95. A Little Something-Something
You can’t take it with you. We’ve all heard this saying. Its meaning is pretty straight forward; none of us gets to take a damned thing with us when our life ends; no gadgets and gizmos aplenty, no whozits and whatzits galore ... Nothing will be making the trip with us. I don’t know why I keep breaking out into Little Mermaid songs, but I keep doing it. It doesn’t matter what topic of conversation is happening, or to whom I’m speaking — usually I’m talking to myself because there's a lot of time to kill during this waiting game and I usually kill it by keeping my own company. So it’s perfectly okay if I break into song, like now: I admit in the past I’ve been nasty, they weren’t kidding when they called me a __ __ __ __ H.
There’s your Wordle of the day She Devil!
Anyway, one thing I’ve learned: I’m rather good company. Thank God. Otherwise this sitting by the wayside would be sooooo boring.
Back to the blog. Knowing upfront I can’t take anything with me meant absolutely diddly-squat while I was living my life. If it had, I wouldn’t have accumulated things I knew I’d be leaving behind. The psychology of that could have eaten tons of ponderance time, but there was a question that seemed more worthy of thought.
What if I didn’t have to leave everything behind?
What if I could take one thing with me?
What would it be?
A picture of my family comes to mind, you know, in case there’s a thing called afterlife amnesia. It sure would be helpful having a photograph of my loved ones. I might not know who the people are in the picture, but I’ll know they were special. That should be comforting. Right?
Or maybe I should bring a book I’ve read and loved, or one I haven’t read but have heard great things about. After a little thought I decided it might not be good form to bring Where the Crawdads Sing and leave the Bible behind, especially if there’s a holding area just inside the Pearly Gates. A book would help pass my time, just on the off-chance my wait is based on past transgressions, tick-tock tick-tock. I headed down Memory Lane to see how many Commandments I’ve broken. By the time I hit # 3, the one about taking God’s name in vain, I knew I’d be sitting my ass in the waiting area forever! So, if I bring a book you can bet your ass it’s gonna be the Bible.
Or maybe a better afterlife selection is that pair of jeans that hasn’t fit since my pre-pregnancy days. Given the number of people in Heaven, there’s a pretty good chance everyone is svelte, so why not bring the 501 Levi’s button front x 30 jeans along. It could be a dream come true moment! And if they let me change in the waiting area, I’ll look awesome during my penalty phase. Things are looking up.
If I had to choose something from the room I live in I would be hard-pressed to choose. My first instinct is to bring my super-de-duper recliner — the chair I wholeheartedly believe has been an integral part of keeping me on this side of living. Thank you Marchrie. Speaking of my sister, she was finally seen by an orthopedic surgeon who will be doing his thing on a large tear of her MCL. Her slip and fall in Maine is the gift that keeps on giving, so if you are so inclined a prayer or two sent her way would certainly be appreciated.
Anyway, back to the recliner, I’m going to assume there are seats in Heaven, at the very least I know there is a seat at the right hand of God, and twelve seats for the apostles though one might be permanently set in the ‘time out’ corner. As for the rest of us, I hope our seats are soft and cushiony. If they have product ads in Heaven and they say the seating is as soft as clouds, I’m going to believe the ad. That’ll be a first.
As for my recliner, I’m leaving it to Hadley. She all but came out and put dibs on it, in a sweet way the other night
“MammyGrams, do you think I could have my sleepovers in your chair when you’re gone?”
“Absolutely.”
“And maybe I can have breakfast there too?”
“Absolutely not. Kitchen tables are for eating.”
“But sometimes you let me eat on my rolling table in the living room.”
“And sometimes that’s a treat. Right?”
“Right.”
I’m not entirely sure how I feel about the casual conversations we’ve embarked upon, but I’m thinking she knows something big is going to happen, so she wants to ensure there will be no interruptions in the comfortable and familiar places where we spent our lives together, so I think it’s okay.
I have some beautiful artwork in my living room. I used to have a Monet and a van Gogh (prints of course) that have been moved elsewhere. I hope the Masters 2.0 — I came up with that designation as a fingers-crossed ploy — aren’t pissed and persuade ‘The Power that Be’ that I shouldn’t be allowed in the Heavenly Gallery. Can you imagine the paintings and sculptures in that place? I sooooo want to see them.
Anyway, the reason the Monet and the van Gogh had to ‘gogh’ was the lack of available wall space. I’ve recently received several pieces from Jennifer Lane Courville. Each one is stunning: an oceanscape, a snowy path leading into a lush forest, a postcard sized smattering of daisies (my favorite flower I’ve decided), and a gorgeous portrait of Hadley sitting on Wells Beach sand seemingly in reflective thought. Choosing only one would be an exercise in futility. So artwork is out.
There is a very lovely wooden sign above my picture window from Denise. Love you to the moon and back. It’s simple and uncomplicated, just like Denise. With my sister-in-law, what you see is what you get, someone who loves you. It’s that simple and it’s a great thing, just ask Don. Bringing the wall-hanging along might have been a possibility but I feel it may be a bit on the cliché side of things. I don’t want to be known as ‘the one who brought a platitude’ to Heaven. I’m sure there are a whole lot of really good sayings up there what with the dudes who wrote the Gospels and all — and besides platitudes are Mr. Wonderful’s thing. So signs and things are out.
On one wall I have a really cool antique brass-framed mirror. It’s maybe 8 x 11 and the frame has Victorian-attired women in several poses. It was given to me at least thirty years ago from someone I knew for a very short period of time. While I really love this wall hanging I won’t be bringing it with me. There’s a very simple reason: If by chance I arrive looking the way I do now, I’d rather not have something to remind me of the end of life struggles that are so clearly etched on my face and so deeply reflected in my eyes. Besides, I might drop the fucker and be assigned seven years bad luck. We all know how lucky I’ve been lately, so reflective glass is definitely out.
How about one of my lap throws, maybe the one I crocheted for Tim several years ago for Christmas. It’s a lovely moss green and the yarn is thick and soft, yet still light enough so as to keep me comfy, but not sweltering. I know it belongs to Tim, but in this case I think I could get away with the, ‘what’s mine is mine and what’s yours is mine’ argument. Even so, lap throws are out. I figure Heaven is definitely temperature controlled. DUH!
I could go on and on and on. I have gone on and on and on. After much deliberation, I came up with my carryon possession. Describing it comes with a backstory. Of course it does. A tradition began when Hadley was three(ish). There is a lovely Christmas craft fair in Grafton. Each year Hannah takes Hadley to look at gadgets and gizmos aplenty, and whozits and whatzits galore. Each year MammyGrams gives the Little One a few dollars to spend on whatever bauble catches her eye. Every year she has come home with a gift for me. Sweetest kid EVER!
Her gift choice is sort of the same thing every year. She is very partial to antique-looking costume jewelry, particularly gemstone necklaces.
I remember the first gift as though I received it yesterday. She sat upon my lap and helped me pull away the gift wrap (she pulled away the gift wrap). Resting inside a white box was a beautiful, sparkly, bright red gemstone heart with an intricately scrolled antique key hanging from a 24 inch chain. She proudly exclaimed that it was the, “Key to her heart.” She had me put it around my neck and dragged me to the front door whenever someone joined our Christmas brunch so she could show us off.
At the end of the day we wondered what I’d do with the, “Too valuable piece of jewelry for everyday wear.” We put our heads together and weighed our options. The decision ended up being a very easy one. I tied a knot in the chain, she slipped it onto a branch and it became part of our Christmas tree decorations. The heart and key has four similar looking necklace ornaments hanging nearby. I hope Hadley continues this tradition.
Although …
The key to her heart is the little something-something I would take with me.
And now for the main event.
#21. This note came in a card and it came without a return address. What fun! The note reads:
My dear friend Sheryll,
You have become such an important part of my life over the past two years. It is crazy to think that two women who live nearly 1,800 miles apart, and have never shared space, could become such fast friends. However, I must say if we were closer to one another, we could have had some really fun, wildly crazy shenanigans. I can see Tim and Jim laughing and shaking their heads as we downshifted and headed into another crazy curve in life!
I am truly blessed to have been given the opportunity to know you. You will live on through those you love, those to whom you are gifting your books, a great legacy, but your greatest gift is the way you’ve reached so many.
My life is immeasurably enriched by knowing you and calling you friend. Love you loads. ~ Nancy
I am not surprised you feel these things because I share the sentiments.
I am not surprised how little time it took for us to click.
And I am not surprised you recognize that we were better off not participating in the shenanigans.
I am surprised that you found time to write me a note when I have so clearly buried you in work.
Thank you, Nancy Pendleton
# 22. This entry has two parts to it. The first part came by email after Janice Harvey’s piece in Worcester Magazine, the second came the other day. I admit it caused me a bit of a pause. I’m including a little back and forth between the writer and me.
Hi Sheryll,
This is Lisa...South High 1975, and former Columbus Parker. I hope you remember me. I just read an article by Janice Harvey regarding your writings and cancer struggle. I remember you and Tim with fondness. I recently lost my husband to cancer and can understand your struggles. I am very interested in reading your works. I just wanted to reach out to you to let you know I will keep you in my prayers through your hospice journey. All my best to you, Tim, and your family. ~ Sincerely, Lisa
Lisa and I shared a couple emails since then. This one came in response to the letter writing challenge:
Hi Sheryll,
I'm not sure if this is what you're looking for, but after reading many of your blogs I remembered a little something I'd like to share with you. I'm also going to include an apology to you and Tim, and an observation I made from reading your blogs.
Many years ago, I'm estimating prior to 1989, I was at Chuck's Steakhouse with co-workers. We were having drinks in the bar, and who did I run into? You guessed it, Tim. We chatted for a bit, catching up on each other's lives, and he told me that he was either getting married to you or already married you. (My memory fails me at times.) I remember reacting to that news by saying Sheryll Sneade??? I just couldn't put the two of you together. I remember Tim saying, yes, Sheryll Sneade, and we continued to chat for a bit. Tim was his usual very nice self and it was nice to have chatted with him.
After reading your blogs, I see what a wonderful marriage, partnership, friendship, and relationship you have. I would like to apologize to you both for questioning the possibility of your relationship. Who was I to judge, and I am embarrassed by my reaction.
Your total honesty in your blogs shows me how deeply committed you are to each other and that your love is strong and admirable. Marriage is not always easy and it can be hard work to maintain a lasting relationship. I had that with my husband (Robert) for 37 years. Having been in Tim's position as not only a spouse, but caretaker, I admire his commitment to you. You are truly dedicated to each other.
I will continue to keep you, Tim and your family in my prayers. I pray that you find comfort knowing our Lord is with you, and you find some peace and joy in each day. ~ Love, Lisa
I just had to push-in on this, so I wrote back: Just wondering why you had that reaction? You can't leave me hanging!
Lisa wrote back: lol....I don't really know why....I guess it was just not what I expected.....We knew each other, but didn't "know" each other. That is why I am embarrassed by my reaction and hope you both can accept my apology. Maybe part of the reason was you dated outside of South and Tim dated in the "clique". I truly believe some things happen for a reason. I believe in fate and you two were meant to be together. Again, I'm sorry.
I wrote back and said there was absolutely no apology needed. Then I included a portion of a blog I wrote before I got the TBA death date:
… For the record, most people never got Tim and me, they never fully understood the attraction, or how easily we fit. Tim and I are
polar opposites in so many little ways — I am bawdy and bold, he is a true gentleman, I’m the talker, he uses words sparingly, I’m
the yeller, he’s the head-shaker, I’m the comedienne, he’s my audience, I push in, he leans in, I’m the risk taker, he’s the soft
place to land. Those are the things that people see on the surface and they judge us based on all of that. I’m sure that people think
that I rule the roost, that Tim bends to my will, that I am the bossy one. They aren’t entirely wrong, but they get to think that because
Tim lets them think that. He knows what our relationship is, and doesn’t get all twisted up with what others might think. So while it
looks like I’m making all of the decisions for our family, the reality is this: Tim and I have made all the big decisions behind the
scenes — I just move them forward.
Lisa responded: Thank you for sharing the blog with me. I have to tell you that you and Tim are very much like how my husband and me were. We were talking marriage after dating for 4 months and got engaged after 7 months. Sometimes you just know it was meant to be. Like you both, we had our strengths and weaknesses, but that's how you balance things out and make your relationship work. I pray that every day you find some peace and joy in your hospice journey. ~ Lisa
I sort of love that while I’ve used this time to reflect about who I was and who I am, other people are getting to do that too. Joyce McTigue said recently that she’s come to know me more in these eight months than she did in the thirty years we lived across the street from one another.
So to Lisa, I appreciate your putting it all out there and opening up a great dialogue.
Thank you, Lisa (Goldsmith) Oslowski
# 23. A note and a letter came from somewhere out in the Atlantic. It reads:
Dearest Sheryll -
July 14, 2022: I write to you from a 14’ skiff with an outboard. I’m out in the Atlantic pulling traps by hand with my friend, Phil. The sun is out, the seas are calm, and I’m thinking of your and my love for the ocean.
What is it about the ocean, the seashore that pulls us, attracts us, is so alluring? As I write this note, I think maybe it is just the immensity of nature - we are humbled. There’s a peace at the ocean not found very many places.
July 15, 2022: Go for Halloween - especially since it’s a favorite holiday. I’ll email or text a pic of my niece, Allison. It is her favorite holiday, too. She dresses up and decorates like crazy!
Today is Jo and Phil errand-running day and we are driving around for that and lunch and ice cream!
Beth and I were talking this morning about crying. (You wrote you cried significantly after that photo of you and Tim). We were talking about how we live in an anti-crying society. (I had been crying this morning thinking about my parents). Beth is a wise woman. She rejects an anti-crying society. It’s so wonderful to release all the sadness and toxic stuff with a good cry. I feel like a lot of good belly-laughing is also a fantastic release.
Imagine your blogs jogged a ton of memories – of course – EMOTION. You certainly can, whether you meant to or not, set that bar high on being an authentic self. Maybe you inched people to following suit. Bravery IS emotion – as is crying and laughing. Well, I’m writing as we’re driving. (Phil is driving). My writing is usually marginal, and in the truck, it’s worse. My apologies for making you struggle to read this missive.
Seeing Halloween is a fantastic goal. Watch out goblins and ghouls here you come! Talk soon. ~ Love and hugs, Jo.
The Ocean by Nathaniel Hawthorne
The Ocean has its silent caves,
Deep, quiet, and alone;
Though there be fury on the waves,
Beneath them there is none.
The awful spirits of the deep
Hold their communion there;
And there are those for whom we weep,
The young, the bright, the fair.
Calmly wearied seamen rest
Beneath their own blue sea.
The ocean solitudes are blest,
For there is purity.
The earth has guilt, the earth has care,
Unquiet are its graves;
But peaceful sleep is ever there,
Beneath the dark blue waves.
I read your words: “What is it about the ocean, the seashore that pulls us, attracts us, is so alluring?” and this poem started its tap, tap, tap.
If we were of long ago, my pen would have gone to paper in response, and I surely would have written this to you.
Thank you, Josephine Power
A little housekeeping.
My reaching the end of summer seems doable given my Stable Mabel vitals and such. BUT, I have chosen Halloween as my new goal date, here is why: it is my favorite day of the year. As a kid, I wouldn’t have said that. There wasn’t a whole lot of imagination or preparation for our annual trick-or-treat costumes. Don, Marchrie and I sort of did a, “I was that last year,” choice between three options, a hobo (a bandana and dirty face), a housewife (a head of curlers and a less than excited face - seems appropo), and a … I honestly can’t remember what was behind Door Number Three. See how uninspired and unmemorable the costumes were?
Anyway, I vowed that if I had children they could get any costume they wanted — cost be damned.
There have been some doozies over the years and I’m proud to say the tradition is continuing with Hadley. One memorable costume that deserves a shoutout was the year Hannah took her three year old to a massive halloween warehouse for some pick and choose fun. For some unknown reason the Little One wanted to be a penguin.
So off they went on their hunt for her costume. Imagine our surprise when she returned home and modeled her penguin getup for MammyGrams and Gee.
There in all her splendor was Hadley dressed head to toe in the colors of a penguin, however, black and white is also the standard fare colors for a nun. Yeup, our three-year-old granddaughter insisted to her mother that the nun’s costume was a penguin costume and it was HER costume. And when she was asked at each candy-giving home what she was, she happily replied, “I’m a penkwin.”