911

Our community garden is located just a couple of houses from the fire station. Over the years, countless quiet mornings or afternoons there have been interrupted by the screaming of sirens responding to one emergency or another. The noise is loud enough that if Lucy happens to be there, I cover her ears because I know they are more sensitive than mine, and mine are hurting.

As unfailingly jarring as it is, it is of course impossible to be annoyed, knowing the essential duties the firetrucks, ambulances, and their occupants are engaged in. I do flinch, though, every time. 

And then I take a deep breath and send out positive energy to anybody who needs such help and gratitude to those who willingly offer it.

That Day

For me, it's always been impossible to understand what makes a moment, or an experience, or a day indelible. For example, it's no secret to those who know me that I love visiting Maine in the summer, and many of my happiest adult memories have taken place there. My family has been kind enough to travel there for my 40th, 50th, and 60th birthdays, and I treasure those weeks spent in my favorite place with the people I love. If it were up to me, we'd all go there every summer. 🤞🏻

There was a day, though, that for some reason stands out even among those amazing memories. Heidi and I and our first dog, Isabel, had driven up for just a few days at the end of the summer to stay with my friend Ruth. The year was 2005; Isabel was 2, Heidi was teaching swim lessons and lifeguarding, we spent many afternoons visiting my Aunt Sis in the hospital, and Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince had just come out.

On our way home, we decided to stop in Stonington and take the mail boat to Isle au Haut and then spend the night in a harborside hotel before getting on the road the next day. We left Ruth's at the crack of dawn to make our boat, and the morning was still a little chilly when we boarded. Isabel had never been on a boat that size before, but of course Heidi was able to lure her aboard. The voyage was about an hour, and when we were dropped off at the ranger's station, we understood that we would be on the island for the next six hours, until the boat returned. 

Conditions were primitive: there was an outhouse and an information kiosk, but the town, such as it was, was two miles down a narrow road, but we had packed food and water, and we were ready for the experience. We let Isabel off leash, and she dashed out of sight immediately. Fortunately, we found just down the path, standing in the water of a little inlet.

The next hours were just the three of us exploring the trails and cliffs and cobble beaches of the island. We ate lunch on a boulder looking out to sea, and I fashioned a dog toy from nylon rope and the remnants of a lobster trapfor Isabel to fetch. Near the end of the afternoon, we found an overlook above the sea, and there was something about that rocky outcropping that reminded me for all the world of the place where Dumbledore takes Harry to retrieve Slytherin's locket.

Almost too soon, it was time to return to the mainland, but once checked into our little efficiency we realized we were famished. A place around the corner delivered us a couple of fried seafood platters, and we ate clams, fish, and shrimp in front of the TV as we watched The Closer. 

It was one of the best days of my life.

Stay Cool

 

It was still 97 degrees at 5:45 this afternoon when I went up to check on my garden. After ALL the rain we've had in the weeks prior, things are still looking pretty healthy despite this hot, dry spell. In fact, I didn't even need to water; I'll take care of that tomorrow evening. 

I did pull a few weeds, though, enough to get some dirt in my Crocs, which was uncomfortable once I was ready to drive home. From the driver's seat, I slipped my dirty feet out of the shoes and dumped them onto the pavement, but rather than put them back on, I decided to drive home barefoot.

It had been a looooong time since I'd driven without shoes, and I had to adjust the seat to reach the pedals. Even so, it took me back to those days in my early 20s when I lived at the beach. We did everything barefoot then-- walked on blistering pavement to searing sand, rode beach cruisers down the boardwalk, and drove my yellow, 1976 Volkswagen Rabbit all over town. I'm sure I had a pair of Vans or flip flops thrown into the backseat in case I needed to go inside anywhere, but other than that? It was sandy toes to the metal all summer long.

It was a short ride home from the garden, but despite the heat, I rolled down the windows and blasted the 80s station. It was never my favorite decade, but today it was just right.

Ha Ha Funny

"What are we going to watch tonight?" Heidi asks me almost every evening. I'm not sure how I got to be in charge of our viewing-- I hope it's not because I'm a big brat-- but that's how it is. 

Lately, we've been watching Nobody Wants This, with Kristen Bell. After we finished all five seasons of The Good Place, I wasn't ready to completely let go of Eleanor Shellstrop, so. The shows are different, but thematically very similar. They both explore what it means to be a good person, and they do it through comedy. While not exactly classic sitcoms, the writing is smart and funny, and the acting is, too, and they make us laugh.

So tonight, when Heidi asks me her standard question, I know what the answer will be.

The Sound of a Closing Door

"How are you feeling?" I asked my former colleague, Deisy, on the morning of the last day of school. I was there subbing, and she was in her usual spot in the lobby, ready to dispense tardy passes to any laggard students. 

I had known her for nearly 30 years, and I also knew she was retiring. This was her very last day on the job.

She smiled ruefully. "I feel a little sad," she confessed. "Everyone here gave me a nice party and gifts, and I couldn't finish my thank-you notes because I kept crying."

"I know," I told her. "And everyone expects you to be so happy, right?"

Her eyes widened. "I think you're the only one who understands," she said. 

"Give yourself a lot of grace," I advised her. "As much of a privilege as it is, retirement is a huge adjustment."

We were both a little choked up. 

"Thank you," she said.

"You're welcome!" I laughed. "And look at me! Obviously, you can always come back."

Berry Picking

When I read this prompt, my first thought was to go berry picking, something I haven't done in decades. Blueberries, a fruit we picked gallons of on our way home from the shore during my childhood summers, are in season at local pick-your-own farms, but in this case, "local" doesn't really translate to "nearby." 

Plus, I had promised to help my friend Mary and Heidi today pack up their classrooms for retirement and relocation, respectively. Still, returning home at around 3:30, that hankering to pick some berries was strong, and I knew today would be the most pleasant for a while, with that heat dome approaching. It occurred to me that there are several wineberry bushes skirting the woods on our property, and I know they ripen in late June. 

So I grabbed an empty pint container saved from the farmers market and walked to the edge of the complex, following the woods around and up the big hill until I found a patch of berries in the sun. The direct sunlight had ripened several berries ahead of the ones a little lower on the hill, and I was able to pick about half a pint. They didn't really make it home, though, because I ran into a few neighbors on my way back, and I was eager to share my foraged goodies. 

That part of the experience was predictable, though, because it seemed like we usually ate as many blueberries as we picked when we were kids, too.

Active Enough

"Do you have any ideas for meals I can make without turning on the stove?" a friend of Heidi's asked me this morning. They had just finished a morning walk with the dog.

"A few," I answered, "but what's going on? Is your a/c broken?"

"I haven't turned it on yet," she replied, and seeing my raised eyebrows, elaborated. "I just don't really like the way air conditioning feels," she shrugged. "I have my windows open and fans running. It's not that big a deal, especially since I'm at work all day."

I thought back to summers when I was a kid. We never had air conditioning, and I remembered both the pleasure of a fan blowing mild air on warm days and the misery of having to take a cool shower just so we could sleep on sweltering nights. It was all we knew.

"Do you have good cross-ventilation?" I asked. "Because these places," I gestured around the living room, "were built to be air-conditioned. I love to have them open, but we do not have very good airflow from our windows."

"It's not bad," she said. "But this is Virginia, and a heat dome is coming, so I'm going to turn my a/c on tomorrow."

Later, when we stepped outside to see her off, I looked up at our second-story windows and saw the condensation on them. The close, warm air felt good on my refrigerated skin, but I looked at my watch and saw that the temperature had already reached 87. I may have missed my opportunity for vigorous activity, but sitting in a lawn chair on the deck with a tall glass of iced tea and spending some time reading and writing seemed like a great idea.