"Flocks of the memories of the day draw near
the dovecoat doors of sleep"
Alice Meynell (1847-1922)
I am often asked how I remember all the little and trivial details of my life to write this blog. Oddly enough, much of it comes from dreams. I've always been a great sleeper and, at times, it is during these periods of slumber that these memories come racing through my mind. If I have the wherewithal, I will suddenly awaken and reach for the little red notebook I keep next to my side of the bed and jot down a few salient words to jog my memory the next day. The alternative is to wake the next morning and just hope I remembered my dream, a technique that often meets with failure. The paring process of the brain that comes with aging can often be merciless and frustrating.
The other reliable mechanism is jaunts into our basement which is filled with boxes and cartons. There's a whole section of this vast cavern dedicated to each of our kids, Marc's with original Starwars and plastic Greyskull swords as well as samples of his poetry and programs of school plays in which he performed, Brooke's with her Barbies, My Little Ponies, Crafts, and athletic awards....and, oh, so much more. I think we raised our kids to become a Renaissance man and woman.
Then, in the center of the room are not only the thousands of photos and memorabilia of Suzanne's and my life together, but that of our parents, grandparents and even great-grandparents! To look at a photograph is a reawakening to another time and place...family, friends, trips, ancestors, etc. It embellishes one's focus on life, seeing those who are no longer with us, during happier times as well as providing us with a reflection of who we were and at what time. It reminds me of Robert Frost's poem, "Choose Something Like a Star" "... It gives us strangely little aid, but does tell something in the end..."
The years living on Red Oak Lane, although covering much of our children's formative years, were fleeting. The little pin oak and pine trees we planted and the lawn we seeded when we moved in were now in a mature state. It was a lovely neighborhood on a cul-de-sac, providing safe places for play and within walking distance of the Erie Canal with its trail ideal for running and biking. I ran on that trail every other day for 12 years, rain, snow, or shine.
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| Our plantings in the Fall |
The neighbors were diverse and interactive. Next door were the Kindigs, with a nice pool in their back yard. Marc, at one point of his childhood was somewhat water shy. Mark Kindig one day offered him $5 if he'd jump off the diving board into the deep end. I guess that was enough incentive for Marc to overcome his aversion. Not only was he proud of himself but $5 richer!
The neighbors on the other cul-de-sac used to pejoratively refer to our street as "Apathy Lane" because we weren't as gung-ho with parties and hanging out in each others kitchens. We respected our neighbor's privacy and got together when invited. Then, in 1991, on Friday, March 4th, we were hit with the worst ice storm in the history of the northeast United States. We had a freezing rainfall for 17 hours leaving 3/4" of ice covering everything with 2/3rds of the trees in the area damaged or destroyed. We were without power or heat for over a week and we slept in front of our wood fireplace every night for the duration. The neighbors all got together and helped each other out. Rich Cirino up the street was an engineer and helped me devise an auxiliary sump pump with a marine battery and a garden hose, saving our basement from flooding. If a family had a generator, they would wire it across the street to a neighbor's house. We all survived and came out of it a much stronger neighborhood. It would be years before Suzanne and I had any desire to light a fireplace! Looking back, I remember examining kids in our cold pediatric office wearing ski parkas and using flashlights.
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| A street scene of the March 1991 ice storm |
Marc found himself by participating in writing, theater, track and cross country at school. Life-work balance was always a struggle for us, both working and trying to get to our kid's events...but we usually made it! Once I left the office to catch Marc's Cross-Country race and, after driving for a half-hour, arrived just in time to see him cross the finish line, first place!
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| Marc, in one of the many school plays in which he had a role. |
Brooke achieved much success in tennis (All Finger-Lakes team), track (State Championships) and rowing. I used to go watch her tennis matches even though I'm sure it made her nervous. Mind you, I was not the quintessential sports dad, I just enjoyed watching them have fun. Apparently, one day, Brooke's tennis coach noticed a man in the adjacent woods, watching the girls play tennis with binoculars. He cautiously came up behind the man and asked him what he was doing there...as he pointed at the tennis match, he said, "That's my daughter playing that match and this is as close as she allows me to watch her!!!"
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| Marc on the right, handing off the baton. |
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| Brooke preparing for her season. |
Next to the Kindigs was the late and great Jo Jo White, a former Olympian and star of the Boston Celtics. Occasionally, I'd see him in his driveway shooting hoops by himself. One day, as I drove by, I impulsively yelled out of my car window..."Hey Jo Jo, how'd you like to go one on one with me?" This never bore fruit because all he did was laugh at me!
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| My neighbor in his prime! |
During our time in that home, our kids got to experience death for the first time. My dad, who was now living in a senior living community in the neighboring town of Penfield, suddenly passed away. And then, our Golden Retriever, Scoot also suddenly died in our family room from unknown causes. Books on death from people like Fred Rodgers were quite helpful on explaining death to kids. We were very reluctant to get another dog because, after Rex and Scoot, I came to the realization that falling in love with our dogs was always met with the sad reality that their life spans were much shorter than ours. That being said, one day, a good neighbor, Tom Day, called me up and asked if Brooke could come over as "there was someone special he wanted her to meet". With great suspicion, I walked her down to the end of our circle and there was Tom with the most beautiful little Beagle puppy, already named "Ivy" by her previous owner, a retired dentist who found he could no longer care for a new pup. We were instantly smitten and I caved into Brooke's request to adopt this little imp.
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| "Ivy" |
The remainder of our time in that home was spent working, watching the kids grow up, traveling, spending a week each summer on Upper Saranac Lake, and going down to Cherry Valley. Suzanne's dad's dairy farm came upon hard times, as many similar farms, and the land was taken over by the local school district where they built a big, modern central school, having sadly demolished the farmhouse where she grew up as well as the barn and other out buildings. We decided to buy an 18 acre plot of land down the country road from the former farm and build a timber frame home on the hillside overlooking neighboring farmland and, most of all, the valley.
With the help of New Energy Works, we planned the house and, eventually had an old-time house-raising with the kids and our friends. The timberframe was enclosed over the next few months and the inner carpentry done by a young local carpenter who had been an English major at Washington and Lee, giving us advice not only on carpentry but good books to read. It's been about 25 years now since we built it and, it has given us enormous pleasure, getting out into the countryside as well as enjoying some of the local villages. I never cease to be amazed at the beauty of the interior frame. The house is, fortunately, only 9 minutes from the Glimmerglass Opera Festival which we've attended for many years. Our kids cut their opera teeth on many of these great performances.
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| A view from the pond in winter |
At some point, the Kindigs moved away on Red Oak Lane and although the neighborhood's diversity was an attraction for us with three African-American families on our street, the new next door neighbor did not speak kindly of them and was blatantly racist. Despite my telling him his language was inappropriate with no change in sight, we decided to move closer in towards Rochester. It's interesting how one new neighbor can ruin a neighborhood.
Marc, now attending university in Toronto, came home to help us pack up and move. I remember he was in the basement and he found a black box that curiosity caused him to open. He came up the stairs and was covered with soot and asked, "Dad, what was it that box I just opened, it was full of dust!" I realized this was the box that Scoot's ashes had been delivered to us and we hadn't had time to spread them on her favorite trail!
I have no idea why, but we ended up buying a large 1920's home in Brighton. It was stately with beautiful grounds and gardens. Marc had his own quarters in the wing where the maid used to live. There were these buzzer buttons all over the house that were used to summon "the help". Somehow, no one ever came when I pressed them!
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