I'm sitting at the kitchen table as I write. The sun is shining and a gentle breeze is wafting through the open windows.
It is August in Maryland. What the hell is going on?
I don't understand this summer. I have not used the air conditioner for days at a time. If you know Maryland, that is not typical for the summer. Do you remember the Twilight Zone episode with the two women in an abandoned apartment building? The sun is melting them, water is rapidly disappearing, and they are sweating profusely as they fend off a crazed stranger willing to kill for a glass of pineapple juice. Now that's a pretty typical Maryland summer.
The grass is still green and lush. The produce this summer, while expensive, has been absolutely juicy. Just luscious! The sweetest peaches ever. The slurpiest cantaloupes. The most tender sweet corn. Bing cherries as big as prunes. It's a vegetarian's heaven.
Facebook friends fill their pages with descriptions of daytime bike rides, trail walks, and jogs. In July? In August? In Maryland? This time last year it sometimes felt too hot to leave the house to go to the pool.
What a blessing this summer has been, especially after such a brutal winter. And what a blessing it is to be retired and free to enjoy each day to the fullest.
Thursday, August 14, 2014
Monday, August 11, 2014
The Unexpected End of a Life
The news today is heartbreaking. Robin Williams chose to end his life. Those of us who were his fans could hardly believe this information. There are so many rumors spread on the internet that many of my friends were actually waiting for the announcement that this was a hoax. It wasn't.
His isn't my first experience with suicide. My grandfather, a retired Philadelphia cop, ended his second wife's life and then took his own. I remember his death. I specifically remember being put to bed in my parents' bed because I was hysterical. However, I didn't know how he died until I was an adult. My family kept the details from me, the child, and then just never got around to telling me the truth. I was shocked when my mother told me the news she thought I had always known. It explained a lot.
Years ago, I had a wonderful pen pal named Keith. He lived in California, was about my age, and he loved to write. We wrote for years, joking about our miserable love lives, analyzing the world's problems, discussing books, movies, and TV shows. One day I was headed out to the mall for a serious shopping spree and the mail lady delivered a fat brown envelope with a familiar return address, but an unfamiliar name. In it was a heartbreaking letter from Keith's mother and all of the letters I'd ever written him. He had saved them. She thanked me for being such a good friend to him. I questioned what kind of a friend I was to not know, to not be able to help, to not be able to stop his suicide.
A friend from college, married with children. Gone. A young teacher I worked with. Gone. A friend from church. Gone. A young man from my early theatre days. Gone. Too many former students. Gone.
What is it that makes some of us fight to live while others give up? Why do some people realize they can get through the bad times, no matter how bad they are? It's not religion and it's not love, for I have known people who've had an abundance of God and family, but just couldn't survive their lives. What is it?
Who knows? Nobody really. Not even William Shakespeare who wrote many years ago about the struggle.
His isn't my first experience with suicide. My grandfather, a retired Philadelphia cop, ended his second wife's life and then took his own. I remember his death. I specifically remember being put to bed in my parents' bed because I was hysterical. However, I didn't know how he died until I was an adult. My family kept the details from me, the child, and then just never got around to telling me the truth. I was shocked when my mother told me the news she thought I had always known. It explained a lot.
Years ago, I had a wonderful pen pal named Keith. He lived in California, was about my age, and he loved to write. We wrote for years, joking about our miserable love lives, analyzing the world's problems, discussing books, movies, and TV shows. One day I was headed out to the mall for a serious shopping spree and the mail lady delivered a fat brown envelope with a familiar return address, but an unfamiliar name. In it was a heartbreaking letter from Keith's mother and all of the letters I'd ever written him. He had saved them. She thanked me for being such a good friend to him. I questioned what kind of a friend I was to not know, to not be able to help, to not be able to stop his suicide.
A friend from college, married with children. Gone. A young teacher I worked with. Gone. A friend from church. Gone. A young man from my early theatre days. Gone. Too many former students. Gone.
What is it that makes some of us fight to live while others give up? Why do some people realize they can get through the bad times, no matter how bad they are? It's not religion and it's not love, for I have known people who've had an abundance of God and family, but just couldn't survive their lives. What is it?
Who knows? Nobody really. Not even William Shakespeare who wrote many years ago about the struggle.
To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil.
Friday, August 1, 2014
Kids and the Single Woman
Kids are exhausting.
That's probably a strange thing for a retired middle school teacher to say. I mean, after thirty years of seventh graders, that fact should be no surprise. But, I never had my own for 24/7. There's a difference.
For two weeks this summer, my tiny house held not only Trixie and me, but it was filled with two kids who were excited about attending horse camp. The first week I had both nieces with me. Two weeks later, Billie was back for camp with her BFF, Alex. I was up each day at 7:30 am fixing breakfast and packing lunch. I drove back and forth to camp for twenty to twenty-five minutes ten times a week. That's a lot of gas. I used even more gas to drive to our evening activities; heaven forbid these kids feed and entertain themselves. Another meal - exhausting! And the chatter!! Non-stop. I felt like I was cantering on Coco and Ariel.
Camp is over. The kids have finally all gone home. I should be resting and relaxing, but I can't. I'm restless. The house is too quiet. OMG. I miss them!
A day ago, I was ready to change my name and not tell anyone. Now, I miss hearing "Aunt Barb!" A day ago I was tired of fixing dinner. Now, I'm trying to figure out what to have and I'm too apathetic to do anything about it. I want to hear Alex exclaiming that my pasta is the best she's ever had. (My recipe? Tri-colored pasta and Hunt's spaghetti sauce sprinkled with Parmesan cheese.) I want Billie flipping out in joy because sloppy joes are on the menu with a side of Eastern shore cantaloupe. Yes, dinner was different a day ago.
No trip to horse camp is complete without dips in the pool. I had such fun with the girls at the swim club. When Reba and Billie were here, they got along well and we laughed a lot. I was so proud of them. They were well-behaved and appreciative. They made Baxter smile when they thanked him for cook-out night. I saw adults thank him, but no other kids. Mine made me proud; oh, but I said that already.
Yesterday, I took Alex and Billie to the pool cook-out. They gobbled their food and raved about how good it was. They thanked Baxter for cooking and me for taking them. But, they especially made me happy when one of the children asked to play with them. She is a shy girl, and I think she has some trouble making friends. Billie and Alex explained their game and she joined right in. They invited her to eat dinner with us, and she was happy for the invitation. When it was time to go, they walked over and hugged goodbye. That warmed my heart. What good, good kids.
Kids are exhausting. And exhilarating. I'm blessed to have two "daughters" that I keep at my sister's house (and my "almost" daughter who lives with her mom). I'm so glad they enjoy coming to Camp Aunt Barb once or twice a year. They give me an excuse to buy junk food. I'm on the go instead of on the couch. And for some reason, I sleep like a log when they're here.
Children make your life important. -- Erma Bombeck
That's probably a strange thing for a retired middle school teacher to say. I mean, after thirty years of seventh graders, that fact should be no surprise. But, I never had my own for 24/7. There's a difference.
For two weeks this summer, my tiny house held not only Trixie and me, but it was filled with two kids who were excited about attending horse camp. The first week I had both nieces with me. Two weeks later, Billie was back for camp with her BFF, Alex. I was up each day at 7:30 am fixing breakfast and packing lunch. I drove back and forth to camp for twenty to twenty-five minutes ten times a week. That's a lot of gas. I used even more gas to drive to our evening activities; heaven forbid these kids feed and entertain themselves. Another meal - exhausting! And the chatter!! Non-stop. I felt like I was cantering on Coco and Ariel.
Camp is over. The kids have finally all gone home. I should be resting and relaxing, but I can't. I'm restless. The house is too quiet. OMG. I miss them!
A day ago, I was ready to change my name and not tell anyone. Now, I miss hearing "Aunt Barb!" A day ago I was tired of fixing dinner. Now, I'm trying to figure out what to have and I'm too apathetic to do anything about it. I want to hear Alex exclaiming that my pasta is the best she's ever had. (My recipe? Tri-colored pasta and Hunt's spaghetti sauce sprinkled with Parmesan cheese.) I want Billie flipping out in joy because sloppy joes are on the menu with a side of Eastern shore cantaloupe. Yes, dinner was different a day ago.
No trip to horse camp is complete without dips in the pool. I had such fun with the girls at the swim club. When Reba and Billie were here, they got along well and we laughed a lot. I was so proud of them. They were well-behaved and appreciative. They made Baxter smile when they thanked him for cook-out night. I saw adults thank him, but no other kids. Mine made me proud; oh, but I said that already.
Yesterday, I took Alex and Billie to the pool cook-out. They gobbled their food and raved about how good it was. They thanked Baxter for cooking and me for taking them. But, they especially made me happy when one of the children asked to play with them. She is a shy girl, and I think she has some trouble making friends. Billie and Alex explained their game and she joined right in. They invited her to eat dinner with us, and she was happy for the invitation. When it was time to go, they walked over and hugged goodbye. That warmed my heart. What good, good kids.
Kids are exhausting. And exhilarating. I'm blessed to have two "daughters" that I keep at my sister's house (and my "almost" daughter who lives with her mom). I'm so glad they enjoy coming to Camp Aunt Barb once or twice a year. They give me an excuse to buy junk food. I'm on the go instead of on the couch. And for some reason, I sleep like a log when they're here.
Children make your life important. -- Erma Bombeck
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