Life After Life

GoodReads Book Review

I could not put this book down. 529 pages, and I read it in a 24 hour period! Imagine being born time, and time again, into the same life, with the opportunity of improving things each time you were reborn. Ursula dies before she is born, and then is reborn, only to strangle in childbirth. She is born again, and lives until an accident takes her life. Over and over, on the same day of the same year she is born. People, circumstances change, improve, worsen, and still she comes back again and again. What a fascinating concept. What if you had the change to right the wrongs of the world - what would you choose to do?

Ursula's life begins in 1910 in the English countryside not far from London. She lives (repeatedly) through WWl and WWll. Life After Life is a fictionalized look at historical events in England and Germany during the war years; in fact, in one of her lives she become best friends with Hitler's mistress Ava. During her life's struggles, she finds herself wondering how her life became what it was. This is one of the most intriguing books I have read in a very long time.

Dates

July 12, 2015

Dates are funny reminders of the past. Every now and then one becomes significant in our memories; births, deaths, marriages, anniversaries. They are just dates on a calendar, and yet they become so momentous in our minds, and they become placeholders of moments in time. I have my own placeholders of my past. Of course my birth, that of my parents wedding – my mother’s death; the day Steve and I started going together; our marriage. Somehow the date of our divorce escapes my memory, but I think that is more of a lack of desire of celebration than anything. There is a day in February that I remember that goes back to college; a day of remembrance that is important, not in the grand scheme of my life, but just a minor life-changing moment I choose to remember.

I am a keeper of objects. Little things that remind me of important moments. Photos, papers, notes, etc. On the vanity mirror on my dresser there is a ticket stub tucked in the bottom on the right corner. Tab Benoit, Skippers Smoke House, January 17, 2014 – admit one. That was really the day of my own personal independence, or freedom day. Insignificant in the overall picture of my life; just a blip on the radar screen, and yet there it is. It ends up the memory associated brings on mirth, rather than tears, although earlier in the day it could have gone either way. I don’t celebrate the end of my marriage. I just don’t. I am sad it ended, but I also recognize that I have moved on, moved up, that my life has become so much more than it probably ever would have with Steve in my life. That said, I also recognize that I was happy; I was content. I meant to stay married; I meant to have a 30^th or a 50^th anniversary. I meant it when I said for better or worse. So the loss of that in my life was never cause for celebration. 

On January 14, 2014; that was a day that did reduce me to tears. Tears of loss, feelings of inadequacy, rage, frustration, almost a bitterness, and very much a bittersweet look at the past. That was the day that Steve deposited his very last alimony payment. For him I think it was liberating, and I guess, for me, it was too. It had already gone on longer than the court papers specified. He had been sick the year before and was out of a work some, so; we worked out a deal to make the payments last longer for me, and ease his financial burden. We also admitted to each other that we knew once that last payment was made that was officially our last legal tie. It was sad and scary and so final. I did cry. I felt that loss keenly, even though he had been gone officially so very long. I almost did not go to the concert. I was afraid I would bring down the mood of my friends, that I would drink too much and be too sad. I remember sitting outside in my car giving myself a pep talk. I remember thinking, ok, Kim. You can go in and be sad and have a terrible time. Or, you can suck this up like you have every other bad thing. You can take a deep breath, go in, enjoy yourself, let your hair down and show the world that you are ok; that you are a survivor. So that is what I did. I did tell my friends about the day, and I did share my decision to have a good time, regardless. And I had a great time. I was flirty, attractive, cute, fun. I laughed all night, and I did drink too much, but it was all okay. My friend Tammy drove me home – the first time ever that we switched roles, and I laughed and felt good all the way home. I was not hung over the next day, and we still talk about that night and how much fun I had. Even now, the reminder of that date brings a smile to my face. It was an awful time in my life; a sad, momentously sad moment in the history of my life. But I am so proud to say that I overcame that and turned my night into so much more. That January 14, 2014 was truly a day to remember.

Reflections on Black Lake

Early morning, July 2, 2015

Yesterday was rainy mostly all day, and I slept mostly all day – a terrible act of something not good in my stomach. It was a little scary, and I am glad to feel much better today. I’ve always had a stomach that allows me to eat or drink whatever I want, not affected by travel or new experiences. I don’t know what that was, but I am not anxious to have it again!

The rain stopped late in the afternoon yesterday, although the breeze continued – still does; it is pretty much a given here. With the cloudy skies, the sunset was wonderful. People up the road had their jet skis out earlier, then toward sunset when the water calmed, they water skied.  They played music, hooted, hollered, and had a general good time. I told my dad that that was us a long time ago – our favorite time to ski. It was nice to see, and it brought memories of good times back. We sat in the porch, too damp for a fire last night, but I am hopeful for tonight!

This morning porch sitting is cool. The breeze is chilly, but the wind chimes are dancing and singing, and the water is lapping the shore and the dock. My favorite time of day has always been early morning. I love being up before others, observing all things happening, contemplating my thoughts and feelings in the quiet peace of the morning. This morning I am not feeling an overwhelming desire to think too much, but I am enjoying just being here smelling the sweetness of the air, listening to morning sounds and breathing deeply. I wish these feelings of contentment could be bottled or stored and taken out for later use.

Sunset,  July 2

What an interesting day today has been. I’m sitting on the porch, the sun has just set behind the hills to the west – a few long clouds creating a wondrous beauty in the sky. Shades of purple, pink, yellow, red and orange shine back at me. The lake is calm, but a breeze still blows rustling the treetops. The last of the birds are making their way back to their nests, swooping and darting, chittering out calls to each other. It’s peaceful and quiet. The sound of children playing echoes down from the camps up the hill to the right. Earlier the children were out paddling in their paddle boat. Last time out they got stuck in the grass and weeds, and their father came to their rescue in his boat. Their delight at being towed was simple and sweet. I can hear the drone of a television somewhere – either inside behind me, or at the next camp down. All is calm, all is bright. For now I am on the porch, although the temperature is dropping as the night settles in, and the mosquitoes are putting out feelers to see if I am a tasty enough treat. Just now I heard owls calling each other off in the distance. I love the sound of them – they are mournful, yet inquisitive all at the same time.

It was a quiet day. I felt better than yesterday, which was good, but I still felt the need to not move around too much. I had intentions these last few weeks to walk a great deal, and I have, just not quite in the way I imagined. I’ve climbed countless stairs and walked up and down inclines; generally had not much down-sitting-around time. I sat in a chair wrapped in blankets this morning; it was cool and windy. The sun came in and out – one of those clean white puffy cloud days that is super brilliant, crisp, and clear, but also quite chilly when the sun ducks behind a cloud. So I read, I daydreamed, and later in the day I studied for my upcoming test.

The Amish man down the road came to the door earlier, with two of his little ones – a little boy, three, and a little girl, five. He needed a ride to somewhere, and I went with my dad along for the ride. It seems his wife is pregnant, and they felt she might be miscarrying; he needed a ride to pick up the midwife. We chatted as we drove, and it was easy enough to tell he was flummoxed and uncertain what to do with himself. He said you know, as life goes along you know when things are going really well, and then something happens and it sets you back. You know it will be good again, so you just have to wait. He said you know that God has a plan and you just have to wait and see what it is. So very true.

Later he came back down and asked if we could take the midwife home, along with his mother-in-law and the two babies. It looks like the baby in the womb is going to be okay for now, but the twin girls were going to stay with their grandmother. My dad was mowing, but I said yes, I would be glad to take them all home – so I did. Before they left I gave the kids each a package of cookies kept here for them and the little boys down the road – their little faces lit up with happiness! Both have rosy cheeks; the boy has blue eyes and the girl, brown. His hair was blunt cut under a small straw hat. He had on blue coveralls and a blue shirt; her dress was blue, her bonnet black. She was very proud because she just learned how to tie her own bonnet strings and had to show me; she is about the age my students learn to tie their own shoe laces, and that pride is a very real thing. When I got down to their house I waited in the yard. The little girl and boy entertained me, eating their cookies. The little girl gave me her wrapper and was so thrilled when I put it in my pocket – little guy had to finish his so I could put his there too! Then he proceeded to run, roll, jump, play; typically showing-off little guy. The little girl caught sight of my toe rings, and they both had to poke at my toes, with smiles on their faces. Grandma and the Midwife came out with the twins – little girls who have not been away from their mom for any great deal of time. They were unhappily crying. As they loaded into the back of the truck their dad looked at me apologetically and told me they would stop crying – he thought. And they did. After we dropped of the midwife I took Grandma and the babies’ home. We had a great chat – about families and babies and children, grandchildren; how it was to move here from Ohio when she was 14. She showed me her dad’s house, two of her sister’s houses, her oldest daughter’s house. She has 10 children and 19 grandchildren. I so admire their way of life; their steadfast ways, their integrity, their grit and determination. It is not an easy life, but it certainly is filled with rewards of a sort we know nothing about. When we got to her house I carried one of the girls inside, and she peered at me with huge blue eyes, uncertain who I was or where she was. One of the older children was measuring some fabric; another was sitting by the window in a rocking chair. The house was simple and beautiful in its simplicity. Someone had recently done a bunch of canning; there were jars lined up on the floor in one corner – a LOT of jars! Delilah thanked me and told me her son-in-law would do something in return; I told her sometimes no reward is needed – just to be able to help in some small way is enough.

I very much enjoyed the drive home. The sun was beautiful, it was after 5:30 and about the only traffic I passed in those 14 miles was Amish traffic – on foot, in carts, in buggies, wagons, hay wagons, etc. I was remembering learning how to really drive on those back country roads when I was a teenager – my cousins and I were free to travel and roam and explore. I considered how different our lives were compared to those of all the Amish children then, and wondering how their lives have fared since then. Speaking today with Henry really made me stop and think about the fragile nature of life and how quickly things can and do change. You just have to appreciate each and every moment while you can, and be grateful for the things that remind you to do so.

Black Lake, New York

July 1, 2015 Black Lake, NY

Here I am. The summers of my youth spent here – long beautiful sunny, summer days; long rainy damp days spent reading, listening to music, spending time with my sisters or my cousins – my family all around. Sometimes friends would come up here with us, but mostly it was all family. The memories we made are precious, and all of us remember different moments. For so many of us, it is our happy place, and we are so blessed that we can still go “home” to our memories, both physically and mentally.

Today I woke to the rain. A lot of rain. Right now, several hours later, the rain has let up, but a cool, fresh breeze blows. The birds are singing, the crows are cawing out back in the fields. The water, higher right now because of spring thaws and decent amounts of rain, laps against and over the dock and against the shore. Across the lagoon, to the Point, as we always called it, the water level is still below where it was for so many years. Old moss and lichen stretch upward, away from the water, and two old row boats, upside down, are partially submerged, the water causing a popping sound that echoes across the lagoon as it gently knocks underneath the boats. Last year my dad had the Amish build a wonderful porch on the front, or lakeside, of the house. It spans from one end to the other. At first my sisters and I were a little skeptical – it sounded like a monstrosity. I am the first to see it, and I admit, I like it very much. It allows much more outdoor time than ever before. The old deck was not covered, and when it rained, getting outside involved huddling under umbrellas. Now being outside is a luxury I am really liking a lot. There are tons of chairs, hanging chairs, tables, etc. that make it such a wonderful addition.

Earlier I could hear the mournful sound of a barge out on the St. Lawrence River, which is about 10 miles north, and runs parallel to Black Lake. I am hearing, across the lake, the steady clip clop of an Amish horse and buggy on Hwy 37. At this point, the lake is roughly about ¾ of a mile across, my best guess, but sound travels over the water, and the wind almost always blows this way (south). There is some automobile traffic I can also hear, as people travel to and from Hammond to Ogdensburg, or any point in between. We live on the south side of the lake, on the eastern end. Although we are not exactly in the middle, there is a good distance of lake on either end. The eastern end runs toward the Oswegatchie River, although it is pretty tough to travel the distance by boat; the lake becomes shallow and grass takes over. This lake was formed eons ago by the movement of the glaciers. Most of the rocks bear the scars of glacial scratches. As kids that was thrilling, but also commonplace to us. Now I can appreciate the beauty and significance of that. Some people really never have the opportunity to experience such a thing. 

Wonderful Tunbridge

June 25, 2015

My last morning in Tunbridge. It is such a charming place, Vermont. It gets under your skin. It’s odd how places can become that thing you have been missing and not even recognizing you are. There are a few cities and outlying areas I don’t believe I would care to live in, but there is so much appeal statewide. The slower pace of life – one is forced to slow down. Nothing is really in a hurry; time lines become blurred somehow. And yet there is a vibrancy here, too, of lives being truly lived with just enough. The edges of my days are soft and comforting. I know this past week has brought me more pure relaxation than I have felt in many, many years. The happiness inside me fills my stomach with a warmth that just wants to spill outside of me.

It’s hard to not mention the weather. I’ve lived in Florida longer now than I really ever thought I would. As a child I never desired to live there – life just took me that way, and circumstance has kept me there. I can feel in my heart that the time for change is coming, but just not now. Just now I am relishing being north again – my heart and soul are truly northern; I recognize this every time I head this way. Today’s porch morning is a cool 55°. The humidity is high – 90% but it is harder for me to be uncomfortable when the air is so fresh and clean. The sky is blue and cloudless. Right now there is no breeze; the flag hangs limp, quietly waiting for the next breeze to stir it into action.

My brother and sister-in-law live in a 180-year old farm house. It’s in the middle of the little sleepy town of Tunbridge around 45 minutes from Montpelier, the state capital, and roughly 20 miles from the New Hampshire border and Dartmouth. They live on Highway 110, and traffic is steady past their house, yet not brutal. All in all there are around 35 houses in this charming little place. The side yard once was the village green, but the man who lived in this house at the turn of the 20^th century bought the land and incorporated it into the 2 acres the house is situated on. The post office is literally next door – adjoined through the village green. The public library is directly across the street from that, and next to that is a brick building which used to be a creamery. It has this fabulous old, rusty fire whistle on the equally oxidized old tin roof. Two doors down in the other direction is the local country store, which stocks funky little items intermixed with a few absolute basic necessities. Directly across the street from the house is a guard rail which, if one steps over, leads down a steep bank to a branch of the White River. The sound of the river creates a white noise background (in between the cars rushing by) and the trill of birds in all the surrounding trees is so sweet. It’s a peaceful, joyful retreat for me.

A 180-year-old house has some eccentricities and quirks, and requires a lot of maintenance. In this regard it must be a completely overwhelming prospect to both Bobby and Betsy. The plumbing is old and outdated – last done in the 1960s, but all is totally functional.  The house smells wonderfully of dusty, clean old wood, the floors creak, doors have difficulty staying shut. The screen door gives a satisfying creaky groan as it opens and closes with a satisfying “thwack”– a sound that makes me smile each time I hear it. They are long time antique collectors, and their treasures can be found in every crack and crevice imaginable – it is like a treasure trove – every time I turn around I see something new, but old, and wonderful. There are five bedrooms; one room is blocked off, and that in itself is so intriguing! There is a back staircase that leads from the pantry off the kitchen up to this closed off room. The door to that room links through Bobby and Betsy’s room, and on through to the front bedroom closet. It’s very unique and delightful to me. I find myself lost in thought throughout the day – imagining the lives lived here in this house, and all that the house has seen. It’s almost cliché to say “if these walls could talk”, but I cannot help think it! The changes it has been through – the seasons of change weathered on all levels.

Living in Florida I experience lots of blooming things – tropical, sub-tropical lushness. Here in the northeast, the growing season is fast and furious. Vegetables grow quicker and larger; I am convinced the cooler nights and rich soil have so much to do with it. The crops all around are planted, but not a whole lot is flourishing just yet. The corn is still small – the tallest stalks I’ve seen are still not knee-high for me. I am experiencing this wonderful feeling of freshness, of seasons, of time passing. It seems to me that living in Florida somehow dulls all that –time slows, somehow, even though the pace of life is much faster. I feel like I have somehow stepped into a different skin. I know my thoughts are different, that my feelings are not so close to the surface, and that I am just watching the days right now with an eye that is just absorbing it all. I feel almost like I am observing, making mental notes and storing all this loveliness to take out for later days. It’s an odd, disjointed feeling, but I am feeling grateful for it just the same. I know in a few weeks when I go back my life will be there waiting, but I am thoroughly enjoying this respite.