84. Kaleidoscope Dreams
It’s 2 AM. Rain is coming down at a hard clip, and the wind is blowing steadily with occasional gusts that sway and bend even the sturdiest trees. I can’t see any of this, but my mind’s eye processes the sounds and unfolds the scene for me, pulling the images from wherever I store them — perhaps in a big-ass walk-in closet in my head. Huh, that’s my new image of where my memories are. I kinda like it!
Already off track, I see. I don’t know where we’re headed so it’s okay, it’s just a bit early in the blog. That’s all.
Anyway, there was an early evening storm, the feature being deep, guttural rolls of thunder that sounded as though they were coming from inside a tunnel making it difficult to know where one rumble ended and another one began. It was an unusual sound and lasted many minutes, but there weren’t any weather alerts, so I sat back and enjoyed the experience. I expected to see flashes of light, but none came; as for the rains, they sure did. The sky opened up and a curtain of water fell for several minutes. Then with the speed of a fingersnap, the curtain pulled back and left in its wake a wimpy sprinkle before it finally ended. It was awesome! I love storms and I will miss them — or perhaps I’ll see them from a different vantage point. “Hmm. That thought deserves a few minutes of head tumbling,” I mumbled to myself. It had already been a long night of wakefulness. I didn’t mind though because of the storm, a wonderfully familiar companion.
I will really miss rain storms at the beach. I love, love, love them. The bigger the better. I’m one of those people who checks the weekly forecast in Maine days before we leave for our trip and again the minute we arrive. Given that our annual vacation lasts a mere seven days, one would think I’d hope for seven days of bright sunshine.
One would be wrong.
I always hope for at least one day of piss-pouring-rain, and if there’s the added bonus of thunder and lightning in the forecast, I am thrilled, and if it’s a nighttime storm, I feel I’ve hit the motherload. As you know, I won’t be going to Wells again, so I won’t be seeing any more beach storms. Without question, if I could do one more thing before I die, I would make a trip over the Piscataqua Bridge to All Points Maine — final destination Wells!
When I was benched by the orthopedic oncologist, I knew my days in Maine were over. As it turned out, I didn’t need to go to my beach because it was sent to me, in little snippets. I have received text videos and pictures of Wells with regularity from Joyce McTigue and Josephine Power, both of whom live there or very nearby. And of course there were pictures of that ill-fated trip made by Marchrie, Helena, and Mary-Sue-Lou-Jo. You’ll remember this from Blog 57, Isn’t It Ironic:
It is safe to say that Marjorie’s longest and most steadfast friend is Helena Green McCarthy. The two met in grade school and have been buddies forever. They’ve circled in and out of one another’s lives for very brief periods of time, but for decades — five+ decades — they’ve been a constant for one another…I should introduce you to one more woman, a friend of Marjorie’s and Helena’s who I call Mary-Sue-Lou-Jo. When Mary Jo started palling around with M&M — McCarthy and McCarthy — I never quite hit the mark on Mary Jo’s name. I’d say Mary Sue, Marjorie would say Mary Jo. I’d say Mary Lou, Marjorie would say Mary Jo. After a bit of this name-nonsense, I started calling the woman, Mary-Sue-Lou-Jo.
It's a creative quirk — I suppose.
For many years, the three women have gone places and done things. They make it a point to carve time out of their busy schedules to get together for a weekend trip to the Cape, or a day trip to Rhode Island to park their asses in the sand and watch the surf roll in and out, or simply for a night out to have some good food, a few laughs, and some bonding time. They recently planned a secretive trip to Wells Beach — it turned into a shit fest.
This is how I found out.
“I’m going to give the phone to Marjorie. She wants to talk to you.”
“Okay.”
Rustling noises and muffled talk between my mother and sister. Then—
“Don’t freak out – I’m okay.”
Not sure how the rest of you would have responded to those words, but my blood pressure spiked and my hands produced a quick sweat. My sister continued.
“I slipped on some ice and shattered my right wrist, sprained my left wrist, might have cracked my tailbone, and may have torn a ligament in my left knee, and I twisted my ankle pretty badly.”
“Jesus. Did you go to the hospital?
“Yeah, by ambulance.”
“Oh, my God. Why didn’t Mommy call us?”
“I didn’t fall here — I fell in Maine. I went to Wells with Helena and Mary Jo to get you some ocean water and sand, and to just sort of hang at the beach for the day.”
There were several minutes of Q&A about her fall, her medical care in Maine, how she was settling in, and then I went all ‘Sheryll’ on her.
“You sound tired.”
“I am.”
“Do you need anything?”
“Nope, I’m good.”
“If you need anything—”
“I’ll call.”
“How’s Mommy?”
“Being strong for me.”
“What the fuck? Seriously. Everyone’s so fearful I’ll break something, and now you’re broken.”
“A freak accident.”
Before she could disconnect, I stopped her. “I have a question, an important question.”
“What?”
“You still have my ocean water and sand, right?”
“Yeah.” She laughed.
“You protected it, right?”
“You’re an ass.” She laughed harder.
“And you’ll give them to me, right?”
“I know just where I’m gonna put them.”
“Not possible what with the broken wrists and all.”
She laughed – until she cried.
Several weeks after Marjorie’s accident, and surgery, and a few physical therapy appointments, she and Mom came to visit. It had been many weeks since I’d seen them and I was so happy they were with me. Tim met them at Marchrie’s enormous Jeep, as he always does, and helped them with bags and baggage, as he always does. Then he went back to the black behemoth on my driveway. I was swept into the swirl and twirl of visitors engaging for the first time in far too long. You know the scene, everyone talking over everyone else, that’s what we had going on. That’s why I didn’t even notice Tim’s departure. I certainly noticed his entrance.
During the meeting and greeting extravaganza, my daughters had managed to move most everything off the chest of drawers in my living room without my notice. Tim put ‘something’ onto the chest when he returned then stepped away. From my vantage point I could see it was a diorama. When he lifted it and brought it to me, I realized it was the most adorable diorama of Wells Beach. A black, nearly flat rectangular tray had the ‘infamous’ beach sand Marchrie collected that day spread corner to corner. In one of those corners was the ‘infamous’ ocean water contained for prosperity in a squat mason jar. Then, upon the sand was a tiny beach scene: two white Adirondack chairs, angled close to one another; an itty-bitty blue and white beach cooler set perfectly between the two chairs; a blue and white beach umbrella; a teeny-weeny colorful beach ball; and a pair of flip-flops appropriately sized to fit the foot of a Piping Plover. The best part: beach stones and seashells that’d been gathered by the three friends enjoying a day in Wells were tossed here and there.
The diorama brought me to fits of laughter whenever I showcased it to visitors, the handful I’m allowed to have each week. Nurse M spent quite some time enjoying the tiny scaled pieces, and when I told her the cooler opened and closed, she just had to try it for herself.
The lovingly made model came at a high price for Marchrie, what with the broken body and all, but it is just a great piece — one that Hadley beelines to so she can play in the sand, and rearrange the seating arrangement whenever she visits.
What fun! A day at the beach at 183!
Beach delivery — Part Two.
A few weeks ago, I received this direct message on FB, it was from Kathleen O’Neill, a woman I have never met, but who is very good friends with Marchrie.
Hi Sheryll, I am in Maine this weekend. I went to the “wall” yesterday! I find peace sitting, watching and listening to the waves! Sitting here made me think of you and your love of Wells and the ocean! I hope you enjoy this short video. If there is a spot that is special to you please let me know. I’d love to send it to you! Kathleen.
My return message: Thank you. Now that I’ve dried my tears I can let you know that that video was perfect. The sun, and the gentle roll of waves, and the wonderful sound of wind — all parts of the perfect rocky shoreline of Wells. I asked myself what I wouldn’t give to be there. The truth is there’s not much left to give, and I don’t have to because thoughtful people like you send Wells to me in snippets. So, thank you Kathleen. Enjoy your day or your weekend strolling along a most beautiful place. Sheryll.
I received a couple more videos and pictures from Kathleen’s weekend away. They are beautiful and were very appreciated. And then I was treated to a video from Annie and Tiger White, my sister- and brother-in-law who don’t usually trek to Maine, but there they were in Wells. They sent a video of a moderately active surf under a very moody, gray sky — the kind of sea and sky that might signal a storm. Ahhhhhhh. The video activity of these thoughtful people may have spurred a dream I had the other night about Wells. I've had a few dreams of the shoreline, the wet-packed sandy strip I know as well as the back of my hand. You may remember a time when I wasn’t dreaming — at all. It was a very uncomfortable time, one I assumed and hoped was drug-related and would eventually pass.
And. Then. This. Happened.
In Blog 43, Dream a Little Dream of Me, I wrote:
Since December 1st, I haven’t had a single dream (I had a snippet once, maybe). I became aware of my dreamlessness one night when I woke. It wasn’t because I’d had a dream, but rather because I was in pain. I searched my mind to see if there was something there, some little fragment from a dream that disappeared right before I opened my eyes. There was nothing. Since then, I’ve tried to push into that space and time when I first wake to see if maybe there’s something — consistently, there’s nothing there…and living without dreams is a nightmare.
Great news! I had a dream the other night. The most wonderful dream. Tim and I were dancing along the sand at the shoreline at Wells Beach. I know we were there because that is our place, and I think I recognized every grain of sand. When I say we were dancing, we weren’t Fox Trotting, or even Waltzing, we were just wrapped in one another’s arms, swaying to and fro to the sound of Dean singing my song.
Tim and I were holding hands and they were sort of tucked between us chest high, the other was wrapped around our backs. I had my eyes closed most of the time, but when we turned and I knew I’d be facing the ocean, I opened my eyes and followed the moonlight trail across the inky black water. When the song ended, he and I walked hand in hand toward the far jetty.
When I arrived back to where we started our dance, I was alone — in fact the beach was empty except for Hadley who was flitting in circles with her arms wide open. When she saw my approach she ran toward me, her arms flailing with joy, and she threw herself into my outstretched arms. We twirled and twirled on the now sunny beach. When her little feet landed on the sand again, she said, “That was so much fun, MammyGrams.”
I agreed, and suggested we do it again, someday.
Dream A Little Dream Of Me
My Heaven on Earth
My dream the other night was a tease, a tiny snippet, arriving just before I woke. When my narcotic-induced slumber ended, and I heard the steady rain and rolling thunder, I was immediately pulled into a series of memories of Wells. One day I’ll tell you about them, but I’ll start with the last time I was there.
The summer of 2020 was the first year our family reunion at the beach didn’t take place. There was quite a bit of discussion in 2021 as to whether or not we should go. Covid was still wreaking havoc on the lives we all wanted to live. Like most everyone, we were exhausted by it all, so we booked our rooms and waited things out. When push came to shove, and we needed to shit or get off the pot, we would make the final decision.
OMG! ‘When push came to shove; shit or get off the pot’
I’ve become Mama Platitude!
OMG, he’s worn off on me! God help us all!
Anyway, we decided to go on vacation and take every precaution we could: wear masks when we were near others; have most meals as takeout and eaten on the patios outside our rooms; decline room service; wipe everything that didn’t move with alcohol (rubbing, preferably) and use anti-this-and-that products that come in foil packages and spray cans and plastic popup containers. We even put into place a plan that if any of us, or anyone on the beach sneezed, whomever was closest to Mom would wrap a beach towel around her head and take the booger-hit ourselves.
We had a wonderful vacation and booked our rooms for this year halfway through our stay. For the past few years, my siblings and I have said, “God willing, Mom will still be with us next year, and if ‘the glue of our family’ is no longer with us, we’ll all still come. Right? Right.” I’m not sure if Marchrie or Donnie have thought about that repetitive annual riff, but I think we can all agree that I pulled the rug out from under them, sending them into a big pile of crappy irony with my impending death. Personally speaking, I know I have thought about all of this often — hell, I’m thinking about it now, with all of you.
For the record, I am beyond thrilled that my mother will see Wells again this year, and I hope there are many, many more trips in her future, but I sure do wish there was at least one more trip for me. I’ve been sitting here waxing poetically about things I would say to finish a particular sentence. I’ll put it out there for you to answer, then I’ll tell you how I answered it.
If I’d only known that was the last time I would have seen _______ then I would have _______.
I’m sure many of you have used that sentence upon hearing of someone’s death. It’s a natural process, probably a necessary process to do a bit of reflecting from that perspective. Trust me when I say, it takes on a whole new meaning, a deeper complexity when you’re looking through this end of the kaleidoscope. I used that word because that is sort of what it’s like being on this end. Things become a series of reflective, colorful, changing images, bits and pieces really, that are painfully beautiful because they are fragments of your life. With each spin of the kaleidoscope the pieces turn and fall and bring a new image that you get to assemble and reflect upon.
Here are my reflections.
If I’d only known that was the last time I would have seen the Atlantic from my patio then I would have gone down to the shoreline and collected my own sand and ocean water. If I’d only known that was the last time I would have seen my whole family at a beach reunion then I would have taken picture after picture of us all. If I’d only known that was the last time I would have breathed in salty sea air I would have filled my lungs until they burst. And if I’d only known that was the last time I would have seen the sun rise and set over multi-blue ocean waters, and the moon’s trail of light on ink-colored waves then I would have stayed awake for that whole day.