From Sixteen to 89

My daughter's birthday falls two days before Halloween. This year she is 16. I personally revolt against "milestones" but I contradict myself here because God knows, I want my kids to remember all the special times we had together.

The about to be 16 year old lives in boarding school and I reside in New Jersey and you are looking at a five hour drive.

So I hopped in the car(with a bag of tissue wrapped goodies for a teen) and zoned out as I turned on Carol (my name for the GPS). All this for a few precious celebratory moments with my sweet daughter- between study hall and playing soccer on her school's "third" team.

"I guess we're lucky her school has three teams," my husband laughed, always shaking his head in wonder that our muscular, lean wonder girl manages to be such a lackluster athlete.

By the time "Carol" and I arrived at the school athletic field, practice was breaking up.My daughter came running over and gave me her signature wrap-around hug. As I reciprocated the hug, I recalled my own school reunions with my Mom back in the 60's. Hugs were not in the repetoire and I was greeted with Mom's arms held straight out and a "let me look at you," followed later with interrogation, "homeland security" style.

I spent some time that afternoon considering the generational changes that had taken place since my parents died. Yep, it must be 9/11 that changed everything. That, I concluded, is the reason we end each phone call with "I love you."

The three girls I had invited for supper had changed into jeans and I collected them in my car and whisked them off for a quick dinner.

Should tell them to stop, I asked myself? Oh, why make them uncomfortable? It was as though I wasn't there--but that was ok too; as I realized that our daughter was used to adult conversation whereas most teens with working parents were not.

The next day I drove with my sister to have lunch with our amazing friend Connie. Connie lives in a beautifully manicured residential living facility for the elderly in Bedford, Mass. She has recently redecorated her own small, chic ground level apartment there and she quickly showed us around. Everything she deeply loves; photos of her former husband and her Japanese art collection--has made its way onto her walls or tables and her Halloween mask for the evening function was displayed and ready for action.


Connie doesn't look or act 90. She went to school with my Mom back in Columbus,Ohio, and lived next door. She represents all that is good in a person. She never speaks poorly of anyone and always finds a way to make her point known without putting the other guy down. She is beautiful,fun-loving, organized and wicked smart. She has a wonderful sense of humor and her thoughtfulness is evident in everything she does and says. As we walked to the residential coffee shop, Connie carried with her a file of stories she had been keeping for my sister, Taffy. These were articles on Early Man and excavations. For me, she carted along the huge, new book by Taylor Branch on Bill Clinton. "Taylor is married to my daughter in law's sister," Connie explained. "Even though I'm a Republican, my kids work for the Democrats."

From 16 to 89, I thought. That's a lifetime of years and change and living.

A True Ghost Story-1975-At The Home Of Robert Todd Lincoln, "Hildene"

Manchester, Vt. 1975.

     It was one of those unusually warm,damp, fall evenings in Vermont. You could still hear the summer crickets and colorful leaves were drifting like snowflakes,swirling round the open roof and into our convertible.
My husband and I did not speak to oneanother and had not spoken for hours. 

     The shiny convertible made its way down the long, windy driveway to "Hildene" the former home of Robert Todd Lincoln, the only surviving son of Abraham Lincoln. 

     "She only died in July," I said, as randomly as possible for fear of rankling him again. "Who are you talking about?" he answered. 

     "Lincoln's granddaughter. Her last name was Beckwith and she was daffy. She collected dogs and let them run rampant all around the house. She was a  hermit. The house is for sale for some very low price, $85,000 or so."

    As we approached the end of the drive ,we passed a spectacular structure meant for star gazing, and then saw the front of the mansion. It was Georgian, impressive but unkempt. But more startling was the front door.

    It was wide open,massive and blowing in and out, with the wind gusts.

    The sun had almost passed completely behind the mountain. Bright orange blasts of color still pierced through the dirty windowpanes of the house.

     We parked our car and stepped out.

     When we saw a figure emerge from the house, we both stiffened.

     "It's a buck," I said, whispering. Bill said nothing."He's going back in the house," I said under my breath, as we  both followed our fourlegged host into the front hall, past the massive staircase and around the corner.

      This appeared to be the formal library, shelves still packed with precious books and memorabilia."My God, these might be valuable and could even be in Lincoln's own handwriting," my lawyer-trained husband quipped. 

     As the unnerved deer buck wandered around his shoulder nudged a  half-shelved scrap book and letters came floating out, one,two,more and more.

     "Look," I said, bending down to collect the papers. "This letter is from Mary Todd to her son." The letter rambled in an angry tone, threatening. 

     "You have ruined my life," she wrote. "I will never see or speak of or to you again."

     Just then the front door slammed shut and the massive organ that we had commented on as we entered the front hall began playing, all on its own.

     "We're getting out of here," my husband demanded. "Get in the car now!"

     

     

Look Around

Unbelievable! Just step out the door and find that you're not alone. Your "house" birds are watching. They know your face. They even know if you are smiling or unhappy.

You don't believe me. Start watching. They're watching you all the time. If you'd wanted to, you could have made them your pets. They;d follow you on your errands.