It's here!

 

Take a boy and a creek bed

 (Do you see him among the shadows - in the water?)

An hour, apparently, wasn't enough time for the exploring he wanted to do, 

so we stayed for nearly two.

 Throw in a full moon and perfect nights for al fresco meals.

 Liberally sprinkle in some orange decor

 

Don't forget fall foliage - both 'street level' and 'aerial 'views

There HAVE to be a few spooky things, right?

 And you have a perfect season!

My favorite actually.

 

In spite of the political sh*t-show-within-a-dumpster-fire 

playing itself out before our very eyes, 

there's so much to love about this time of year.

I plan to enjoy every second.

Brokenness

 “I will die in a broken place." 

Before the words left my mouth, I had no idea they had been in my head.

I would have sworn death has not been omnipresent for me. 

 

Yes, hundreds of thousands of my fellow citizens have died as a result of Covid 19.

Yes, a family acquaintance of many decades lost his struggle against the vicissitudes of aging this week.

 But death for me?
Well, apparently, denial has been alive and well.

As I sat with this unwelcome, unasked for message, I found myself becoming tearful at the extent of its truth.

A place which provided me with decades of strength and peace has been revealed as being starkly and terribly flawed, perhaps fatally so; its members exhibiting behavior I abhor, proving themselves to be petty and untrustworthy.

A country I no longer recognize as my own. Even having recognized long ago the flawed, exclusionary principles upon which our country was founded, it has been seen by millions of people over the centuries as the best of what human community could be; especially by those yearning to share the freedoms we enjoy. The reality that nearly half of our population would not only deny those same freedoms to people not like them but take pleasure in inflicting levels of cruelty is nearly unfathomable to me; actions and beliefs which would have been abhorrent just years ago.

A family in which relationships are fraying and fragile, some now strained beyond the breaking point, leaving some loved ones in pain and isolation with others of us looking on in worry and despair at our inability to heal the breech.

None of these conditions will be resolved by the time I die.

Frankly, I’m not sure why I thought there would be a ‘coming together’ at the end; the disparate pieces of brokenness re-assembled into a mosaic that was not only recognizable but beautiful.

Hope springs eternal, I guess; that hope has died as well.

I will die in a broken place.

Beatrice

I was surprised by how much it bothered me.

I mean, I'm not even sure I believe in cemeteries.

I think land should be utilized for the living and, 

while I can appreciate a cemetery as an oasis of calm and 'other worldliness' 

in the midst of teeming urban life, 

I am a child of my family, 

and the generations of people before me, 

who have been cremated 

and had their ashes returned to the Atlantic Ocean 

at the end of 'our' block 

on an island off the coast of New Jersey.

But I appreciate the artistry and beauty of

old cemetery monuments and markers 

as well as the plantings and profound silence to be found 

while walking around on a beautiful day.

Truth be told, 

I had thoughts to process and things to feel 

accumulated from events during the past few weeks.

No one gives a second thought to an older woman crying in a cemetery; 

it's not just the dead that are invisible there.

I had been there before; many times, actually; 

not only for 'pleasure' if that concept doesn't sound too incongruous, 

but for funerals of  more children I've worked with 

than I care to remember.
There are two graves I always look forward to seeing though 

of children I never met or knew; 

children who died more than a century before I started walking around 

in their final resting place.

The Church sisters: Carlotta, the oldest, born in November 1899 and died in June 1905 

and her baby sister, Beatrice, born in Jan 1905 and died in April 1906.

"Lottie" only knew her baby sister for 6 months.

I can't tell you how many times I've wondered about their deaths - what were the causes? - 

and how their parents, 

especially their mother, 

withstood losing two little ones in such a short period of time.

I've even sewn a sampler in honor of Beatrice... 

a young girl who would never know the joys of sewing 

or creating something lovely through her own efforts.

It hangs in my bedroom and I think of her every time I see it.

Her 'angel' was one of the most beautifully carved statues I've ever seen 

and I've often wondered if the artisan that created it used an image of her as his model.

Lottie's is very different and it IS lovely, 

but there's no denying I liked Beatrice best!

As I got to 'their' bend in the road, 

I began looking for the side by side markers 

and the sight I found instead literally took my breath away...

and a wave of sadness swept over me.

I know I'm just a fanciful old woman. 

I suspect the relatives of these long dead, forgotten children never come to visit at all...

but the nerve of people for whom nothing is sacred, 

nothing is 'set apart', 

sickens me.

I can only hope Beatrice is in the gorgeous garden of some mansion 

(not a McMansion, please God, I'd hate that; 

let it at least be someone with taste!) 

surrounded by life and beauty; 

its new owner oblivious, hopefully, to the reality 

that she came to them stolen by a grave robber.

It's one thing to have time and natural erosion destroy the markers in old cemeteries; 

it's quite another for the destruction to be at the hands of greedy, small hearted thieves 

or mere malcontents.

Lottie shoulders on, standing her post alone...

at least, for now.

As do we all.

For my church family

the shards were handed to me,

with the words

"its all up to you now."

instinctively i cradled them to my breast

and, with a deep exhalation, 

said, yes, okay.

with a lifetime of assuming responsibility

for fixing broken things,

i stoically reported for duty.

then, 

in the moments after the encounter,

 i remembered.

i'm no longer a young girl

hoping to repair a broken family.

 

i'm no longer a lonely wife

hoping to regain a husbands attention and affection.

 

i'm no longer a social worker

hired for her skill to re-frame or reverse 

terrible mistakes in parenting.

 i took one deep breath,

then another,

opened my arms 

and 

let the shards fall.

its not up to me.

we will either pick up the pieces

and create something new with a mosaic we patch together,

recognizing that it will never be what it was before

OR

the pieces will remain where they fell;

we will acknowledge that there's little value

and perhaps no interest

in reclaiming them.

God will be with us in our choice

but the work will ultimately

be OURS.

it's not up to me.

Mackinac Island

There was no greater example of cognitive dissonance

than the day trip we took to Mackinac Island.

It was such a stark contrast between what I, and the majority of my friends, 

have been experiencing for 6 months

and what I witnessed in the behavior of people 'on vacation'.

Taking a ferry to Mackinac Island 

and going under the Mackinac bridge,

was like going to another time;

fitting since the movie "Somewhere in Time" 

was filmed on the island.

While I know the crowds were significantly reduced from 'normal' summers,

I was amazed at the number of people/whole families, 

bicycling, shopping and gathering in large crowds.

True, they were masked as per MI Governors state mandate,

but the ease with which they moved through the day,

seemingly not weighing or obsessing about the risk of each encounter 

was amazing to me.

 

Our little group of 3 chose the road less traveled, 

avoiding any large grouping whenever possible -

the risk of infection,

our ages and medical conditions, 

were never far from our thoughts.

 

Did we feel the fear and do it anyway?

Why, yes, we did -

and I'm glad that was our choice.

This observation isn't a criticism of the Island or other people;

it's just recognition of the disparate realities that we're all struggling to balance.

Luckily, we lived to tell the tale.

The gardens on the island are the equivalent of 'garden porn' ...

no one individual has the potential to achieve these looks on their own; 

it takes a team of professionals, 

working out of sight.

When we spoke to the driver of our carriage about the gardens,

he speculated that the secret ingredient is the manure 

produced by all the horses on the island

which collectively produce 80 tons of manure A DAY.

More 'tiny' summer cottages for the uber wealthy.

As a first time visitor, I was suitably impressed and charmed

We even sat on the porch of the Grand Hotel and sipped pina coladas

just like the rich folks do.

It was a wonderful excursion.

Another 'must do' while in northern Michigan.

~~~~~~~~

I think I packed a lot into my week 'in the world'.

It was a wonderful respite from the isolation of the pandemic.

Can't begin to express how grateful I am to the friends 

who introduced me to this part of the world.

GREAT lakes

Well, two of them:

Michigan and Huron.

Did I mention that the weather was end of the season perfect?
Cool nights, warm sunny days
and lake water that's been warmed all summer.

 There's NOTHING like sitting on the sand,
listening to waves,
feeling a breeze on your face and in your hair;
a breeze that carries the scents of pine and cocoa butter.
Heavenly.

Here's my profound observation/comparison of the two lakes,

for which I can offer absolutely NO empirical evidence.

 

Lake Michigan has more sand dunes and sand based beaches, 

reminding me of Indiana Dunes State park and the beaches back home in New Jersey.

Lake Huron is rockier, 

more like the granite beaches in Maine and New England

 

 The lighthouses are smaller on the Lakes 

than the ones I'm used to on the Atlantic Ocean

but no less charming.

Both the 'old' one on Presque Isle

(above, from 1830)

and the 'new' one,

from 1870.

The pines and woods adjacent to both lakes are blessedly undeveloped

and I was amazed at how clear the water was in both.

So beautiful.

I think, for the first time, I understand what "Pure Michigan' is all about.

After being housebound for nearly 6 months,
I can't imagine a more beautiful way to ease back into the 'real' world.

I can't recommend a visit to Michigan highly enough.
Go see for yourself.