Like the Weather

The Weather Channel says we’ve got a major hurricane hitting tonight. I believe them, I’m just not buying into belief that I personally have anything to worry about. I think we’re going to be ok. Could this kind of weather really be so much worse than anything we’ve seen before? I can accept the weather. I can accept it as mood. Changes in weather once played a part in a much needed lesson for me.

Concepts of weather and mood were coming to the forefront when I first made the big move from Phoenix to Boston after I graduated from ASU in 1994. Growing up in Phoenix, I wasn’t accustomed to seeing much variety in the weather. It would get to the point each year when it went from hot to hotter and so on. Rain in Phoenix was kind of a big deal, not only because it was wet, but because it was something of a rarity for any day to day variations to factor in. In Phoenix, the weather was rarely a consideration, and in New England it always is. Locals here would say to me with a laugh, “If you don’t like the weather in New England, wait a few minutes!”

I arrived in Massachusetts in September of 1994 in my old Toyota. The season was turning to fall and I soon learned that I had not much use for my summer clothes already. The weather was a constant factor in approaching the beginning of a day, because anything could happen. One day could be very different than the next in every way and all the possibilities for change within. I wasn’t used to that.


I took all of it in over the next few months, watching the weather through my window, driving around and watching the leaves fall from the trees, or taking the train into Boston through the wind and rain. The weather was always creating some kind of scenery and although hidden parts of me missed the constant sunlight, I was intrigued. What beauty!- but it was more than that, depression was creeping up on me and it was more than homesickness.

One mid-October day, I was winding down a tree-lined road up on the North Shore with the colorful leaves falling all around. It was like a scene from a movie, and I felt I had an epiphany. I’ll never forget it because I built inspiration and concepts from these thoughts for years. There was an emotional connection in art and movies that people generally understood and drew from that I had been missing from lack of experience. A connection that I recognized- I got it, but I never felt it.

Which Woody Allen movie were these falling leaves reminding me of, setting a depressing tone? It didn’t matter which one really, movies and books would often set a tone through weather. As a Phoenician I lacked the context to relate! Here I was
settling into my new home in denial of my depression- likely caused by lack of sunlight and short days and, boy oh boy could I ever relate now. I was too stubborn to turn around and go back to Phoenix- I was going to tuff it out. I had made myself a promise that I would stay at least 6 months before I even considered surrender.

Fall turned to winter, then soon I was waiting for winter to end, I was aware of having given it my six months. I’d come this far, why stop now- in truth, I’m sure, I was too depressed to even consider turning around and moving anywhere to change my life. In March, I learned that in New England, winter isn’t over in March and when the scenery isn’t white, it’s gray. It wasn’t all bad. I loved the snow- I still do. I loved my apartment in Salem. I was forming new relationships and the truth was, I didn’t know that parts of my being missed the sun. If anything, I was enjoying a break from it. However, the soggy gray days of winter were becoming harder to accept as the long end of winter continued. Besides feeling homesick for my old boyfriend, my old friends and my family in Phoenix, the result of all these weather considerations was stifling! Good conditions some days, and others bad. -That I could accept. Some days happy, others sad- harder to accept. Still I was bogged down with these short-term judgments. In effect, I was clouding my ability to see the richness of possibilities in my future.

If I could accept the ever-changing weather, couldn’t I simply accept my own moods and feelings like the weather? Couldn’t I just look at the day and accept what was being presented inside and out and prepare and go on with it? If I could enjoy a stormy snowy day, how about accepting one on the inside? How about letting choice to accept be a major factor? I didn’t have to add to any of it by labeling any of it as unacceptable! In other words, on top of feeling sad, I didn’t have to feel bad about feeling that way!

In retrospect, I was too young to simply choose to have a good attitude everyday. I had to get to that point in stages. Letting attitude take the lead wouldn’t become my goal until years later, but it was powerful to me to let acceptance be a factor all those years ago. I still look back on my time in Salem in my late 20’s and early 30’s as the end of my adolescence. Some really great things happened through my struggles there.

Hurricane or tropical storm? Who knows what the weather has in store for us this weekend? Power outages? At least I know how to translate a power outage to my mood. That sounds pretty good actually. I think I’m due for one. Only please, on the inside, not so much on the outside.

Grandma's Piano

"Ain't she sweet?
See her coming down the street.
Now I ask you very confidentially,
Ain't she sweet?"

I hold a vivid memory of Grandma sitting at her piano in Corydon, Iowa, 1975, playing and singing her song for me. I can still hear her voice in my mind and I can still see her smiling eyes and face as she did her little song. I was six years old. I never heard the song before or since, but as I write here, the next verse of Ain't She Sweet seems to want to come out. "Oh me, oh my! Ain't that perfection!" Maybe I remember this song best because Grandma Rissler would more often play and sing hymns. As a child, I guess I felt that her Christian/church-going side was less fun than her card-playing/ musical side. I always had a much greater appreciation of her fun side.

Grandma Rissler was the first to teach me to play piano. She had a duet that she taught me the parts to in stages over the years. I always enjoyed it and our little song came to have a rockin' feel to it when we played it together in later years. It's still the song that I'll play every chance I have to sit down at a piano. She first taught me the song on her upright piano. I think my mom said she also learned to play on that upright piano of Grandma's, but that must have been before someone painted it green. I always knew it as the green piano. I remember it so well in Grandma's old house, but she and Grandpa must have moved out of that house when I was about 8 years old. Then the piano went to my Aunt Ginus's house where it remained until now.

Over the 4th of July weekend, my brother and I played parts of Grandma's duet together when we had a quiet moment in my Uncle Jimmy's house in Chicago. Our families had met there for Cousin Emily's wedding celebration. My time at Uncle Jimmy's house was just a stop on the way to the airport for me. Chris and I were on our way home to New England. Freddy was going to stay another night before traveling to Iowa to visit Aunt Ginus's farm the following day. I was a bit envious, I could have used some more family time. Besides, I always loved Ginus's old farmhouse and I'd love to see it again.

I spoke to Freddy on the phone some days later when we were both home. He filled me in on the rest of his midwest trip. He also told me that he learned that Ginus and Uncle Stan had tried to give Grandma's piano away for some years, to no avail. Nobody wanted it. I guess the green paint along with some permanently out of tune keys made it less than desirable to people. They wanted it out of their house now to make room for a pool table and were considering burning the piano! Freddy responded to Uncle Stan that his only feeling about it was that if he was going to burn the piano in a bonfire, he'd like him to do it while Freddy and his family were there for the July 4th Holiday! -So they did it! Uncle Stan built a big bonfire and dumped the piano on top and they all watched it burn to ashes!

I took this news in and it all felt like really big news to me. I must admit, I hadn't thought of that old piano for years, I didn't even really know that Ginus still had it. I found myself thinking sentimentally of that piano often as the next few days passed. It was just a piano, but I felt a sense of mourning for its demise and a real longing came with the memories that were popping up. I smile when I think of all these feelings now, my emotions were probably still cooking from Emily's wedding. I'd had a bit of quality family time and it wasn't enough, and I knew I had wanted more. My time in Chicago had been wonderful and filled with rare and special moments and feelings. It was all over now, and coming down from it left me depressed. I'd also looked forward to seeing my mom in Chicago for months of anticipation and was deeply disappointed by her last minute cancellation. Now this talk about the piano and I guess I probably wanted my Grandma back too. It seems I'd fallen into a bummer of an exercise in sentimentality. What did I need to care about Grandma's old worthless piano anyway?

Then a few days later, my sister-in law posted the pictures of the event. (Thank you, Jordel- I love these pictures.) I was surprised at the emotion I felt as I looked at the photos of the piano in flames. I put my hands over my face as my eyes swelled with tears and I just gave into it and sobbed for a few moments.

Then I let it all go. When it's time, its time. It was beautiful and sad. It was a treat to celebrate these thoughts of my Grandma Rissler whom I will always hold dear in my heart. I have to say, wasn't she sweet? Wasn't she really, really sweet.

Lina Takes Us Away

Now join your hands, and with your hands, your hearts.

-William Shakespeare

Coming back to Provincetown at dusk one evening, we took Commercial Street from Route 6A in the far West End. Chris, Lina and I were on our way "home" to our quaint old summer rental for the week -The Old Homestead. We were about to head in for the night. After a few blocks, Lina stood up and indicated that she needed to get out of the car to do some business. Chris pulled over to let Lina and I out to walk while he went on up the road to find parking. I figured Lina needed to go potty. She took the lead, walking me up the street. I'm thinking she was just finding the perfect spot to do her business, or rather, I was probably not thinking. I was just following along. Lina was taking me through an old familiar territory and I hadn't realized it. She knew this walk, this is why she wanted out of the car! She was taking us back to another nearby favorite summer home on the bay that we'd rented a few years ago.

Chris soon caught up with us and Lina took us to a special private garden- a place that we knew. Lina is so funny when she gets in one of her moods to lead us on an adventure- revealing her wisdom. Usually she'll take a routine trek on our walks. However, just occasionally enough to be surprising, she'll get motivated to think outside the box! More often, she finds inspiration when we take a family walk. Perhaps having our "pack" together motivates her to get creative and explore more, or maybe she just wants to show us what a creative leader can do. We don't know, but she knows. She'll choose the way and break in a new route for us. It always makes me smile when I realize that she's doing it. This time was extra special. We were on vacation, and we were all feeling it. Besides, she wanted to visit her old familiar place.

We had been invited to this amazing garden some years ago when staying here on the far West End of Commercial Street. We visited the garden daily during those holidays. I still love this place and it's hard to explain how I felt explicitly welcome just walking my little dog right into this beautiful garden. All the while maintaining a feeling of serenity. Welcome.

Lina took us in at dusk and I made up my mind that we'd have to come back in the daytime for a better viewing. Lina was loving it and she was taking her time, lingering in the growing darkness. I was happy to follow. She led me through the crushed seashell paths. Feeling some bug bites, I told myself I didn't mind- this is just something that happens on a June night. After some time we'd circled back to the front and we were about ready to exit. We paused, a feeling of deja vu came over me and all at once I knew why and turned around. I looked at the garden behind me. I gazed across the now dark scene and saw the lightning bugs. "Fireflies!" They were lighting up all over the garden. This was one of only a handful of times that we've ever seen them. They were putting on quite a display on this special June evening. I took my husband's hand and we watched them lighting up throughout the expanse in the darkness.

We all love this garden, it truly is a special place for us. We visited again a few days later to take it in under the spectacular morning light. I cherish our memories going into this peaceful setting.

Mr. Jenkins

This morning Lina and I started off on our morning walk. We saw our friend Vivian with a man on the next street over through a neighbor’s yard. It wasn’t typical of them to stop and stand on the road over on Rte. 135, but we didn’t give it much thought, other than hoping to catch up with them to say hello. We rounded the corner and saw that, of course they were with Nicole, Vivian’s poodle and constant companion, who I refer to as Lina’s “friend” (I’m not sure if Lina is convinced, but that is another story entirely.) As they walked toward us, I could physically see that the man with Vivian was obviously her son, Doug who visits from Milwaukee.

I was anticipating a fun little chat and it was only as they approached stating that they had been staying with a dead cat on the side of the road that I saw the dead body and felt the sorrow of what had happened. Vivian said he was a beautiful animal with white paws and was obviously loved and well cared for. They had telephoned “Mr. Jenkins” at the phone number on the cat’s tags, and the man was coming. They also called the animal control officer fifteen minutes ago, but as we all understand in Westborough, you have to wait for him to get out of bed. Vivian’s son had a flight to catch, and they were considering moving on, but didn’t want to leave the body alone.

We were a few house lengths away from Mr. Jenkins’ body as we talked and shared animal stories. Vivian had lost a Siamese cat years’ ago that got hit by a truck barreling over the hill, and her family had felt much grief and sadness over the loss. I shared that I understood how very difficult these losses are and shared my experience of my beagle, Penelope who died when I was five years old, struck by a car. As I write this I realize that I shared a pared down version leaving out details of this tragedy and loss in my life. I was probably lucky that I was only five years old at the time and unable to comprehend the depth of the tragedy as I was aware of today.

After five more minutes, the animal control officer arrived. My only experience with the man had been his unwillingness to help with a skunk control problem at our house in downtown Westborough, and then, his willingness to participate in a systemized problem of harassment that my husband and I are having in the neighborhood, threatening to take Lina away from us when a neighbor complained of her peeing in his yard. Here he was today providing a valid service. I turned a moment later to see the cat’s well- dressed owner arrive and cover his face in sorrow as he stepped onto the sidewalk to collect his dear friend laid out there.

Vivian, Doug, Nicole, Lina and I said our goodbyes and I told Doug, Vivian’s son from Milwaukee that his mom, 82 year old Vivian is very proud of him, talks about him a lot, eagerly anticipates his visits and that we always know when he’s coming. Lina and I changed course and crossed Rte. 135 and walked down by where our friend Russ grew up and now rents out his family home. I had never met the tenants there. Across the street, Lina came to an atypical full pointing type of stop when a man pulled into the drive there. Lina was staring, so I looked over and said hello, not recognizing the man who had just collected his cat. He asked me if I was Doug, and I said no as we crossed the street toward him. He said he just got a call from “Doug.”

Then, I recognized him. I could see that he had been crying, I told him I was very sorry for his loss. I remember not knowing what to say, but tried to comfort him anyway. I think he was comforted by Lina for the moment, if anything. He was petting her. I was aware of talk coming through the speaker of his phone, and he said, "I'm stuck on a dumb conference call for work,” as he turned down the volume. I introduced ourselves- “Tom and Lina, both friends of Russ.” His name was Mason. It was then that I learned that his cat was “Mr. Jenkins.” He’d had him for over five years and when he’d moved into Russ’ house, his roommates had an indoor/outdoor cat and he decided that Mr. Jenkins could be the same. That seemed to have gone ok for some time. These unseasonably warm and sunny Spring days must have gotten to him and he ventured out to explore more enthusiastically… Now, Mason had to figure out what to do with him. I suggested he bury him in the yard and plant something on top of him. He thought that sounded like a good idea. We left shaking hands again and I couldn’t help repeating that I was very, very sorry.

Looking back on it, I think Mr. Jenkins was the cat we saw out in the yard over while out on our family walk two days ago, which was Easter Sunday, another unseasonably warm and sunny day. Lina took note of him then too. I think Lina was way ahead of me in understanding all of these events and I’m grateful that she led me over there again today. I know the unfolding of these events are likely to be on my mind for some time to come.