For the love of a dog...

 

Oldest grandson has just turned 12. He’s in middle school and adolescence is knocking at the door.

He and I have always been close, so when I recently visited Colorado and found him reluctant to engage with me I was taken aback. Heartbroken might be the better description.  I did understand what was going on and just had to wait it out.

On Day 2 of my visit I was sitting on my bed petting dear Siggy, the family’s bernedoodle.  He is just one big ball of love and affection and I’m always threatening (with a smile) to put him in my suitcase and bring him home. Grandson could hear me talking to him and came into the room and sat down. Just so you get a clear picture, all 3 of us were on the bed, with Siggy in the middle. Pretty soon Grandson and I were both petting Siggy and saying those silly things we all say to dogs and then Grandson was talking to me! My heart leapt just a bit…and we kept on talking, our hands petting Siggy all the while, and soon it was just like old times. 

Oh Siggy, thank you! You were the perfect bridge and I love you even more for it! Grandson and I went on to do our favorite things together-a trip to Poor Richard’s to look at books and toys, ice cream cones at Josh and John’s, drives on backroads and late night conversations when everyone else was in bed. As I was leaving for Maine he said When will you be back?

Scotty to the Vet

 

As some of you are aware, I am head over heels with our new cat Scotty. Last fall, after hanging around our house and yard for months, he finally decided that we would be a good choice as a place to settle. He has quickly become the most loving cat I’ve ever known and simply adores me. Follows me everywhere and sleeps on my pillow at night. I’ve never had a cat that prefers me and I just love it.

Scotty was not feral-we don’t know his story-but there were a few things he needed to have taken care of such as a physical, vaccinations, flea and tick preventative and neutering. Lots of $$$, yes-he’s worth every cent!

I’m quite sure Scotty had never been in a cat carrier before, but unlike our other cat Moxie he walked right in and lay down, ready for the adventure. Or so he thought. I gently placed the carrier in the back seat and a mile down the road he began meowing. The meowing quickly became a massive crescendo until he was at a fortissimo: I don’t want to be neutered!  (Actually, due to Scotty’s background and lack of proper upbringing most likely he was saying Please don’t cut my balls off!)

The vet is a 40 minute drive from our house and about 20 minutes in I smelt something…didn’t take long to realize that Scotty had peed in his carrier. I had put a towel in there in case of this problem, but I should have put many more!  I calmly told myself I’d deal with this when we arrived at the vet’s, but then, seemingly out of nowhere, a wet, stinky Scotty was standing between the 2 front seats. That little rascal had worked open the carrier door and wanted in my lap.

This required pulling over to the side of the road and awkwardly reaching around to the back seat to try to get him in the carrier again. Of course as I struggled to do this the carrier turned over and guess what spilled all over the back seat? As we Episcopalians say, with God’s help. I summoned super human powers and somehow got him back in the very wet carrier. I have never been so grateful for leather seats.

When we walked into the vet’s office we both were now stinky and wet. Ugh. They couldn’t have been more helpful and understanding. A quick clean-up for Scotty and a bath for the carrier, a roll of paper towels and spray cleaner for me and the car. 

Scotty came thru the surgery just fine and perhaps he chases Moxie just a bit less now. A friend gave me some “pee pads” for our next appointment and they were perfectly dry on arrival. And he still willingly walks into the carrier, ready to go on the next adventure.

Scotty, my big, beautiful boy.

A Few Good Books

 

“A book, too, can be a star…

a living fire to lighten the darkness,

leading out into the expanding universe.”

Madeleine L’Engle

2025 was a very good year for reading…I keep a journal of the books I’ve read and this past year almost every one had a * by it, my way of saying it was exceptional. And then there were several with **! Since being retired I have tried to sit quietly with a cup of tea and a book for awhile in the afternoons, with the hope that I’d use that time to read nonfiction while saving the evenings for fiction. But due to the compelling novels I’ve chosen that hasn’t been the case. So many books, so little time!

Here are five books that I want to share with you, in hopes that one might strike your fancy. Let’s start with Scotty’s favorite.

A Croft in the Hills by Katharine Stewart. There’s a bookstore in Oban, on the west coast of Scotland, that I love. It’s a Waterstones, which is a chain, but it has a thorough selection of books about Scotland and by Scottish writers, with helpful and enthusiastic clerks. When I’m there I allow myself 2 books and they have all been winners so far. A Croft in the Hills was first published in 1960, with frequent reprints. The memoir of a couple and their daughter choosing to live on a small farming croft near Loch Ness, it talks of the beauty and hardship of making one’s own way and the effect of the rapidly changing world on their way of life. This tight little family faces hardship with a mix of kindness, curiosity and pragmatism and an undying love for the land they farm. Katherine sums it up by saying, Life is sweeter near the bone.

Leaving by Roxana Robinson. This was recommended to me by a dear friend and I could not put it down. The devastating story of a couple reconnecting later in life after a chance encounter at the opera. It asks hard questions about balancing one’s obligations to family against one’s own happiness and satisfaction. The ending disturbed me greatly and I asked the writer about it at a reading I was fortunate to attend. And I am still disturbed…

The Sea by John Banville. How did I not know of this marvelous Irish writer? He has just written a new book in the past couple of months, but The Sea is from the early 2000’s.  A timeless read, it deals with human emotions after great loss. After the death of his wife, the main character returns to a place by the sea where his family vacationed in summers. The book pivots between his childhood and his new life alone, with glimpses of his wife and daughter. It is a beautiful, slow read-a sense of poetry overlays each sentence.

Hamnet by Maggie O’Farrell.  This has just been made into a movie, but please oh please read the book first. One could loosely call this historical fiction- 15th century England, the plague, a never-named character who might be Shakespeare, his near-abandonment of his wife and family, his wife’s great wisdom of the natural world and the tragic loss of their son.  It is a deep, beautifully written read. 

Song of the Lark by Willa Cather.  A reread for me.  I love this book because of Cather’s deep understanding of the musician’s soul. Her description of Thea’s first time hearing a symphony orchestra resonated deeply with my own experiences of leaving a concert hall in tears, feeling as if I had just been part of another world.

What would I do without books? They take me all over the world, introduce me to new people and ideas, and bring much comfort as our world falls apart around us.

What books might you recommend, readers?

 This year I noticed a theme in people’s responses to How was your Christmas? The most frequent comment was Quiet. Please keep in mind that I was talking to friends of a certain age, that is, ten years on either side of my own 70.

It’s certainly true that our Christmas festivities have changed over the years. Gone are the days of being with my parents in Lubbock, which in my distant memory was perfect. No more presents from Santa Claus awaiting early risers. No more little fingers clasping ornaments as they decorated the tree. And since I’m retired from a regular church job the entire season is not spent fretting over organ and choral music for Advent and Christmas services. Holidays turn out to be an excellent way of marking time.

I miss the old traditions, sometimes desperately, yet I recognize there’s no going back. As I think about this past holiday season I see new patterns emerging and old ones hanging on…

Advent and Christmas are very sacred times for me-both are what the Celts call thin places, where the boundary between earth and heaven is fluid. I await hope, light, deep joy… made all the more meaningful by the sense of expectation that Advent brings.

A tradition that Bill and I have had for most years of our marriage is the Advent wreath. We set it on our dining table and, depending on the week, light a candle or two or three or four every night at dinner. Now that we have woods around our house I cut fresh greens to lay around the candles (I love that!). It’s always a guess as to whether the first candle will last the entire season-often we have to replace it.

Working in a church or not we go to Christmas Eve services, my favorite of the year. This year we drove on icy roads to Bar Harbor and then spent the night at a friend’s, savoring wine and popcorn around her beautiful tree. The next morning we drove home in a snowstorm. But I would not have missed the carols, the beautiful church, the candles, the great sense of love and community.

I have two special Christmas brooches, both quite old. One is from my Aunt Dot, the other from a friend’s mother. During December I wear one or the other every day and love hearing the variety of comments about them. Honestly, I can tell a lot about a person based on what they say about my brooches! I would be bereft were I to lose or break one, so I am very, very careful.

Since being back in Maine (now for 3 Christmases) we have hosted a dinner party on the 26th. A belated Christmas dinner, so to speak. It’s a time to bring out the Spode, beautiful napkins, candles and good food. My mother would have been so proud of me this year-it was a delicious meal worthy to be called a holiday dinner!

We’ve had several types of trees thru the years-from buying one sort of freshly cut at the corner Boy Scout stand, to traipsing around a cut-your-own farm, to taking an artificial one out of the box(pretty convincing!)- but here in Cherryfield we have hit upon the perfect solution. We go out into our woods and cut a table-top size tree which fits perfectly in our small living room. Honestly, this year’s is one of the prettiest trees we’ve ever had.

So…this year I missed family acutely at our holiday celebrations…and I also see that these cherished traditions sustain me year after year.  As does my deep belief that there is still light in the world, still the possibility of peace, and countless numbers of us to see that it’s born again and again.

The Innkeeper’s Wife

I reckon it was the girl, 

not more than fourteen. Those eyes.

Something made him stop his talk,

hoist down the lantern and mutter out with them.

And that was one sour night-

dust and wind, things banging;

Folks still wandering the town like ghosts

and hammering the doors.

Our place was loud with coins and drink,

and this was long past midnight.

It wasn’t him that came back somehow;

that’s all I’ll say, I can’t explain.

As though he’d seen something;

as though his eyes were somewhere else.

The first spear of light next day and he was out

with that fresh pail of milk-

and he would not say where he was going.

Kenneth Stephen,  Out of the Ordinary

On Turning 70

 

My reaction to turning 70 a few months ago has been unexpected. I hardly stopped to notice the other decade markers…as they say, life got in the way. At 30, our daughter was born, at 40 we had just made a monumental move to Maine. I was in the prime of my career at 50 and at 60 moved to Maryland to be close to family. So I naturally expected 70 to be a breeze.

Don’t believe it when you hear a phrase such as “70 is the new 50 (or 30, or 40)! In what seems like the blink of an eye I have gone from late middle age to early senior citizen. I am looking at the last big chunk of my life. At least I hope it’s big.

Let’s get the physical stuff out of the way. I have never been a real athlete, the kind that lives for a run or strenuous walk every day or an intense workout at the gym. Walking a dog a mile or two is my kind of exercise. Even though I usually hit the recommended 150 minutes of exercise per week I am not anywhere close to being in shape. In my 50’s I had a fling with fitness and it felt very good-trying to get back there now seems just about impossible.

Looking in the mirror I am not happy with what I see. And short of a face lift there is really nothing that can be done about most of it. So, a heavy dose of acceptance is in order and I’m guessing I’ll need more and more of that as time goes on.

Seemingly all of a sudden I have a cardiologist and am in the hospital having a heart cath-where oh where did that come from? (And everything is fine. They found nothing, as I knew they would).

All of us have dreams of things we want to do, places we’d like to go, or some aspirational goals. And for a long time it seems like we have all the time in the world to accomplish these. Turning 70 I’ve realized that is not the case-some of those desires will be unfulfilled. Here's on of mine: I’ve always wanted to perform Bach’s Passacaglia and Widor’s Toccata. I’ve studied both and even played the Toccata poorly at a wedding.  But now, with no nearby organ to practice on, those works will not become part of my repertoire.

For years I’ve wanted to enjoy hiking, to find joy in puttering in the garden, to write a book. Well, I’d better get busy. There’s still time.

I realize that one can look at this chapter of life in various ways. We can have regrets, we can try to look 10 years younger, we can ignore the stirrings of our souls that call for attention. Or we can continue to live and find meaning and purpose in this new stage of life. Finally there is time to be who we truly are. I want to make the most of it.

This is where your life has arrived,

After all the years of effort and toil;

Look back with graciousness and thanks

On all your great and quiet achievements.

You stand on the shore of new invitation

To open your life to what is left undone;

Let your heart enjoy a different rhythm

When drawn to the wonder of other horizons.

Have the courage for a new approach to time;

Allow it to slow until you find freedom

        To draw alongside the mystery you hold

        And befriend your own beauty of soul.

        Now is the time to enjoy your heart’s desire,

        To live the dreams you’ve waited for,

        To awaken the depths beyond your work

        And enter into your infinite source.

John O’Donohue, To Bless the Space Between Us

Why I Wear a Cross

 

When you see someone wearing a cross, do you automatically make assumptions? Perhaps they’re Catholic? Evangelical? Conservative? I am none of those things, but most days you will see me wearing a small gold cross as a necklace, a treasured gift from my husband.

I think you’d call me a “progressive” Christian. Contrary to my Baptist roots I don’t believe Christ died for my sins to keep me from going to hell. I don’t believe that we are “born in sin”-have you ever held a baby in your arms? Jews, Muslims, Hindus, agnostics, atheists-everyone, really-all have the same opportunity to make it to the afterlife, whatever that looks like. I just happen to have chosen Jesus as my prophet and model for a compassionate and meaningful life. 

These days I am horrified to see higher-ups in the current administration wearing large, splashy crosses- the press secretary, attorney general, chief of staff and more. They work for and enable policies of hate, cruelty and violence. In my opinion they should not be wearing a cross. Perhaps you think that is unfair of me-I have not actually had a conversation with any of these people.  Yet I see what they stand for.

I wear a cross in protest against these women and their version of Christianity.  Perhaps someone will notice it and see that there’s another way to be a Christian.

“What does the Lord require of you? To act justly, love mercy and walk humbly with your God.”

                                                                                                                                    Micah 6:8

At Home

Silly me. Dare I even admit this? Walking around the huge Hannaford supermarket in Ellsworth last week I was overwhelmed with the feeling of being….at home.  The store where you’ll find me cursing when I have to walk half a mile for the apples I forgot, where the check-out lines are snaking thru the aisles, but also where I stop to chat with friends old and new. Shopping there that day just felt right. 

A day or two after the shopping experience it happened again…I was enveloped by the feeling of being at home. This time it was during the concert weekend for Acadia Choral Society, for which I’m the accompanist.  Busy and stressful…do I have all the music? My glasses? Lamp for the music rack? Extension chord? Not to mention just a tiny bit of nerves, masquerading as excitement and anticipation.

Our first concert was at St. Andrew Lutheran in Ellsworth, where the acoustics are marvelous and our mezzo-forte fills every nook and cranny of the space. We had an enthusiastic audience, many of whom I didn’t recognize, and joy simply beamed from their faces as they listened to the music.  It was a wonderful concert, despite the piano, which is a beast-brassy tone and poorly regulated. I have to work doubly hard on that instrument to produce a decent tone and my shoulders ache after a couple of hours struggling with it-aarrgh!

The next afternoon we performed at St. Saviour’s Episcopal in Bar Harbor, where the chorale has sung dozens of times.  As I walked into the pre-concert rehearsal the riser crew was still hammering and staging, setting up the lights, moving the podium, adjusting the piano to the perfect location. The choir was mulling around quietly as a steady stream of familiar faced concert goers filed through the doors.The director and I conferred on final details as I warmed up. The Steinway there is an old friend and my fingers adjusted immediately to its easy touch and beautiful tone-no struggles with this instrument. 

 As we began the program with a beautiful setting of Homeward Bound, there it was again, completely wrapping itself around me. I was at home.