THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM

12th June 2011  

Joel left for New York on Tuesday, returning on Friday. Usually I look forward to these brief periods of solitude. I like the uninterrupted flow of thoughts, the self-indulgence of eating whatever, whenever, and the missing of the one I love. I’ve spent many solitary times here over the years, anywhere from a few days to a month, usually off-season. I’ve always felt safe and comfortable in this house and usually spend the time reading and writing and pottering in the garden. On one memorable retreat here, to work on my play, I woke up on April 1st to find myself literally snowed in. Unable to open either of the doors, I climbed out a window only to find I had to use my hands to clear the snow from in front of the shed door before I could retrieve the shovel.

It was actually during that period that I purchased my George Nelson desk.

Joel and I had seen an almost identical one a few weeks earlier, in an antique store in Soho, NY., but at $6000 it stayed there! So imagine my glee when biking into town for a coffee one morning I passed a yard sale and saw the desk. I jumped off my bike and trying to sound nonchalant enquired after the price thinking maybe I’d be lucky and get it for $500. The woman looked at me then the desk and said “how about $5?

I did have a small dilemma though: as I had flown to the Cape, my only vehicle was the Pashley and while it had a generous basket it certainly wasn’t suitable for portaging a 1950’s leather-covered, steel and wood collectible. So I biked into town in search of a man and his truck prepared to offer almost anything to a stranger in return for his services. Fortunately I ran into the dear, late Marek who, with his wife Jamie, was the owner of my favorite clothing store in town, Silk & Feathers. Together, Marek and I loaded the desk into his van and brought it back here where it has resided ever since, propping-up me and my writing for the last decade.  I remember calling Joel and telling him I had my dowry.

On Tuesday, when I returned from dropping Joel at the airport, I found myself discomfited to be here alone. Oh, I did all those “act as if” things that are supposed to eventually rid one of negativity, but it all felt hollow: a few minutes in the hammock, some time gardening, a few more trips taking stuff to the thrift store, a couple of swims. But no writing. It was almost as if I dare not connect to this place while alone lest I be overwhelmed with sadness and then what?

It was only on the last evening, which faced me like the blank eternity of the abyss, that I finally allowed myself to feel the agony I’d been fleeing. Yet as the tears began, I fled them, too. Why choose that, I thought, when I could go sit on the sand at the water’s edge.

Maggie's photographs

It had been an incredibly hot and humid 3 days, which while great for swimming had non-the-less brought an oppressiveness which no doubt mirrored my mood. But now there was a change in the weather: the sea had begun its pre-storm roil, the sky gathering itself into a fury.

I sat just feet from the waves and once again experienced, as I so often have here, myself in right-sized proportion to the universe. It really was no longer all about me. And as I sat there I felt the gratitude growing in me. This is where I am, right now, in this exquisite place where the illusion of land meets the reckless sea and the infinite horizon. I ran to get my camera, as I know Joel would have done, and felt the gift of our years together during which time he has not only taught me how to see but taught me that the commitment to seeing where we are always puts us in the present and thereby connects us to the all of it.

I turned, climbed the steps to the deck and, in the deep grey of the atmosphere, was shocked by the magenta of the Pinks

And the rockery at the foot of the dune...

And the wall of Joel’s studio...

And the tea garden...

I made myself an omelet with herbs from the garden, along with a huge bowl of salad from the veggie beds and then the rain began, and the thunder, and then the power went out and I took the kerosene lamp up to the bedroom so I could watch, as if from the prow of a boat, the lightening spider across the sky, rain pounding on the roof.