T.S. Eliot Was Wrong

According to Eliot, April was the cruelest month. For me it seems to be September. Don't get me wrong . . . there's lots of great stuff going on. And I've always loved the "back to school" feeling autumn has. I don't think it's an accident that the Jewish calendar starts its New Year in this season.

But for several years now I've struggled through autumn. My beloved died in September. I don't sit around mourning, mind you. But I still remember. "Today is the day he died. Today is the day we bought his casket. Today is the day I wrote the eulogy. Today is the day we buried him." I'm not dwelling on it or stirring an old wound. It's just there . . . it's my life. And I remember. A few years later there was 9/11. A whole new set of memories. The way the air smelled. The fear and uncertainty in those first days afterward. Training with the Red Cross so I could volunteer at Ground Zero. A few years after that, Stephanie died in September. September has not been a happy time for several years now.

But this year has been so busy with so many good things happening. This year I thought I was sailing through the season just fine. This year, I thought, was different. More about renewal than about loss. And then.

On Friday the much-loved friend of a much-loved friend committed suicide. He got up in the morning. Walked the dogs with his wife. Sorted the recycling. Fed the dogs. Kissed his wife good-bye when she left for the gym. And then he hung himself in their garage, where his wife found him when she returned from her work-out. This news flattenend me. It is so painful to lose someone we love . . . I can't even imagine finding one's beloved hanging from a beam.

My friend John lost his mother when he was five. She died of polio. He remembers her raising herself from the guerney as she was being wheeled away by the ambulance crew to look him the eye. "Remember, Johnny, " she said, "Life is for the living."

She was right, of course. And what makes life most worth living? For me it's love. It's my friends. My family. In September, more than any other time, I want to draw close to those I love. To spend time with them. To literally hold onto them and be held by them. To all of you in my circle of souls . . . you know who you are. Please know that I recognize how blessed I am to have you in my life. I say thank you. In the fierceness of September especially. Thank you.

As I Was Saying . . .

The military housing was unremarkable (and, no, that is NOT an example pictured above!) but the natural beauty was so extraordinary that even the mansions of Newport would have paled by comparison. On the base, we had one unit in a four-family unit. The front door was sheltered by a portico. My friend, Matt, and his best friend – who was, inexplicably, nicknamed The Wombat – would hoist themselves up to the roof of the portico and I would let them into my room. Then we would all go out through the window and off into the night in search of adventure . . . when the MPs made their rounds, we’d dive into the nearest bushes, stifling our laughter and trying our best to be quiet. It was innocent and harmless fun. The worst thing we ever did was commandeer a neighbors Big Wheel, which Matt rode down to the railroad track . . . we carried it back unscathed.

I learned to drive in the hills surrounding the base. During World War II the base had been bigger and more active; in fact, it was here that, so there were bunkers in the hills. (We weren’t supposed to go into the bunkers because it was dangerous . . . but of course, we went anyway, in search of treasures. Most of what we uncovered just barely qualified as trash!) I once made the rookie mistake of hitting the gas instead of the brake and nearly drove the car into the three foot-deep trench around one of the bunkers. Ah, good times! My mother deserved the Medal of Valor or at least combat pay for teaching me to drive there!

Argentia, Newfoundland

Argentia, Newfoundland is located on the southwest coast of Avalon Peninsula. It’s historical significance peaked during World War II. Because there was deepwater anchorage – which, among other things, meant that submarines could be used to secure the area from German U boats – a railway was already in place and the topography provided room for an airstrip, the United States established a base there. In 1941, President Franklin D. Roosevelt and Prime Minister Winston Churchill met off the coast of Argentia to create and sign the Atlantic Charter. I have a special interest in all of this because I was blessed to spend a few of my grow-up years there with my family when my father was stationed there.

When the dog days of August were upon us, I eased myself through it by thinking cool . . . I've lived in some pretty cool places . . . not just figuratively cool. Literally cool! Iceland. Alaska. Newfoundland. Anyone who knows me knows that, like my favorite flowers the violet and the lily-of-the-valley, I bloom best in cool, sun-dappled places. I wilt in direct sunlight. Fold humidity into the equation and I am -- to put it kindly -- not much fun to be around! SO. Until I learn to apparate like Dumbledore or Harry Potter, I rely on memory and imagination. And when it was STINKIN' HOT (as my friend Maggie would say!), I spent some happy time thinking of the craggy, beautiful shores of Newfoundland. It would have been nice, I know, to have had these stories up for you then BUT. It didn't happen. I hope you'll enjoy them now nevertheless. (Especially you, Annie and Denise!)