So I made an executive decision and I rented a house. What’s the difference between sitting in the house here or there? I’d rather sit near the beach. I had gone to Shaw’s the other day and came home to find out that Mom had “taken the bull by the horns” and rented a cottage in Mattapoisett for August. She’s 85, Dad’s 88, and they are the definition of who is most vulnerable during this pandemic. But they have been going to Mattapoisett for nearly 40 Augusts. It is tradition. I shuddered for a minute, maybe two, and then shook that shudder off. Why? Because Mom is a force not to be trifled with. She’s taken about fifty lickings and has kept on ticking all for the love of social gatherings, trips, and shopping at Homegoods. The Bat Flu is not stopping Mary. No sir.
I don’t care what Governor Baker is opening back up on Monday, I’m going. Cabin fever is bad here in Hanson. You do realize that you are not under house arrest, right? I reminded her that her freedom is still intact, she reminded me that Homegoods was still closed. Touchè. Mom has become, yet again, the voice of her generation and perhaps mine too. She has a knack for saying exactly what everyone else is thinking at just the right moment. We’re all hitting our walls and the unknown future is nearly impossible to accept. The marcescent leaves of beech trees have finally been shed in a sudden explosion of new life, catkins of oaks are releasing their seminal pollen—anxious to produce the next crop of acorns. Another 70 degree day has arrived and we tired but hearty New Englanders want to be anything but distant right now. We are not unlike our arboreal friends, eager to greet the sun and one another. All winter long we have hunkered down, shied away from the outdoors and, consequently, from other humans. The darkness of winter followed by a pandemic? What complete and utter bullshit is that?
Based upon all you have learned about Mom so far (either by knowing her personally or through the many issues of Evergreen & Grey), you now know that I got a lot of my fire from her. My head in the clouds, spiritual, contemplative, creative, quirky parts I got from Dad. This life of mine, never meant to be. But, alas, here I am—a strange and fiery mix of DNA trying to make sense of the absurd and find laughter in the seemingly unfunny. Though this pandemic has forced Mom and Dad to pause and think twice about how they want to proceed, they have decided to let go a little and march on with life as cautiously as they can—not unlike the blooming oak and beech trees of the woods behind our house. Connecting with their favorite humans is what brings them joy; it is what life is all about. I dare not question their judgment and, just to be safe, you probably shouldn’t either.
Light your fire and never fear, Life was made for love and cheer. This is the inscription above the wood burning stove in my sister and brother-in-law’s New Hampshire home. I love it, always have. The full version is below, a poem called “The Hearthstone” by an author we should all read right about now, Henry Van Dyke. It perfectly captures Mom and Dad’s joie de vivre in poetic form. These are words to live by and they are examples to follow:
When the logs are burning free, / Then the fire is full of glee; / When each heart gives out its best, / Then the talk is full of zest:/ Light your fire and never fear, / Life was made for love and cheer.