Wednesday, August 21, 2019

Getting a 'visit' from my mother, thinking about Atlantic Beach birthdays

Atlantic Beach birthday 
A week or so ago I dreamt that packages were arriving with my address in my mother's beautiful handwriting. I was confused. I sensed that she was around but was upset that I couldn't see her.

Then last night, she was standing right next to me saying she had sent them. It was so good to see her. Maybe she sensed that just sending the presents wasn't enough and that I needed more. 

I had the dream that I have had before. I want to go to the beach house (in Atlantic Beach) but we can't go there. Someone else is in the house and they won't let us come. My parents say we just can't go there anymore.

The puddles in the streets here in South Hadley the other day reminded me of the puddles on Bermuda Street, riding our bikes through them after the rain. The humidity made me think of driving to Long Beach to get ice cream at Baskin Robbins, my mother getting mint chocolate chip.

Best present ever
My informal research has turned up an interesting factoid: Birthdays weren't such a big deal in some families, but they definitely were in ours. At night: "Wake up to a happy birthday!" In the morning, sleepily, kicking the present at the foot of my bed with the crinkly light blue cover. The present of all presents: the blue Smith Corona typewriter. My sister was jealous about my summer birthday and I was jealous of hers in the winter. I didn't like being thrown in the pool, at day camp, with my clothes on. The parties in the back yard were pretty sweet, though. The trips to Cedarhurst to buy the party favors were a lot of fun. She made a centerpiece and attached ribbons to it and the ribbons went to each place with a little favor on it. The memory game helped me later on in my writing. Study random items she put on a tray and try to remember as many as possible and then write them down.

Later when I outgrew the parties, my parents took some friends and me out to dinner.

My 50th birthday party, here in South Hadley, seems like yesterday. It was more than a year after my first transplant, so I had gone back to work at the newspaper. Paper people and neighborhood people were coming. I was just going to have cake. "You can't just give them cake!" she said, or something like that, and we rushed to the store and got what turned into a big festive spread.

I have also had the usual nightmares. I want to go back to work but the newspaper has closed. Or I go into work and there are more empty desks than there are people.

In real life, though, I've done some dreamy and maybe even daring things. I rode Margaret's e-bike and got the feel of it. It wasn't really daring because it was on a bike path, though daring because my crew doesn't trust me on bikes. A matinee at Jacob's Pillow, to see the Martha Graham Dance Company, with a drive on back roads to and from, was dreamy. A ladies' lunch with Tami/Tamar in West Hartford (our annual summer meeting) doesn't fit into daring or dreamy but I'm into the Ds so I'll say it was definitely a lot of fun.
Headless at Tanglewood

Did I say that I have a big birthday coming up? My sister reminded me that it's cause for celebration. Part of me knows that. The other part has internalized our culture's ageism and thinks I'm pretty much over the hill. At least I can walk up a hill when at many points I couldn't even do that. I didn’t get past Season Two of Grace and Frankie and decided to revisit it and I’m glad I did because it’s making me laugh about all this aging stuff.

On Sunday when we were at Tanglewood, I was taking a photo of the beautiful scenery when a woman came up and asked if I wanted her to take a photo of me. I said OK, sure. She chopped my head off. Maybe she was trying to tell me something.

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