Tag Archives: friendship

Inside Sakonnet Garden

06 Wednesday Jun 2012

Posted by in art, inspiration, meditation, travel

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Before this week of rain I’d been putting some hard labor into our back garden, digging up ferns with root systems that were crowding out other, more delicate plants. Husband pitched in too. Not one to mess around, he made short work of the ferns using a hand axe.

As a reward for my labors and to seek a bit of inspiration, I joined my friend Cheryl in Little Compton, Rhode Island, where we visited Sakonnet Garden.

While it was cloudy and drizzling when I left Concord, the weather in Little Compton featured clear blue skies and a warm sun.

The two of us wandered through a series of garden rooms, chatting and taking pictures. Sakonnet garden is like a well-designed house.

There are a variety of ceiling heights. You enter down a long “hallway” and then feel a sense of release as you enter the first room.

There are a variety of wall treatments

And they’ve furnished the place using a wide array of textures

These ferns aren’t posing any problems

And because it feels so much like a house, visitors misplace keys and glasses just like they do at home.

My friend Cheryl is a skilled photographer. You can see her magical vision of the garden here.

You can only visit the garden during its Open Days. The next one is on Saturday, June 9.

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Contemplating a Mid-Life Migration

04 Monday Jun 2012

Posted by in adult children, aging, environment, friendship, mid-life transition, travel, writing

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Last weekend we shared homemade pizza with friends on our back deck while a great blue heron sailed overhead. Throughout the course of the meal, we heard orioles singing and saw flashes of orange as they flitted across the yard between their nest in the willow tree and the fruit trees in our garden. A grosbeak, hummingbirds, and various other winged residents also made appearances as they went about their evening business.

When you aren’t confronted by the ticks, poison ivy, and mosquitoes, and don’t have to cut the grass, weed the garden, or shovel the driveway when you’d rather be doing something else, this place can feel like paradise.

We moved to Concord almost 20 years ago, and Paul and I still remember a day that first spring when we looked out a window to see our 10-year-old son trailing a pheasant across the back lawn, nearly stepping on the end of its long, sweeping tail.

Our pheasant-follower and his younger brother grew up here. They went to school here. And now they have both moved on to make their own homes and create their own exciting adventures. And as hard it will be to leave this house and yard behind, Paul and I are ready to move on too.

At least we think we are.

In an ideal world, we could create an oasis like this one in the middle of some city. A city that has sidewalks, public transportation, and a rich cultural life —all things that are missing and are sorely missed in our current location.

I want diverse neighbors, a corner store, a local cafe, and a bit of nightlife. I’d love to attend a movie or a concert and then walk home afterward while discussing what we’ve just seen or heard.

In his recent op-ed piece for The New York Times about New York City’s new bike-share program, David Byrne captured my idealized version of city living as he described the different routes he takes on his bike to pick up groceries, commute to work, or visit friends. And he talked about making his home in the big city.

“I just turned 60 and have no plans to retire to the suburbs,” he writes. “I love it here.”

“That’s what I want,” I thought. “A place I can fall in love with, a place that stimulates my intellect and fosters my creativity.”

But then, just below his paean to urban life was another op-ed by his daughter, Malu, who described the optimal environments of young artists like herself who have left the city because of its high cost and many distractions.

“I might have to escape New York to keep my artistic spirit alive,” she writes.

Somewhere between Byrne’s viewpoint and that of his daughter lies the crux of my dilemma. I want the bustle and excitement of the city but not the noise. I want to be able to move around freely even when—especially when — I am too old to drive, but worry that the constant press of people will grate on my introvert soul.

While any place that Paul and I are together will feel like home, I also want to find  my own niche. I want to write in my office and then meet friends for coffee at a neighborhood cafe, or spend the afternoon wandering around a nearby museum.

I know that there is no ideal place, there are only places that you make idyllic. Paul and I will take a few trips, and maybe someplace will click for both of us. Maybe no place will, and we’ll decide that this is the only home we want.

In the meantime, it’s fun to weigh our options and examine the possibilities. That’s the joy of being middle aged. Even with financial restrictions, we are as free as we’ll ever be to do what we want.

I will be sad when/if we leave this house and town that has become so familiar and where we have lived so much life. And I’ll miss those birds. But I’m also ready to follow their example. Yes, they return every spring, but in the fall they leave that empty nest without hesitation. They move forward.

Inside a Potter’s Studio, a Daughter Finds Answers

08 Thursday Mar 2012

Posted by in aging, art, friendship, health, inspiration

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A few weeks ago I hung up the phone after a brief chat with my stepmother and burst into tears. “Why so sad?” I wondered.

About to enter her 89th year, and plagued by Parkinson’s disease, it makes sense that I would be sad after hearing her faint voice leak across the wires. But I sensed that this feeling of loss went much, much deeper.

Edith married my father two years after my mother died. I was nineteen years old, a college sophomore. Although I have grown fond of her as the years have passed, I greeted her arrival in my life with ambivalence.

She was in her early fifties when she met my father, and had never been married. As a result, she was completely clueless when it came to dealing with an angry, grieving teenager. We now get along just fine, and she has been a good grandmother to my children, but the deep well of loss I felt that day was not just for her.

Then, on a wet, snowy Thursday, a new friend and I visited Elizabeth Cohen’s pottery studio.  Art was everywhere, beginning with her front steps.

These concrete leaves were made by another local artist.

Her studio was small, but held a multitude of porcelain objects in varying shades of cream, while just outside the window the falling snow whitened the air, the trees, and the ground,

Inside the kiln.

Her mugs mold themselves right into your hands.  I now own four of them.

But the piece that struck me the most was a set of carved nesting bowls. It looked so fragile that I was afraid to touch it, even through my camera lens. Here’s a photo of it taken by Elizabeth.

© Elizabeth Cohen

The three of us paused over the piece while Elizabeth explained that her mother had died in the past year, and that these carved porcelain nesting bowls had been inspired by her aging bones. My friend, who is something of an expert when it comes to beautiful objects, seemed particularly taken by them.

As the snow ended, and the weekend came and went, I rolled the image of those bony bowls over and over in my mind. Eventually, it all came together, the sadness, the delicately carved porcelain — the smaller, more solid pieces nestled into the larger more porous ones.

It occurred to me, as it did when I married my husband, and birthed my children, that here was yet another event that I wouldn’t share with my mother. I’d never witness her body’s natural aging process — her bones becoming brittle, her hair turning white. She would again be absent, not there to show me the way. Indeed, I am already seven years older than she was when she died.

That’s one reason why watching my stepmother’s decline has awakened an old, old sadness. And yet, thinking back to my afternoon in that cozy studio, surrounded by white both inside and out, I know something else too.

I am not so alone. I was happy as I explored that creative nest, getting to know two other women: One my age, the other a bit younger, one who whips up confections with words, the other who does the same with clay.

I will miss my mother until the day I die, just as I’ll never stop looking for her in my family, friends, and in the new people I meet. She will be forever gone and gone too soon. But each layer of connection I make is like those bowls: I will cradle some, and others will cradle me.

Together, we will all find our way.

Winning Connections

13 Monday Feb 2012

Posted by in inspiration, writing

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Once upon a time, when writers like me were well paid for their work, an editor I wrote for joked that just for fun, he’d like to print the next issue of the business research newsletter we were working on in Wingdings font. “Just to see if anyone will notice.”

Back then, writers didn’t interact with readers so much. This particular editor always enclosed a short thank you note when he mailed me my print copies, acknowledging a job well done, and any particular challenges we’d faced in completing the article. I miss him.

And while those checks and thank you notes are no longer rolling in, I have found that writing online comes with its own set of perks. For one thing, I am connected to my readers. They respond to my ideas and we have an online conversation. I also can reach out to other like-minded souls by commenting on their posts. Holed up in my little home office, I value those connections more than I can say.

Even better is that these connections are not limited by geography. One of my favorite online friends is Heather Robinson, whose blog, Lost in Arles provides a guided tour of Provence. And this tour doesn’t take you to the usual tourist spots. Mais non! When you tag along with Heather and her faithful dog, Ben, you are traveling with a local, eating as a local, and experiencing the region as a local.

Velvet eyes © Heather Robinson

Antiques Market © Heather Robinson

As a fellow redhead, lover of dogs, nature, and all things beautiful, I often wonder if Heather and I were separated at birth. So I was surprised, flattered, and delighted when Heather announced that she was awarding me and four others BOTH the Blog on Fire Award and the Liebster Blog Award. Thank you Heather, and bisous to you and Ben.

As part of accepting the Blog on Fire Award, I am asked  to share five things about myself that you may not know.

  1. I recently accepted a part-time job at a wonderful little store in Concord Center. What do I like most about this job? The fact that I can channel my inner fashionista and dress up two days a week.
  2. My 16-month old puppy Karina and I are taking a class in “household manners.” Here’s the question, Who is being trained: her or me?
  3. I secretly, desperately wish I could speak fluent French, how else will I ever move to France and have a regular coffee date with Heather?
  4. I swim 3/4 of a mile 3 times a week. After two years of consistent effort, I am still waiting for the chiseled upper arms to emerge.
  5. I don’t cook as much as my foodie friends might think. Without my husband to shop and cook, I’d probably exist on tofu, eggs, toast, and the occasional vegetable.

As a winner, I also get to pass these awards along to my own favorite five. As Heather noted in her post, “Something wonderful that both of these awards have in common is that they are in recognition of blogs with under 200 followers.” A couple of my own favorite five may have exceeded the 200-follower mark. However, they all meet my criteria:

  • I  faithfully “follow” each of them, rarely missing a post
  • They post regularly
  • Their topic makes my heart sing, challenges my brain, and/or whets my appetite
  • We are “connected” (see paragraph 3 above)

*For the winners, please see the “rules” at the bottom of this post. 

And the winners are:

Kathleen Volp artblog —Fine artist Kathleen Volp brings you into her exploration of language and image as she shares the process and thinking behind her artwork. Here’s your chance to learn what makes an extraordinary artist tick.

A Coastal Point of View — For those who know her, Cheryl Fuller Sparks exemplifies what it means to navigate life’s joys and sorrows with patience and grace.  Join her behind the camera as she explores life through her lens.

Food and Fiction — First and foremost, Jane A. Ward is a writer — but she also happens to be an amazing cook. Her blog is a delicious combination of engrossing writing, photographs, and recipes that make your stomach growl.

Econesting — Ronnie Citron-Fink shares her expertise of environmental issues ( the “eco” part of the equation) and her love of all things we use and do in our “nest.” Her posts help me understand the science and politics of air pollution, inspire me to become reacquainted with my knitting needles, and help me relax.

Martha’s Singapore Column — Follow writer and editor extraordinaire Martha Nichols as she explores Singapore alongside her intrepid 10-year-old son, Nick. Martha’s musings cover the food, culture, and daily challenges she encounters as an American abroad.

The Rules for the Winners

To keep these awards going (and I realize the slightly chain-mailedness of that phrase), please recognize blogs with under 200 followers and…

1. Thank the person who gave you the award and link back to their blog

2. Choose five blogs to nominate and let them know by leaving a comment

3. Request that the chosen blogs pass the Award on to their favorite five

4. Copy and paste the award on your blog post

5. List five things about yourself……

Number 5 is just for the Blog on Fire Award, so if you don’t want to divulge (it really isn’t that painful), there is always the Liebster Award…

Heather and Ben

Judith and Karina