Depot delivered three times. It was coordinated craziness for three solid days. Today is only Monday, but it feels more like a week has passed.
Knowing the kind of weekend I'd just had, my girlfriend emailed me this morning to ask how my back was feeling. I admitted that, though I'd been hurting like heck on Saturday, surprisingly today I am okay. On the other hand, I do not feel "well". I could not describe in words how it actually is that I feel (not even to Dr. Vicky, who was down with my son, Mike, helping this weekend), but it is very scary feeling this way. I just feel very... NOT well; suspiciously not well.
So imagine my further dis-ease, when I learned that in my three-day absence from Tuckerton two - not one, but TWO - of my neighbors had died.
Okay... so the one really was old... we knew she'd go eventually... But Bruce... Bruce is my age. He'd gone fishing with George (another neighbor) and when he came back apparently he was feeling hot and generally yucky so he climbed in the bathtub to try to cool down and he seems to have simply died. I heard the story from Frank, who heard it from George that Bruce's wife, Sue, then had to deal with trying - unsuccessfully - to drag his carcass out of the tub to try to revive him, which of course did not happen... so a neighbor fished him out for her... but it was already too late.
Gone.
Not surprisingly that information is making me even less at ease with feeling vaguely ill this morning.
Not to be overly dramatic... 'cause I do NOT think I am about to die... but on Friday (in the 98 degree heat with air quality warnings ringing, I was wielding a shovel and carrying crap and running up and down stairs, fetching and gophering to the hilt) I was pretty much feeling like death was imminent... and the rest of the weekend through today has simply been an echo of that. Is it stress? Is it the heat? I can't even say: I just feel ill.
Truthfully I wonder if it isn't that I am feeling all of my 54 years. I feel very fragile - in every conceivable way. My back, therefore, seems to be the very least of my concerns.
When I saw another friend's email last night - 15 minutes after she'd written it -somewhere close to 1am - telling me about her cleaned-up workshop (pictures attached), my only response to her was,
"Awesome! Now go to sleep!"
It wasn't creative or even particularly thoughtful... it was a reflection of my own exhaustion, having driven back to my Tuckerton Cottage at 11pm last night after yet-another grueling day of work on the deck... which isn't anywhere close to being done.
I am, BTW, in far better spirits than I sound. Mayhaps I'm just enjoying the craft of writing and conveying an impression of my experience, 'cause this morning I am alive and well and enjoying, God bless me, the cool Tuckerton seashore breeze on a blue sky morning... having witnessed a dozen egrets flying over at dawn... and better still, last night, when I slipped from the 70 degree breezy night air - just after midnight - into my 92 degree pool... I looked up and watched a brilliant shooting star pass between me and the full moon.
My observations of our natural world do not get a whole lot more phenomenal, exceptional or rewarding than that. Seeing these things brings enormous peace to my soul, even if I do feel strangely somehow "not well".
Maybe then I am okay... just shaken... by an awareness of my own mortality, in the face of a world that will spin without me when I am gone, and is still spinning despite the death, yesterday, of Bruce.
How long should I wait before going across the street to covey my condolences? My gosh... poor Sue. He first husband died, like my Joe, of pancreatic cancer, and now this. Geeze. That's going to be pretty rough.
I made some cornbread and wrapped it up nicely, carrying it across the street to express my sympathies. I returned two hours later, filled in on all the frightening details of what it is like to lose, yet another, husband. I think my presence helped. I think I said the right things. I know Sue valued my visit, remarking that I am one of the few people who can understand what she is going through. She said this through clear eyes, composed and thoughtful. It's been less than 24 hours since he passed. She's still in shock, but doesn't know it. She's in a free fall down a dark hole, not aware enough yet of the drop to even begin grasping for something to catch her. But she will... Her awareness will kick in soon enough.
She wants to take his body home, to their primary residence in Pennsylvania. The coroner can't release the body until they rule out foul play. She laughs as she tells me this... The idea that she would have killed a man who was so good to her, so good for her, is absurd. I joke too.
"You'll be the Black Widow of Tuckerton, killing off husbands left and right."
"Yes," she says "It wont make the Philly papers, but this tiny seashore town would gobble up that story."
We laugh. Then we sigh. She is chain smoking, apologizing each time she lights up, as if I'm the least bit judgemental. Not now anyway.
There is no good ending to this blog. It is what it is. But it makes me wonder why I've been alone these last five and a half years. Life is short. Time is slipping by. And I don't feel so well.
We'd only discussed building the deck in passing, although we both knew I really needed it done. Still, seemingly out of nowhere he'd decided that he was ready to tackle the project immediately. Offers like that need to be welcomed - encouraged even - so I didn't dissuade him despite the fact that I knew we were totally not prepared. Instead I mustered sincere enthusiasm, headed to Home Depot for deck plans, and then packed up my stuff and left my shore cottage, heading home to Middletown where he was waiting. We worked through the weekend in 90-100 degree temperatures. My middle son, Mike, came too, plus Vicky, plus a friend of Patrick's. Home Depot delivered three times. It was coordinated craziness for three solid days. Today is only Monday, but it feels more like a week has passed.
Knowing the kind of weekend I'd just had, my girlfriend emailed me this morning to ask how my back was feeling. I admitted that, though I'd been hurting like heck on Saturday, surprisingly today I am okay. On the other hand, I do not feel "well". I could not describe in words how it actually is that I feel (not even to Dr. Vicky, who was down with my son, Mike, helping this weekend), but it is very scary feeling this way. I just feel very... NOT well; suspiciously not well.
So imagine my further dis-ease, when I learned that in my three-day absence from Tuckerton two - not one, but TWO - of my neighbors had died.
Okay... so the one really was old... we knew she'd go eventually... But Bruce... Bruce is my age. He'd gone fishing with George (another neighbor) and when he came back apparently he was feeling hot and generally yucky so he climbed in the bathtub to try to cool down and he seems to have simply died. I heard the story from Frank, who heard it from George that Bruce's wife, Sue, then had to deal with trying - unsuccessfully - to drag his carcass out of the tub to try to revive him, which of course did not happen... so a neighbor fished him out for her... but it was already too late.
Gone.
Not surprisingly that information is making me even less at ease with feeling vaguely ill this morning.
Not to be overly dramatic... 'cause I do NOT think I am about to die... but on Friday (in the 98 degree heat with air quality warnings ringing, I was wielding a shovel and carrying crap and running up and down stairs, fetching and gophering to the hilt) I was pretty much feeling like death was imminent... and the rest of the weekend through today has simply been an echo of that. Is it stress? Is it the heat? I can't even say: I just feel ill.
Truthfully I wonder if it isn't that I am feeling all of my 54 years. I feel very fragile - in every conceivable way. My back, therefore, seems to be the very least of my concerns.
When I saw another friend's email last night - 15 minutes after she'd written it -somewhere close to 1am - telling me about her cleaned-up workshop (pictures attached), my only response to her was,
"Awesome! Now go to sleep!"
It wasn't creative or even particularly thoughtful... it was a reflection of my own exhaustion, having driven back to my Tuckerton Cottage at 11pm last night after yet-another grueling day of work on the deck... which isn't anywhere close to being done.
I am, BTW, in far better spirits than I sound. Mayhaps I'm just enjoying the craft of writing and conveying an impression of my experience, 'cause this morning I am alive and well and enjoying, God bless me, the cool Tuckerton seashore breeze on a blue sky morning... having witnessed a dozen egrets flying over at dawn... and better still, last night, when I slipped from the 70 degree breezy night air - just after midnight - into my 92 degree pool... I looked up and watched a brilliant shooting star pass between me and the full moon.
My observations of our natural world do not get a whole lot more phenomenal, exceptional or rewarding than that. Seeing these things brings enormous peace to my soul, even if I do feel strangely somehow "not well".
Maybe then I am okay... just shaken... by an awareness of my own mortality, in the face of a world that will spin without me when I am gone, and is still spinning despite the death, yesterday, of Bruce.
How long should I wait before going across the street to covey my condolences? My gosh... poor Sue. He first husband died, like my Joe, of pancreatic cancer, and now this. Geeze. That's going to be pretty rough.
I made some cornbread and wrapped it up nicely, carrying it across the street to express my sympathies. I returned two hours later, filled in on all the frightening details of what it is like to lose, yet another, husband. I think my presence helped. I think I said the right things. I know Sue valued my visit, remarking that I am one of the few people who can understand what she is going through. She said this through clear eyes, composed and thoughtful. It's been less than 24 hours since he passed. She's still in shock, but doesn't know it. She's in a free fall down a dark hole, not aware enough yet of the drop to even begin grasping for something to catch her. But she will... Her awareness will kick in soon enough.
She wants to take his body home, to their primary residence in Pennsylvania. The coroner can't release the body until they rule out foul play. She laughs as she tells me this... The idea that she would have killed a man who was so good to her, so good for her, is absurd. I joke too.
"You'll be the Black Widow of Tuckerton, killing off husbands left and right."
"Yes," she says "It wont make the Philly papers, but this tiny seashore town would gobble up that story."
We laugh. Then we sigh. She is chain smoking, apologizing each time she lights up, as if I'm the least bit judgemental. Not now anyway.
There is no good ending to this blog. It is what it is. But it makes me wonder why I've been alone these last five and a half years. Life is short. Time is slipping by. And I don't feel so well.
Monday, June 28, 2010
Havin' A Heatwave
It's hot as heck down at the cottage: 88 degrees in the shade when I crawled out of bed at 7:45. I was swimming before 9am... Okay, maybe it's not YOUR kind of swimming, but it's MY kind... in my 8' baby pool.
Next, on a mission of mercy, I schlepped to the steps to wet down the containers of annual flowers: marigolds, cosmos, salvia, begonias, geraniums, impatiens, vinca, amaranth, gazania, a couple of ponytail plants, and some mandaville (most of the crew was rescued from the clearance bin at Lowes, although I did start those marigolds, amaranth and cosmos from seed). Then I drenched and quenched the herbs and sundries on the deck: Out there I have dill, oregano, Thai/Sweet/Genovese basil, lemon & plain thyme, variegated and standard sage, chives (which need some serious pruning) cilantro, Italian parsley, creeping and standing rosemary, spearmint and peppermint, lavender and a whole gaggle of gladiolas.
Then I started on the veggies. I watered three canisters of cukes, the bed of beans, six tubs of tomatoes, a scuttle of squash, a bucket of banana peppers, and a bin of bunching onions... Everybody is thirsty. I have beakers and bowls, boxes and bags, cans and carafes, crates and crocks, hoppers, jugs, pails and vats. It's a total of 33 receptacles!
But they are mostly small, especially in comparison to their burgeoning occupants, looking like middle aged women spilling out of their pants.
To me it's the lower 40... making my cottage its own little Garden State... of mind.
But I'm hot as heck again and need to jump back in the pool! Who can write when the sweat on your forehead is dripping onto the keyboard?
.
Next, on a mission of mercy, I schlepped to the steps to wet down the containers of annual flowers: marigolds, cosmos, salvia, begonias, geraniums, impatiens, vinca, amaranth, gazania, a couple of ponytail plants, and some mandaville (most of the crew was rescued from the clearance bin at Lowes, although I did start those marigolds, amaranth and cosmos from seed). Then I drenched and quenched the herbs and sundries on the deck: Out there I have dill, oregano, Thai/Sweet/Genovese basil, lemon & plain thyme, variegated and standard sage, chives (which need some serious pruning) cilantro, Italian parsley, creeping and standing rosemary, spearmint and peppermint, lavender and a whole gaggle of gladiolas.
Then I started on the veggies. I watered three canisters of cukes, the bed of beans, six tubs of tomatoes, a scuttle of squash, a bucket of banana peppers, and a bin of bunching onions... Everybody is thirsty. I have beakers and bowls, boxes and bags, cans and carafes, crates and crocks, hoppers, jugs, pails and vats. It's a total of 33 receptacles!
But they are mostly small, especially in comparison to their burgeoning occupants, looking like middle aged women spilling out of their pants.
To me it's the lower 40... making my cottage its own little Garden State... of mind.
But I'm hot as heck again and need to jump back in the pool! Who can write when the sweat on your forehead is dripping onto the keyboard?
.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Early Summertime
The air is soggy... breezes thick with brine. The mourning doves are cooing in pleas, while moistly muffled tweets ring out from the nearby telephone wires. No matter how fogged, it is still wickedly bright, making sunglasses necessary, though they sit stickily on my face. If I could find the energy, I'd slip into the 85 degree pool water 20 feet away... but the air's sultry snuggling has robbed me of any stray motivations I might have had. The plants were lucky to get their breakfasts and the dog had to be carried outside to do what doggies do. Such is the tone here in Tuckerton... feeling more southern than NJ... perhaps more like Alabama, though I haven't been there, so I couldn't really know.
A small plane just flew over, loud and low enough to cause me to lift from my chair and glide to the deck for a look-see of what's going on. His engine is laboring under the weight of the air, and you can hear it in the chopping of his propeller, though he seems in no danger of dropping. Drooping perhaps, but not dropping.
I saw, though, while on the deck, that the visibility has improved. I can see more than the 200' I had only minutes before. Maybe that brilliant sun is close above this fog, melting away the moisture?
No sooner have I said this than I see hints of blue in the sky, and actual shadows are appearing beneath my outdoor furnishings. I breathe deep, and the air feels lighter in my lungs... Maybe a swim is in order after all? Iced coffee and a swim...
A small plane just flew over, loud and low enough to cause me to lift from my chair and glide to the deck for a look-see of what's going on. His engine is laboring under the weight of the air, and you can hear it in the chopping of his propeller, though he seems in no danger of dropping. Drooping perhaps, but not dropping.
I saw, though, while on the deck, that the visibility has improved. I can see more than the 200' I had only minutes before. Maybe that brilliant sun is close above this fog, melting away the moisture?
No sooner have I said this than I see hints of blue in the sky, and actual shadows are appearing beneath my outdoor furnishings. I breathe deep, and the air feels lighter in my lungs... Maybe a swim is in order after all? Iced coffee and a swim...
Sunday, June 6, 2010
June 6 mini-installment
My pool is up to 85 degrees... perfect for me. I added baking soda last night and I am wondering if the water will feel different today. Not that it matters... as long as it is wet, I don't care. I did manage to get all my chemicals balanced... but again... who cares! LOL I still have to cut-to-fit my new solar cover. Imagine how soupy the water will get with THAT on! Yippeee!
Missy G is not loving the heat... goes around with her little tongue hanging out. Yesterday for the first time in her life she actually licked ice cubes in her bowl. But when I added water to the bowl and she started drinking that, I SWEAR she looked at me with an "Oh my God, I've got brain-freeze" look. I hate that, when I get it, so I felt really bad for her. Down here I've been continuing to allow her to sleep on the bed (a vestige of the cold nights in early spring when she needed the heat of my electric blanket to get through the cold nights). Last night she plopped down at the end of the bed, facing the fan that was blowing her little ears back. Very cute. Then this morning I woke up as she walked up my body, stopping on my chest to stare at me. I could feel her waiting and I kept my eyes shut... til that little whine started... "Pleeeeeese mommy" "Pleeeeese wake up and start petting me?" How can I NOT laugh? LOL
I cleaned and vinegared the two coffee makers. The new one I got is faster at making 12 cups than my old one is at making 4. Interesting.
Anyway.... plants to water and chores to ignore... gotta go. Although... maybe it's time to jump in the pool?
~ ~ SPLASH ~ ~
Ahhh... that's much better!
Missy G is not loving the heat... goes around with her little tongue hanging out. Yesterday for the first time in her life she actually licked ice cubes in her bowl. But when I added water to the bowl and she started drinking that, I SWEAR she looked at me with an "Oh my God, I've got brain-freeze" look. I hate that, when I get it, so I felt really bad for her. Down here I've been continuing to allow her to sleep on the bed (a vestige of the cold nights in early spring when she needed the heat of my electric blanket to get through the cold nights). Last night she plopped down at the end of the bed, facing the fan that was blowing her little ears back. Very cute. Then this morning I woke up as she walked up my body, stopping on my chest to stare at me. I could feel her waiting and I kept my eyes shut... til that little whine started... "Pleeeeeese mommy" "Pleeeeese wake up and start petting me?" How can I NOT laugh? LOL
I cleaned and vinegared the two coffee makers. The new one I got is faster at making 12 cups than my old one is at making 4. Interesting.
Anyway.... plants to water and chores to ignore... gotta go. Although... maybe it's time to jump in the pool?
~ ~ SPLASH ~ ~
Ahhh... that's much better!
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Spring Storm
Lightning flashes blue-white, illuminating the entire cottage, followed closely by the crackle of thunder. Little Gia has curled up beside me, burying her nose under my thigh, hunkered down as if the rain is actually falling upon her. She isn't much for thunder storms and depends upon my bravery to ease her little fears. She doesn't know how much comfort and security I find in her nestling so close beside me and depending on me.
I sit here an hour after sunset with only two nightlights on, plus the glow of my unplugged laptop screen. I wont plug it in until the lightening subsides. The house shakes, firmly planted on its nine-foot pilings but flexing under the push of the wind. Through uninsulated walls, I clearly hear the rain slapping the siding. It is plinking onto my windows and pelting the roof. There is a fine tinkling noise as it clinks onto the furnace exhaust pipe. Every surface sings with it. Nothing in the house is more than seventeen feet from my reach. That means that the wind and the rain are that close too. There is but three-quarters of an inch of sheeting on my ten-foot tent ceiling protecting me from some errant streak of lightening.
I prefer to sit, not stand, during thunderstorms.
Pushing its way out to Long Beach Island across the bay, this storm is riding along the New Jersey coast. I can still see the lights from Holgate there, although I expect the storm to erase those soon, as the rain thickens heading south. There they go... LBI's lights just disappeared. The downpour is heading for them and will reach them in less than a minute. I picture families on vacation running for cover as funnel cake stands close their shed roofs. This storm will only be seen by the early arrivals, but it is a three day weekend and many will have stretched that to four, arriving today (Thursday) instead. I know this because I rode down the parkway with scores of them earlier this evening.
A boat is exiting the lagoon. No one would go out in this wickedness if they didn't have to, so I know it must be the Sea Tow fellow. He lives on my son, Mike's, lagoon and he always goes out in the worst of conditions. This time he has his spotlight on and he's training it on the bulkheads he is passing. I don't think I've ever seen that before. Apparently the rain is so heavy that he cannot see the way out to the bay and has to spot the sides of the lagoon to guide himself out. When he gets to the end of the peninsula he doesn't turn right to the bay but, instead, continues spotlighting along the bulkhead on the left. Perhaps there is trouble down there? Perhaps someone there called for help. I step out onto my deck under the marginal shelter of the overhang to see where he is going. When his spotlight turns from the bulkhead out to the bay I am startled to see it catch something small and white in the water. I wonder "Has a boat overturned?" and I watch horrified, but only briefly, as he turns his engines up to high power and streaks past the white buoy and into the open churning bay. In seconds he has disappeared. I see his boat only once more in a bright flash of lightning, and then he is gone.
It is hard to imagine that less than thirty minutes ago Gia and I had ventured down to the small beach on South Green Street to look for more mating horseshoe crabs. I had seen the lightening off inland quite a distance and wondered if we should walk or drive. It was a good thing we drove. At the beach under the light of my flashlight I saw a gathering of ten or more crabs, piled one on the other and doing what I now know to be a mating ritual. But before I was done watching, I began to feel the raindrops and by the time I got into the car the lightening was above us. In my U-turn on the road I could feel the force of the wind broadsiding my car and I was so glad to be safely within.
When I drove past the little restaurant on the corner I could see that their fixed dock was already being overtaken by the tide. I haven't checked the charts, but that may mean there will be flooding tonight. If so, I will need to move my car over to Frank's yard later, where his driveway ramp sits a full ten inches higher than mine: just enough to save me from salt damage on my wheels.
When I pulled into my driveway the storm was raging so much that Gia wouldn't get out of her seat and I had to pick her up and carry her to the stairs. Then I ran back to move the bicycle: the rain was blowing sideways under the house and already soaking it down.
An hour into the storm, my neighbors arrive and haul their luggage into the house under a torrent of rain. I venture out onto my front deck to holler,
"Hi Tom, how are you doing?" and over another rumble of thunder he replies,
"Pretty good - how about you?"
I see that the street is already filling up with flood waters and I realize that I should be moving my car.
"When is the high tide?" I ask, but it is already too late. His wife has parked their car on Frank's ramp. My car will have to weather the storm on the lower ground.
Storms like this one are so common down here, yet they never cease to amaze me. As the wind shifts and rocks the house, often I will go out into the stinging rain to flip on the flood light and watch as the lagoon water churns. It is frightening but fun. I don't believe myself to be in any real danger or I'd head into town or up north. But even if I am safe, safety is a very relative thing. There is no doubt in my mind that the thunder which just shook the house and made my dishes rattle came from lightning that could blast my small cottage to bits if it were a direct strike. I am not as "safe" here as I would be in my living room in Middletown.
But I like this small danger. I enjoy the tiny fright of being here on the edge of the bay, a mile from the great Atlantic Ocean. I like feeling small, with my nose tucked under God's thigh. And maybe God feels better too, knowing that I am here depending on him.
.
I sit here an hour after sunset with only two nightlights on, plus the glow of my unplugged laptop screen. I wont plug it in until the lightening subsides. The house shakes, firmly planted on its nine-foot pilings but flexing under the push of the wind. Through uninsulated walls, I clearly hear the rain slapping the siding. It is plinking onto my windows and pelting the roof. There is a fine tinkling noise as it clinks onto the furnace exhaust pipe. Every surface sings with it. Nothing in the house is more than seventeen feet from my reach. That means that the wind and the rain are that close too. There is but three-quarters of an inch of sheeting on my ten-foot tent ceiling protecting me from some errant streak of lightening.
I prefer to sit, not stand, during thunderstorms.
Pushing its way out to Long Beach Island across the bay, this storm is riding along the New Jersey coast. I can still see the lights from Holgate there, although I expect the storm to erase those soon, as the rain thickens heading south. There they go... LBI's lights just disappeared. The downpour is heading for them and will reach them in less than a minute. I picture families on vacation running for cover as funnel cake stands close their shed roofs. This storm will only be seen by the early arrivals, but it is a three day weekend and many will have stretched that to four, arriving today (Thursday) instead. I know this because I rode down the parkway with scores of them earlier this evening.
A boat is exiting the lagoon. No one would go out in this wickedness if they didn't have to, so I know it must be the Sea Tow fellow. He lives on my son, Mike's, lagoon and he always goes out in the worst of conditions. This time he has his spotlight on and he's training it on the bulkheads he is passing. I don't think I've ever seen that before. Apparently the rain is so heavy that he cannot see the way out to the bay and has to spot the sides of the lagoon to guide himself out. When he gets to the end of the peninsula he doesn't turn right to the bay but, instead, continues spotlighting along the bulkhead on the left. Perhaps there is trouble down there? Perhaps someone there called for help. I step out onto my deck under the marginal shelter of the overhang to see where he is going. When his spotlight turns from the bulkhead out to the bay I am startled to see it catch something small and white in the water. I wonder "Has a boat overturned?" and I watch horrified, but only briefly, as he turns his engines up to high power and streaks past the white buoy and into the open churning bay. In seconds he has disappeared. I see his boat only once more in a bright flash of lightning, and then he is gone.
It is hard to imagine that less than thirty minutes ago Gia and I had ventured down to the small beach on South Green Street to look for more mating horseshoe crabs. I had seen the lightening off inland quite a distance and wondered if we should walk or drive. It was a good thing we drove. At the beach under the light of my flashlight I saw a gathering of ten or more crabs, piled one on the other and doing what I now know to be a mating ritual. But before I was done watching, I began to feel the raindrops and by the time I got into the car the lightening was above us. In my U-turn on the road I could feel the force of the wind broadsiding my car and I was so glad to be safely within.
When I drove past the little restaurant on the corner I could see that their fixed dock was already being overtaken by the tide. I haven't checked the charts, but that may mean there will be flooding tonight. If so, I will need to move my car over to Frank's yard later, where his driveway ramp sits a full ten inches higher than mine: just enough to save me from salt damage on my wheels.
When I pulled into my driveway the storm was raging so much that Gia wouldn't get out of her seat and I had to pick her up and carry her to the stairs. Then I ran back to move the bicycle: the rain was blowing sideways under the house and already soaking it down.
An hour into the storm, my neighbors arrive and haul their luggage into the house under a torrent of rain. I venture out onto my front deck to holler,
"Hi Tom, how are you doing?" and over another rumble of thunder he replies,
"Pretty good - how about you?"
I see that the street is already filling up with flood waters and I realize that I should be moving my car.
"When is the high tide?" I ask, but it is already too late. His wife has parked their car on Frank's ramp. My car will have to weather the storm on the lower ground.
Storms like this one are so common down here, yet they never cease to amaze me. As the wind shifts and rocks the house, often I will go out into the stinging rain to flip on the flood light and watch as the lagoon water churns. It is frightening but fun. I don't believe myself to be in any real danger or I'd head into town or up north. But even if I am safe, safety is a very relative thing. There is no doubt in my mind that the thunder which just shook the house and made my dishes rattle came from lightning that could blast my small cottage to bits if it were a direct strike. I am not as "safe" here as I would be in my living room in Middletown.
But I like this small danger. I enjoy the tiny fright of being here on the edge of the bay, a mile from the great Atlantic Ocean. I like feeling small, with my nose tucked under God's thigh. And maybe God feels better too, knowing that I am here depending on him.
.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Summer sneaking in...
It is 9:34 in the morning, but the cottage is already up to 75 degrees. Sleeping last night was a joy, tucked under two blankets and a quilt. But as the sun rose, so did the temperature, and I found myself sloughing off each layer through the morning until it was finally no longer comfortable to stay in bed. Little Gia's tail was wagging enthusiastically as I pulled on my robe and shuffled out to the kitchen to start the coffee. Somewhere down the lagoon, someone was already running their powerwasher.
Ah yes... summer is coming.
Memorial Day weekend is mere days away, but I haven't yet uncovered my pool (I'm later than usual) and I'm only barely done setting seeds into pots and planting the tomatoes. What I've done so far is looking good, save for that yellow grape tomato that doesn't seem to be taking happily to it's pot. I keep meaning to look up his symptoms online, but when I get to my laptop, a dozen emails and other distractions shift my focus long enough for me to forget why I came altogether.
Last night as the sun sank over the homes across the street, I rallied, leashed up G, and took a lovely walk down to East Green Street Park. I called Cary before I left, hoping we could initiate this year's walking routine, but she was busy making dinner. Then I tried putting G into the bike basket on the bike that Frank just fixed. Alas, I pulled a muscle when the bike began to tip and my leg contorted into a new direction. I almost cancelled the walk (it takes so little for me to NOT exercise) but Gia was just too excited about getting out. So I hobbled to the end of the driveway. Already the muscle pain was easing and moments later, totally gone.
There are more homes for sale on the street, though nothing looks desperately unkempt. Well, some yards do, but those homes are not for sale and those yards always look that way. Things are just lazier down here for some of us, that's all. Personally I don't mean to look like a slob, apparently it's just my most natural state.
When I reached the corner and made the left I could see a man walking far down the road. My vision wasn't clear enough to know if he was coming at me or walking away, but I crossed the street just the same, not wanting to strike up chit-chat with any strangers. Having done so, I was curious at my reaction. Really, I am always friendly and up for a chat, so why was I so quick to avoid it tonight? I think it was the fact that he was a man and... I'm sick and tired of the entire gender. I'm fed up with their wishy washy way of romancing. I don't need another bouquet of flowers, I need a steady-eddy who can be relied upon to call when he says he will. It wouldn't hurt if he could also clean gutters, but he should know how to spell and should not email me like it's a text message. Doesn't anyone use capitals and punctuation anymore? And please, please, please, wash your clothing before coming out on our date. Jeepers! It's bad enough that you will spill food on your shirt as you eat but can't you at least start with a clean one?
I digress...
Considering my state of mind, it is a surprise that I wasn't horrified and appalled at the orgy that was occurring on the beach as I walked by. There were dozens of them humping each other like this might be the last time they ever had sex. The horseshoe crabs (What were YOU thinking?) had come into the shore where the waves from the bay are tiny and lapping - more like the waves on a lake really. They had lined up in clusters, toes in the water but shells above, and were climbing onto each other's backs with surprising grace. In some groups there were five or six crabs stacked onto one another, looking like a conga line as they did their best to "do" the best crab there. The sight was incredibly touching, considering the fact it was an orgy. I walked off the road and down to the water line fifteen feet away, so I could see how many more were coming ashore from the deeper water. I hadn't expected the horseshoes to be able to see me. Do they have eyes? They must have some way of seeing, because they moved away from me and into the deeper water as Gia and I approached. Feeling like a trespasser (a voyeur even), I went back up to the street. It would have to be close enough to see most of what was happening.
Looking past the activity at the shoreline, the reflection on the bay water came into focus. I could see glints of pink in the mostly brilliant blue flashes and my eyes were drawn instinctively skyward. It wasn't a robin's egg blue, or azure, but a crisp linen blue, deeper and richer than baby, but close to that somehow. The blue itself was intoxicating and my chest heaved with a heavy sign that comes naturally in moments of awe. The clouds along the horizon were layered in strips, each one a different iridescent pink. The dots of cloud above me where catching the pink light too, as was the jet trail skimming across the sky heading off to the east and perhaps JFK or even Europe. I felt my head tilt as my eyes examined the light on the homes near the bay and their reflections on the water. My mind was not in control, it was my eyes doing all the thinking, and they showed me so many details that the car passing behind me would never know. Stopping to look, that's the first step. I'm blessed in that, I think. I manage to take the time to see.
I dearly love walking at this time of night - when the sun is setting the sky can be so magical. Some nights last summer I would take this walk and come home disappointed that nothing had happened at all. But most nights I would stand watching, enraptured, by the shifting and morphing colors across the sky. Each second of sunset was different from the next. The sun keeps moving, the angles keep changing, the light keeps shifting and the colors gloriously evolve. It is natural kaleidoscope and you watch it knowing that no matter how many more times you look, you will never ever see that exact same view again.
G and I moved along up the street toward the park, knowing that dawdling would result in it being dark enough for the bugs to emerge and then the last 500 feet of our walk home would be torturous. Even so, when I spotted three mallards farther out in the section of reeds and grass, I stopped to listen and enjoy their murmured guttural chat. You have to love a mallard's tone.
By then the man who I'd seen earlier had already reached the park on his walk and was heading back down the street. Much like I'm prone to do, he had changed sides of the road for his return walk, so now we were only 20 feet apart: nearly face-to-face. I turned my eyes from the mallards to smile politely at him. He had a terrible scowl on his face that turned to a softer look as he said "Good evening" and walked on by. Maybe he'd had a similar conversation with himself earlier in the day?
"Women, you can keep them all. Who needs them! They can all go to bloody hell."
Up in the park, G and I walked the perimeter, passing the fishermen and a woman studying for her legal transcriptionist exam. She petted G and went back to studying as her beau removed the hook from the back of his shorts. I was glad I was not facing them when I heard his "Ow, ow, Holy crap, OW!", because I couldn't contain my chuckling.
We rounded the park and made our way home, moving more swiftly in order to improve the quality of the exercise we were getting. Pat called me on my cell and she and I chatted as I walked. She seemed surprised that I would be mildly breathless, but that is the pace they tell us to set for ourselves if we expect to get any real benefits from the walking. Besides, I was practically dragging Gia, her short dachshund legs not wanting to keep up, and that was adding substantial exertion on my part. I imagine we are a pretty funny sight, if anyone would bother to notice.
Once home I checked the times for the Genesis satellite's passage, as well as the new spy plane and the ISS. It was a beautiful night but already chilling down, and I pulled on a sweatshirt so I could sit on the deck and wait to see the free show. Two geese were disturbed by my sudden presence and they ran up the lagoon until their wings could lift them off the water, honking loudly as they flew, scolding me for the interruption. In the dim light I heard a kerplunk and could just make out the ripples where a fish had leaped to snag a bug from the surface of the lagoon.
Ahhh... peace... solitude.
This morning my coffee is warming me into a sweat. There is white heron (or is it an egret) walking along the marshy peninsula that shields my lagoon from the direct bay waves. She is joined by another, a mate perhaps, and they fish with their pointy beaks until a boat moves past them and they take flight to quieter hunting grounds.
I will drive north to Middletown later today, only to return on Thursday afternoon. This place is good for me but there are things to do in Middletown that cannot wait. In the space of time it took me to write this piece, the cottage has warmed to 81 degrees. It's time to open more windows and let the bay breeze through, and then close up my laptop so I can enjoy the last few hours in this simple paradise before my drive.
Writer's Note: I found an article that explains the horseshoe crab phenomena I witnessed last night. Apparently I was a very lucky gal to see all that! http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=106489695
.
Ah yes... summer is coming.
Memorial Day weekend is mere days away, but I haven't yet uncovered my pool (I'm later than usual) and I'm only barely done setting seeds into pots and planting the tomatoes. What I've done so far is looking good, save for that yellow grape tomato that doesn't seem to be taking happily to it's pot. I keep meaning to look up his symptoms online, but when I get to my laptop, a dozen emails and other distractions shift my focus long enough for me to forget why I came altogether.
Last night as the sun sank over the homes across the street, I rallied, leashed up G, and took a lovely walk down to East Green Street Park. I called Cary before I left, hoping we could initiate this year's walking routine, but she was busy making dinner. Then I tried putting G into the bike basket on the bike that Frank just fixed. Alas, I pulled a muscle when the bike began to tip and my leg contorted into a new direction. I almost cancelled the walk (it takes so little for me to NOT exercise) but Gia was just too excited about getting out. So I hobbled to the end of the driveway. Already the muscle pain was easing and moments later, totally gone.
There are more homes for sale on the street, though nothing looks desperately unkempt. Well, some yards do, but those homes are not for sale and those yards always look that way. Things are just lazier down here for some of us, that's all. Personally I don't mean to look like a slob, apparently it's just my most natural state.
When I reached the corner and made the left I could see a man walking far down the road. My vision wasn't clear enough to know if he was coming at me or walking away, but I crossed the street just the same, not wanting to strike up chit-chat with any strangers. Having done so, I was curious at my reaction. Really, I am always friendly and up for a chat, so why was I so quick to avoid it tonight? I think it was the fact that he was a man and... I'm sick and tired of the entire gender. I'm fed up with their wishy washy way of romancing. I don't need another bouquet of flowers, I need a steady-eddy who can be relied upon to call when he says he will. It wouldn't hurt if he could also clean gutters, but he should know how to spell and should not email me like it's a text message. Doesn't anyone use capitals and punctuation anymore? And please, please, please, wash your clothing before coming out on our date. Jeepers! It's bad enough that you will spill food on your shirt as you eat but can't you at least start with a clean one?
I digress...
Considering my state of mind, it is a surprise that I wasn't horrified and appalled at the orgy that was occurring on the beach as I walked by. There were dozens of them humping each other like this might be the last time they ever had sex. The horseshoe crabs (What were YOU thinking?) had come into the shore where the waves from the bay are tiny and lapping - more like the waves on a lake really. They had lined up in clusters, toes in the water but shells above, and were climbing onto each other's backs with surprising grace. In some groups there were five or six crabs stacked onto one another, looking like a conga line as they did their best to "do" the best crab there. The sight was incredibly touching, considering the fact it was an orgy. I walked off the road and down to the water line fifteen feet away, so I could see how many more were coming ashore from the deeper water. I hadn't expected the horseshoes to be able to see me. Do they have eyes? They must have some way of seeing, because they moved away from me and into the deeper water as Gia and I approached. Feeling like a trespasser (a voyeur even), I went back up to the street. It would have to be close enough to see most of what was happening.
Looking past the activity at the shoreline, the reflection on the bay water came into focus. I could see glints of pink in the mostly brilliant blue flashes and my eyes were drawn instinctively skyward. It wasn't a robin's egg blue, or azure, but a crisp linen blue, deeper and richer than baby, but close to that somehow. The blue itself was intoxicating and my chest heaved with a heavy sign that comes naturally in moments of awe. The clouds along the horizon were layered in strips, each one a different iridescent pink. The dots of cloud above me where catching the pink light too, as was the jet trail skimming across the sky heading off to the east and perhaps JFK or even Europe. I felt my head tilt as my eyes examined the light on the homes near the bay and their reflections on the water. My mind was not in control, it was my eyes doing all the thinking, and they showed me so many details that the car passing behind me would never know. Stopping to look, that's the first step. I'm blessed in that, I think. I manage to take the time to see.
I dearly love walking at this time of night - when the sun is setting the sky can be so magical. Some nights last summer I would take this walk and come home disappointed that nothing had happened at all. But most nights I would stand watching, enraptured, by the shifting and morphing colors across the sky. Each second of sunset was different from the next. The sun keeps moving, the angles keep changing, the light keeps shifting and the colors gloriously evolve. It is natural kaleidoscope and you watch it knowing that no matter how many more times you look, you will never ever see that exact same view again.
G and I moved along up the street toward the park, knowing that dawdling would result in it being dark enough for the bugs to emerge and then the last 500 feet of our walk home would be torturous. Even so, when I spotted three mallards farther out in the section of reeds and grass, I stopped to listen and enjoy their murmured guttural chat. You have to love a mallard's tone.
By then the man who I'd seen earlier had already reached the park on his walk and was heading back down the street. Much like I'm prone to do, he had changed sides of the road for his return walk, so now we were only 20 feet apart: nearly face-to-face. I turned my eyes from the mallards to smile politely at him. He had a terrible scowl on his face that turned to a softer look as he said "Good evening" and walked on by. Maybe he'd had a similar conversation with himself earlier in the day?
"Women, you can keep them all. Who needs them! They can all go to bloody hell."
Up in the park, G and I walked the perimeter, passing the fishermen and a woman studying for her legal transcriptionist exam. She petted G and went back to studying as her beau removed the hook from the back of his shorts. I was glad I was not facing them when I heard his "Ow, ow, Holy crap, OW!", because I couldn't contain my chuckling.
We rounded the park and made our way home, moving more swiftly in order to improve the quality of the exercise we were getting. Pat called me on my cell and she and I chatted as I walked. She seemed surprised that I would be mildly breathless, but that is the pace they tell us to set for ourselves if we expect to get any real benefits from the walking. Besides, I was practically dragging Gia, her short dachshund legs not wanting to keep up, and that was adding substantial exertion on my part. I imagine we are a pretty funny sight, if anyone would bother to notice.
Once home I checked the times for the Genesis satellite's passage, as well as the new spy plane and the ISS. It was a beautiful night but already chilling down, and I pulled on a sweatshirt so I could sit on the deck and wait to see the free show. Two geese were disturbed by my sudden presence and they ran up the lagoon until their wings could lift them off the water, honking loudly as they flew, scolding me for the interruption. In the dim light I heard a kerplunk and could just make out the ripples where a fish had leaped to snag a bug from the surface of the lagoon.
Ahhh... peace... solitude.
This morning my coffee is warming me into a sweat. There is white heron (or is it an egret) walking along the marshy peninsula that shields my lagoon from the direct bay waves. She is joined by another, a mate perhaps, and they fish with their pointy beaks until a boat moves past them and they take flight to quieter hunting grounds.
I will drive north to Middletown later today, only to return on Thursday afternoon. This place is good for me but there are things to do in Middletown that cannot wait. In the space of time it took me to write this piece, the cottage has warmed to 81 degrees. It's time to open more windows and let the bay breeze through, and then close up my laptop so I can enjoy the last few hours in this simple paradise before my drive.
Writer's Note: I found an article that explains the horseshoe crab phenomena I witnessed last night. Apparently I was a very lucky gal to see all that! http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=106489695
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