- Published on
Original art somewhere in Brookline
There are many things I love about being in France. Compared to being in the US, it's a feeling of being on a frontier, every day different and each interaction unpredictable and not infrequently, challenging. Living like this seems to nurture living in the present, reminding me of being at net on a paddle court, ready to get a hard ball from close up nailed at my right hip, impossible to think about anything else. While routines in France began to gel; favorite market stall purchases, familiar walks that can only be described as relaxing, rituals with friends, the feeling of being on alert never waned.
Here in the US, there have been those things that are in the present, but hold history; the hug of a certain person, lunch and familiar conversations with another, the push and pull within a given relationship, forgotten favorite purchases at the grocery store, even a reunion with old clothes. At first, it all made me feel like a visitor going back in time. It was a few weeks later, standing on the deuce court next to Paula, seeing her hit that backhand I've watched for so many years, that the feeling switched to belonging in the present. It was as though a place had been held open for me and all I needed to do was be on that court to access it. And so gratefully, I slipped right back in, and France became abstract. It was surprisingly emotional and reassuring.
In the meantime, in the US present, it's the beauty of small things in every day life. Yesterday I took off with a heavy bag on my right shoulder and a cooler strapped around my neck, looking a bit of a crazy person. I was wearing cutoffs that had been Philip's 501 Levis many years ago, the back right pocket showing a very worn imprint of his wallet, along with a Lacoste shirt handed down from Rob, who wore it when he attended Pingree in 1976. These things and the day, and the luxury of being able to do errands on foot made me very happy, so I decided to stop at Café Fixe, which according to Jenn has the funniest one star comments on Yelp, as the owner is considered a, well I'll use a politer word, demagogue. But they have by far the best coffee, good outdoor seating for people watching and are close by.
When I arrived, there was only one other customer, a man who seemed to be around 30 and had a bit of a glazed look when we made eye contact. He was chatting up the female barista enough that she was enthusiastic about taking my order. Among the conversations I overheard:
Him: I'd like to have 36 wives
Her: Where are you from?
Him: Western Mass
I ordered, smiling complicity with the barista, then went outside, getting into a texting thing with Nat, who sent me a photograph capturing the last day of school in the Netherlands, the traditional backpack hanging on a flag. She asked me to send her a Picture of the Day, so I went back inside attired with my bags, asking said glazed looker whom I had decided I wanted to engage for curiosity reasons, whether he'd take my photograph. He stopped and thought, appeared rather awkward and said "You're rather beautiful, but no, sorry, no." and went back to his barista harassment, telling the few more customers who had entered that she had given him a free drink. I turned to another man who had been watching the interaction and asked him to take my photograph, which he did kindly. Back outside, I sent Nat the photo and described the interaction.
There are many things I love about being in France. Compared to being in the US, it's a feeling of being on a frontier, every day different and each interaction unpredictable and not infrequently, challenging. Living like this seems to nurture living in the present, reminding me of being at net on a paddle court, ready to get a hard ball from close up nailed at my right hip, impossible to think about anything else. While routines in France began to gel; favorite market stall purchases, familiar walks that can only be described as relaxing, rituals with friends, the feeling of being on alert never waned.
Here in the US, there have been those things that are in the present, but hold history; the hug of a certain person, lunch and familiar conversations with another, the push and pull within a given relationship, forgotten favorite purchases at the grocery store, even a reunion with old clothes. At first, it all made me feel like a visitor going back in time. It was a few weeks later, standing on the deuce court next to Paula, seeing her hit that backhand I've watched for so many years, that the feeling switched to belonging in the present. It was as though a place had been held open for me and all I needed to do was be on that court to access it. And so gratefully, I slipped right back in, and France became abstract. It was surprisingly emotional and reassuring.
In the meantime, in the US present, it's the beauty of small things in every day life. Yesterday I took off with a heavy bag on my right shoulder and a cooler strapped around my neck, looking a bit of a crazy person. I was wearing cutoffs that had been Philip's 501 Levis many years ago, the back right pocket showing a very worn imprint of his wallet, along with a Lacoste shirt handed down from Rob, who wore it when he attended Pingree in 1976. These things and the day, and the luxury of being able to do errands on foot made me very happy, so I decided to stop at Café Fixe, which according to Jenn has the funniest one star comments on Yelp, as the owner is considered a, well I'll use a politer word, demagogue. But they have by far the best coffee, good outdoor seating for people watching and are close by.
When I arrived, there was only one other customer, a man who seemed to be around 30 and had a bit of a glazed look when we made eye contact. He was chatting up the female barista enough that she was enthusiastic about taking my order. Among the conversations I overheard:
Him: I'd like to have 36 wives
Her: Where are you from?
Him: Western Mass
I ordered, smiling complicity with the barista, then went outside, getting into a texting thing with Nat, who sent me a photograph capturing the last day of school in the Netherlands, the traditional backpack hanging on a flag. She asked me to send her a Picture of the Day, so I went back inside attired with my bags, asking said glazed looker whom I had decided I wanted to engage for curiosity reasons, whether he'd take my photograph. He stopped and thought, appeared rather awkward and said "You're rather beautiful, but no, sorry, no." and went back to his barista harassment, telling the few more customers who had entered that she had given him a free drink. I turned to another man who had been watching the interaction and asked him to take my photograph, which he did kindly. Back outside, I sent Nat the photo and described the interaction.
Barista harasser, but not portrait photographer
Happy day for kids in NL
Not sure it was worth it, but here's documentation. As you can tell, I wasn't going for beauty.
So, that's the sort of thing I've been up to. Small, every day interactions that make a life. Or certainly the life of a pensioner, which has both the luxury and burden of time. Shall I tell you about the haricot verts I bought at Amazon, I mean Whole Foods, that I had to throw away as soon as I opened them? Or the lawyer I've had to hire in Malta to get my middle name on my passport? Or my friend who has always worked way too hard and has now quit her job and looks so young and happy? I don't know how the days go by, but I believe that's what most retirees say.
A few of us were playing tennis on the family court at Longwood, which has the ability to hold more chaos than most, and abuts a few umbrellas and chairs. I had texted the foursome early that day to say that I wasn't good in what was anticipated to be high heat that day, warning that I may have to bail. After failing to find a replacement (of course no one else wanted to play either) and not hearing back from anyone, there was an obligation to show up and fortunately, there were five of us. So we took turns, otherwise staying under the umbrella, until one wandered off without telling us (we're getting to that age). She did eventually come back but then one person had to leave. As the others aren't stingy with words, I proclaimed that instead of jumping into the goss on the changeovers, I'd be under the umbrella, buying me all kinds of time. As it's also a foursome that generates a fair amount of laughter, by the time we were done we were in tears with stomach cramps, one actually collapsed on the grass, gasping for air from too much laughter. Sadly my writing isn't adept enough to provide context for the joke in less than 5,000 words.
There have been lots of other lovely games. Once an old paddle friend whom I hadn't seen for years came down from Maine to play with us, bringing news of the northern regions, others we'd befriended at tournaments in Longmeadow and Newport, along with paddle partner divorces and new marriages in the Tuesday league. There is a lovely bond that remains and I find myself grateful for never having bought in to the "make friends later" mentality.
So, that's the sort of thing I've been up to. Small, every day interactions that make a life. Or certainly the life of a pensioner, which has both the luxury and burden of time. Shall I tell you about the haricot verts I bought at Amazon, I mean Whole Foods, that I had to throw away as soon as I opened them? Or the lawyer I've had to hire in Malta to get my middle name on my passport? Or my friend who has always worked way too hard and has now quit her job and looks so young and happy? I don't know how the days go by, but I believe that's what most retirees say.
A few of us were playing tennis on the family court at Longwood, which has the ability to hold more chaos than most, and abuts a few umbrellas and chairs. I had texted the foursome early that day to say that I wasn't good in what was anticipated to be high heat that day, warning that I may have to bail. After failing to find a replacement (of course no one else wanted to play either) and not hearing back from anyone, there was an obligation to show up and fortunately, there were five of us. So we took turns, otherwise staying under the umbrella, until one wandered off without telling us (we're getting to that age). She did eventually come back but then one person had to leave. As the others aren't stingy with words, I proclaimed that instead of jumping into the goss on the changeovers, I'd be under the umbrella, buying me all kinds of time. As it's also a foursome that generates a fair amount of laughter, by the time we were done we were in tears with stomach cramps, one actually collapsed on the grass, gasping for air from too much laughter. Sadly my writing isn't adept enough to provide context for the joke in less than 5,000 words.
There have been lots of other lovely games. Once an old paddle friend whom I hadn't seen for years came down from Maine to play with us, bringing news of the northern regions, others we'd befriended at tournaments in Longmeadow and Newport, along with paddle partner divorces and new marriages in the Tuesday league. There is a lovely bond that remains and I find myself grateful for never having bought in to the "make friends later" mentality.
The laughers: Mary, Laura and Deb, all of whom have taught me so much
Laura, Erica, me and Linda from York, Maine
Last weekend, a few of us went up to friends' house in Sugar Hill, NH, which has become something of a tradition and a favorite summer place. There's a lovely kitchen with an island that has four chairs, three facing the window to the back "garden", which is really a field, where we saw a black bear lumbering. June, who is busier than a one-armed paper hanger (Is that not OK to say now? If so, my apologies. It's an expression we pensioners use) likes to decompress baking, at which she is terrific. Not only is the finished product first rate, but her technique is one of patience, precision, tidiness, intention. It's the most relaxing thing to watch her at work. So, Carin and I sat in our chairs, chins in hands, chatting, watching June and looking out at a White Mountain ridge line. We got the idea that June could have a TV show aimed at helping people relax, though she would talk about things she knows, of which there are many, so there might even be some learning as well.
Later on, or was it earlier? Everything runs together there because life is so relaxing. We went to the Willing Workers sale, a once or twice a year event that has a junk shop upstairs where Carin bought two pieces of Polish pottery for half price, and downstairs in the meeting house main room, an old fashioned craft and bake sale, that was as enchanting, reminiscent of another era. Which is also what one thinks about when we make our regular trip to the Veterans thrift store in Franconia.. In the business of de-accessioning, there were no temptations for this writer, in thanks to Nat, who taught me well. As a toddler, she was the only kid who could go into a toy store and treat it like a museum, never pitching a fit if we didn't buy anything. I'll always be grateful to her for that.
Last weekend, a few of us went up to friends' house in Sugar Hill, NH, which has become something of a tradition and a favorite summer place. There's a lovely kitchen with an island that has four chairs, three facing the window to the back "garden", which is really a field, where we saw a black bear lumbering. June, who is busier than a one-armed paper hanger (Is that not OK to say now? If so, my apologies. It's an expression we pensioners use) likes to decompress baking, at which she is terrific. Not only is the finished product first rate, but her technique is one of patience, precision, tidiness, intention. It's the most relaxing thing to watch her at work. So, Carin and I sat in our chairs, chins in hands, chatting, watching June and looking out at a White Mountain ridge line. We got the idea that June could have a TV show aimed at helping people relax, though she would talk about things she knows, of which there are many, so there might even be some learning as well.
Later on, or was it earlier? Everything runs together there because life is so relaxing. We went to the Willing Workers sale, a once or twice a year event that has a junk shop upstairs where Carin bought two pieces of Polish pottery for half price, and downstairs in the meeting house main room, an old fashioned craft and bake sale, that was as enchanting, reminiscent of another era. Which is also what one thinks about when we make our regular trip to the Veterans thrift store in Franconia.. In the business of de-accessioning, there were no temptations for this writer, in thanks to Nat, who taught me well. As a toddler, she was the only kid who could go into a toy store and treat it like a museum, never pitching a fit if we didn't buy anything. I'll always be grateful to her for that.
Not the only thing June baked, berry muffins
Should have taken a photograph of the main floor with all the dear women and crafts, but this is what I'm working with.
Veterans Thrift Store
It was an important weekend in Sugar Hill, the Lupine Festival, bringing the total visitor population up from 10 to about 20, or maybe even 30. We took a nice walk, taking in various fields full of them, on a most perfect summer day. Standing in the middle of them, I thought about how the experience might compare with being in the middle of the tulips at Keukenhof in NL. It was peaceful, serene, nature quietly showing off.
It was an important weekend in Sugar Hill, the Lupine Festival, bringing the total visitor population up from 10 to about 20, or maybe even 30. We took a nice walk, taking in various fields full of them, on a most perfect summer day. Standing in the middle of them, I thought about how the experience might compare with being in the middle of the tulips at Keukenhof in NL. It was peaceful, serene, nature quietly showing off.
Lupines in the front, beautiful ridge line in the back
There were fields and fields of buttercups as well
We also took a pretty hike on the Coppermine Trail, following an almost overflowing stream which runs over large, flat rock, hardwood trees surrounding it. I love hiking alone, but hiking in a group has the advantage of being like a cocktail party in that through trail hazards and water breaks and photographs, you end up talking to everyone for some bit of time. When we finished, June wanted to stop at the local market, and for some absurd reason, we all got out and traipsed through, buying only one thing. I still laugh imagining the young cashier 's thoughts. "Five old people, one tub or prunes".
Happy summer.
We also took a pretty hike on the Coppermine Trail, following an almost overflowing stream which runs over large, flat rock, hardwood trees surrounding it. I love hiking alone, but hiking in a group has the advantage of being like a cocktail party in that through trail hazards and water breaks and photographs, you end up talking to everyone for some bit of time. When we finished, June wanted to stop at the local market, and for some absurd reason, we all got out and traipsed through, buying only one thing. I still laugh imagining the young cashier 's thoughts. "Five old people, one tub or prunes".
Happy summer.
Laurent, Chris, June, Carin and me trying to take a selfie that included all of us AND the waterfall (on the left, behind Laurent.,you can see it, right?) which was actually pretty big, bridal veil style. We were laughing at our ineptitude.