Introduction

Act I: Daily Life

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The Stage Manager introduces the audience to the small town of Grover’s Corners, New Hampshire, its geography and main buildings and institutions, as well as the people living there, as morning breaks on May 7, 1901. Joe Crowell delivers the paper to Doc Gibbs, Howie Newsome delivers the milk, and the Webb and Gibbs households send their children (Emily and Wally Webb, George and Rebecca Gibbs) off to school on this beautifully simple morning.

So begins Our Town, by Thornton Wilder published in the early 1930’s.

Underneath a glowing full moon, Act I ends with George and Emily gazing out of their respective bedroom windows, enjoying the smell of heliotrope in the “wonderful (or terrible) moonlight,” with the self-discovery that they like each other, very much and the realization that they are both straining to grow up in their own way. Later as Emily and George are now teenagers; Emily reflects on life and her small town :

“Oh, earth, you’re too wonderful for anybody to realize you. Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it every, every minute?

CHRISTMAS 2004~ a year of magical thinking

The last post was last summer. Janis died on March 15th at 1:15 pm These last ten months have been a fake-it-or-make-it time—and still are.

Grief is an amazing, cogent, and challenging state to be in. But, I’m aware that everybody has experienced it in life and as strange as it is, it is that insight that has helped keep me going. It has helped me but it hasn’t cured it. I’ve come to understand another truth that others have discovered: it is now the way the rest of my life will function, with this loss always in the background. Everything, everything, is a reminder. I have connected with friends from my hometown first grade class, some who have breakfast with me once a month for the past 10 years, and reunited friends some who I had not seen for almost 50 years. I’ve done some traveling. Trips to Virginia to visit my daughter and husband. I Spent time in Old Quebec City last summer where Janis and I spent summer vacations for many years, thanks to our our friends, Claire and Suzanne. (This was a major grief breakthrough for me.) I attended with my daughter Stacia and my grandson, Rob. Claire and Suzanne were young counselors at Camp Pesky with me from 1974 – 1984.

I could easily slip into a bah-humbug slump this Christmas. Get drunk. Sit in front of numbing videos on streaming television and go to bed whenever I damn well choose. And get up at noon. But NO! I have magic that keeps snapping me out of it. Grandchildren. Rob, Madeline, Brin, Cam (I’ve learned from my youngest, Cam. 4y.o. granddaughter how to dance to Taylor Swift’s songs.) It’s hysterical, and a hell of a workout. She keeps stopping me when I don’t do it right shows me how and we resume, my antics seem to bother her, she laughs.

One of the things that separates us from amoebas (as far as we know), is emotions. I doubt that they have a frontal cortex-amoebas. But we can understand and respect that being human comes with the acceptance that we are among other creatures that have emotional lives and we should be damn well appreciative of this. I know this raises all kinds of discussions (do snakes have emotions? do houseflies? And why is it so difficult to catch/swat a stupid fly?) do dragons….

But, I digress.

Today is a cold but sunny day. I’m thankful there is no wind. Living on the coast of Maine is a treasure that I’m grateful for everyday. Except for winter. It’s a windy kind of cold coming off the ocean. Janis and I moved to Harpswell after my retirement in 2004. I took a position at Bowdoin College, no, not a professor, I was Supervisor of Security at the College Museum of Art for almost a decade. It was a significant education in the arts. Janis encouraged me to apply. It was another decade in a very different profession. Janis loved being on the coast. She loved lobster. When we were teenagers dating, I took her with me and my parents to Orrs Island, and she had her first taste of seafood. Lobster. clams, corn on the cob. A feast we repeated for a few summers. My aunt and uncle had a summer property on the Island. This turned out to be just a few miles from where we later retired to in Harpswell.

We did not notice she was in decline. In hindsight I see a lot of evidence that we missed. That I missed. I have deep regret for that. I do find some solace in knowing that we were together for over 60+ years; in later years with frequent visits, for hours, after she was placed in care, and I held her hand the day she died speaking into her ear? “I love you.”