ONE LAST TIME - 18 June 2011
18th June, 2011
This time last week we were playing with our granddaughter, Sadie Bay who will be 3 in October. She and her parents, Joel’s daughter - Ariel and husband David – generously made the trek up from New York to spend three days with us. Another farewell. It rained the whole time but it didn’t matter to Sadie Bay and so we splashed around on the sand flats at low time, ooh-ing and aah-ing over the timeless discovery of shells, a poignant moment, as this is the bay that Sadie Bay is named after.
And yes, we thought there were years of sharing it ahead of us. Even last autumn, which is why we chose to spend a few thousand bucks replacing the deck so that Sadie could run barefoot without getting splinters fit for kindling.
Those 3 days are as precious to us as the week Isabel spent with us. It means the world that our daughters showed up for us. And yes, as when Isabel left, so when Ariel left, it was wrenching. As Ariel texted me, 5 minutes after driving away for the last time, “not alright. Feeling really sad.” I’ll admit, I felt broken. And then my dear Joely reached the place of his letting go. So when we woke up the next morning, Monday, he said, “Time to go.” We agreed that Friday, yesterday, was it, instead of 24th, as originally planned.
We worked from dawn to dusk every day, out with the last of it all: the planters and mower, the farmhouse sink we were to install this spring, the kayak to a friend in NY, tools, cleaning supplies, board games, baskets, dishes, linens, napkins. Constant runs to the dump and the thrift store, one last time. The donation of hundreds of Joel’s Cape Light posters to the local museum and all the while marveling in a shamefaced sort of way at the extraordinary amount of “stuff” we humans accumulate. And as we started whittling it down to the very end, we felt the unburdening, the bearable lightness of being. We packed our treasures: the love gifts we’ve made each other over the years from which we’ll make an installation work for our fireplace wall in New York. We packed the favorite wooden spoon and ladle, likewise 3 teapots and the cast iron skillets. It was as if we were pulling the golden threads from a tapestry.
We agreed that when we walked though the gate yesterday it would be for the last time and that whatever was left behind we let go of. That being said, that which remains is divided into 2 categories: one that our children will take when the house sells and the other that the movers will pack and put into storage. We’re done. We don’t have to return for the closing when it happens, our lawyer has Power of Attorney and a management company is on hire to protect the house in the event of a hurricane.
We learned so much during these 5 weeks. I learned that all my life I’ve shunned attachment – possibly as a result of being adopted? So it was a shock to discover how attached I’d become to that place. It was my living work of art, my little piece of England, and with each manifestation of the vision the roots had grown deeper. And as our girls said, it was the place where we slowly learned how to become a family. Joel learned that his expectation of these last weeks was unrealistic. You can’t dismantle a home and make time to enjoy – one last time – all that the best of the place has given you. The need to have one last anything is folly. We never know when the last time for anything will be.
I remember all those late Septembers over the years when we would go in for a swim, each time wondering if it was the last of the season. And then one day we’d go in and the sea would bite us with it’s cold teeth and we’d realize yesterday was the last time. It’s a cliché of course, but as a writing teacher of mine once said, “beneath the cliché lies the goldmine.” In this case, to dig beneath the cliché of “live each day as if it were your last” is to discover that the gold mine is gratitude.
And yes, the sea bit us on our last day. The weather had changed a week earlier and the wind, coming from the north, had made swimming impossible. But how could we not immerse ourselves one last time in that body of water that has bathed us, calmed us, rejuvenated and exhilarated us all those years. We dove in, swam 5 strokes and came out laughing.
Our two last nights were graced by the company of friends. Wednesday night with T and J, two men we’ve know for nearly 30 years.
We’ve traveled to St. Barts and Tuscany together and dressed for the opera in New York. But more than anything, we’ve dined in each other’s homes so very many times over the decades: Evenings rich with food and philosophy, laughter and absurdity. This time they cooked for us, T, who is a Supreme cook, making polenta served on wooden boards, topped with a veal and pork ragu, an arugula salad from their garden and, truly, the world’s best blueberry pie, which the four of us polished off in one sitting.
All that material stuff we’ve left behind, it means nothing compared to leaving our friends behind. Oh, we’ll continue, in fact we’ve already made plans for Provence and Spain this autumn. But nothing can replace walking down the lane to each other’s homes.
Thursday night, our last, we planned on a quiet meal, a bath and early to bed. But the universe had one more gift for us. New friends these, K and P are summer renters across the street. Adventurers, intuitive and fun, we hit it off last summer and during the winter they came down to us in the city for an evening of dinner and jazz. So what joy to see them blow in our door having just arrived for the season. It was a chilly evening, the fire already going, by which we sat and munched on cheese and snow peas from the garden, followed by an ad lib frittata, a salad, chocolate and sorbet. The evening was filled with spirited conversation and laughter and plans made for somewhere warm together in the winter.
These then are the true riches of life, another cliché, but really, let’s hear it for family and friends.