It was such a lovely day I thought it a pity to get up.
But I did. As I do every day, even if it's a day in which I cannot take a seat at my desk. And every day that passes, every day of these last two weeks plus some, as such reminds me of how little I've accomplished—at least in terms of scribbling out anything cogent. But school, you see, ended. Summer began. Maine awaited. Celebrations befell. The beach beckoned. Flower and herb pots called (although I've not returned the message). My niece, the Magpie, stayed with us for several days. She loves to flit about and take one thing from another to build something of her own. Anything really. She's a wonder. Then, there was the search for a new car which quite literally gobbled time. True, it ate up every last morsel. And drooled some. (How in the world could I have expected less?) Mourning the loss of the ten-year-old car: entirely unexpected.
I've gone and done something ridiculous. Three rows. For the kids. Ridiculous. Less efficient. She's a beast. An ebony zaftig. A sphinx I can't seem to crack. But she gets six to the beach quite comfortably. And what a beach. Not the beach to which absolutely everyone-and-their-in-laws-in-the-burbs clusters. Oh no. I never liked that beach. Not even as a teen. Back then it had a crowded boardwalk, loud radios, gum-snapping dolls, the scent of baby oil, and lots of gold chains. (But the bus got me there and so I went.) I doubt it's changed much. Maybe it has. Regardless. It's still crowded. At the beach, I don't want to run into people I know. Unless I've planned it. Otherwise, I want Maugham in my lap and a lifeguard who watches the kids.
He did not know how wide a country, arid and precipitous, must be crossed before the traveller through life comes to an acceptance of reality. It is an illusion that youth is happy, an illusion of those who have lost it; but the young know they are wretched, for they are full of the truthless ideals which have been instilled into them, and each time they come in contact with the real they are bruised and wounded. ~William Somerset Maugham, Of Human Bondage.
I stored chicken stock in an old glass milk bottle. Lulu thought it was lemonade and drank it. Seriously, Mom? Did you have to put it in a milk bottle?! It was not the sort of thirst quenching drink she'd anticipated. Should I have labeled it? I thought that it so closely approximated a urine specimen that she'd surely steer clear. Besides, who would drink something from a milk bottle that did not even remotely resemble milk?
At the graduation party for her granddaughter, the valedictorian, Aunt Sue (Mother's sister) came bearing gifts for her three nieces. A box of Grandmother's books with copyrights dated from the 1920s (W. Somerset Maugham's Short Stories) through 1979 (Barbara Taylor Bradford's A Woman of Substance). Backwoods Betty grabbed The Case of the Cautious Coquette, from Erle Stanley Gardner's Perry Mason series. I took Roman MacDougald's The Whistling Legs, and Carter Dickson's The Cavalier's Cup. As well as the Short Stories of W. Somerset Maugham. (Grandma, it seems, liked mysteries. Aunt Sue, it seems, was surprised by this.) Mary glanced at the box and quickly turned and walked away before any of us could put a hardcover in her hand. I don't blame her. The dusty novels are not allergen-free. Mother, curious as to the box's contents, pulled out a few titles but ultimately slipped them back in, refraining as well.
For a while, when I was a girl, Grandmother lived on a dairy farm. My goal for quite some time during those years was to finagle, each summer weekend, an overnight stay at her place on the farm. Once there, I stole eggs out from under the hens in the chicken coop, chased cats up trees, jumped from the third floor to the second in the hayloft, milked cows, hugged goats and played with the Wright girls at their homestead across the street from the barn. Sometimes, I got to ride Missy the pony. Back then, I welcomed the respite from the noise of the city and the opportunity to run wild while Grandmother baked a strawberry-rhubarb pie. I do not remember ever seeing on the bookshelves of Grandmother's apartment any of the amusing old titles that Aunt Sue had packed in a box. Come to think of it, I do not remember ever drinking milk there, but I do recall whipping cream with a hand blender to the thickest peak in the state. And pouring it over pie.
From the bottom of the stairs Max calls up to me. It's late and he should be getting to bed. Instead he's asking: Oh hey Mom, do you know what this stuff is that's in a dairy bottle?
What stuff, Max? I shout down to him, chuckling to myself, as I try to finish this piece.
It looks like pee. Do you know what it is? It's in that milk bottle? What is it?
Now, I cannot stop laughing. It's funny what one should decide to ask. Or what one thinks oughtn't (or needn't) be asked. I reveal the secret, and decide to close up shop and return to Maugham. I can no longer concentrate. So much for cogency.
Summer Hours: Here and there, like the Magpie. Friday Night Frolics optional. Time off with the kids, mandatory.
(By the way, is anyone reading Joe Blair? I like this guy, and he keeps a blog, too. See his latest post here. )
Rusted Root - Send Me on My Way by wayne21
oh, jayne, those gum snapping, radio blaring, gold chain kinds of beaches....what, you mean you don't like those??? as you probably know, we don't have to deal with any of that in maine (although popham and seawall have lost a lot of their remote sections due to storm surges) nor did i growing up near cranes's beach in ipswich, mass. all these beaches are pure pleasure. you can walk for miles, although these days i hear crane's has gotten somewhat mobbed, and expensive.
ReplyDeletechicken broth in a milk bottle....that's something my mother used to do...
welcome back.
Mignon (what a beautiful name :)) - This difference is that when I was young, even if I didn't like something, I could tolerate it. After all, the young party girl in me sometimes craved a crowd--but not on the beach. Maine has an absolutely gorgeous coastline. Our place is inland so we don't often travel to the Maine beaches (with the exception of Bar Harbor, which is not too far from our place). I like to take the Portland 295 bypass so I can get a glimpse of the crystal clear coastline on our way up. North of Boston, also, yes, quite lovely.
DeleteThanks for letting me know I'm not alone in filling old milk bottles with foreign substances. ;)
Welcome home Jayne. I thoroughly enjoyed this morning’s post. Your writing was impatient with waiting, dying to speak, and here it finally is, so crisp and angled, taking corners like an imported racecar all the way to Grandmother’s farm. Thank you for that.
ReplyDeleteSpeaking of cars, congratulations on your new mom mobile—three rows of belted occupants, filling the space with hormones and size 13 flip-flops.
I miss those days. Now I drive a compact with two furry faces staring at me–wiggling and wining to be let loose from their dog seat. They agree with everything I do and if they don’t…well it’s just too bad. Not much of a challenge. I miss how my teens were able to wrangle me into an argument over the most ridiculous things, or how they would beg me to blast their metal madness CD’s on my car’s system. Now that’s a real time passer on long rides.
Enjoy the teen days dear Jayne; they were my favorite. Thank you for sharing them here. And by the way, Somerset Maugham is next on my reading list.
XO
It's good to be back, Leah--even if I'll be in and out quite often. You're so right, I was utterly impatient. My typing skills could not keep up with my thoughts!
DeleteIt's counterintuitive for me to purchase a less fuel-efficient monster vehicle (especially when, at my age, I ought to be buying a compact), but the kids are at that age where they want friends to travel with us, but cannot yet drive. Thus, the new SUV (as the old one was getting, well, old.) Which means this may be a car that I won't drive into the ground--as I have with so many others. Maybe Lulu, if she's lucky, will inherit it a few years from now. But first I have to pay the dang thing off.
In the meantime, it is fun to have a group of boisterous kids in the car with me. Always lively! I'll bet I'll miss that, too. ;)
'I stored chicken stock in an old glass milk bottle. Lulu thought it was lemonade and drank it. Seriously, Mom? Did you have to put it in a milk bottle?! It was not the sort of thirst quenching drink she'd anticipated. Should I have labeled it? I thought that it so closely approximated a urine specimen that she'd surely steer clear. Besides, who would drink something from a milk bottle that did not even remotely resemble milk?'
ReplyDeleteI slapped my forehead in shock when I read this. Then, I cringed and laughed.
The loss of a ten-year-old car! Oh, how I feel that, Jayne. I just got the timing belt replaced on my eleven-year-old car. 217,000 miles. I hope to take it for another 100K spin. How I would mourn were I not to reach that goal!
Suze- Yes, you see, this little scenario w/Lu, and the later one w/Max, perfectly illustrates the difference in my two muses. Lulu: headfirst dive into everything. Max: wades in slowly. I still can't imagine what in the world that girl was thinking! At least she guzzled something nutritious. ;)
DeleteAin't it great to drive a car to its very limit? I've never been big on trading in cars after a few years--I like to get my money's worth out of a thing. Sometimes, even after its useful life. And especially when it's been so good to me. Good luck with your 11 year old!
Hi Jayne, I've spent almost an hour on your blog just exploring. How wonderful it is! Your writing is beautiful. I laughed at the chicken stock in the old milk bottle. Reminded me when my mother made tea in the coffee pot. I poured a cup then promptly ran to the bathroom to throw up. I may be Southern, but I've never liked tea. And I completely understand your affection for your old car. We still have my daughter's 2001 Honda Civic, her H.S. graduation present, in our garage. It's name is Rhonda. Yes, Rhonda the Honda. :)
ReplyDeleteThanks for visiting my blog. Not nearly as wonderful as yours. I'll be back to discover more about you and musicians I don't know.
Jess- I'm so glad to know that you enjoyed your jaunt around SS. :)
Delete(And not true, your blog is wonderful!)
You did not like tea so I can understand your reaction to not consuming what you'd expected. But my daughter happens to really like chicken broth (but usually warmed), yet she was disgusted by what she had drank! I suppose when we don't get what we expect it's a shock no matter how we feel about what we've received.
Oh, sweet you're holding onto Rhonda the Honda. I would have liked to hold on to my old car, but my son said that he'd never drive it (something about mother's mark being all over it) and we don't really have the room to store it. I have a feeling he won't be driving as soon as he can anyway--to many other things on!
W. Somerset Maugham is one of my favorite authors.
ReplyDeleteReally, youth is not all it's cracked up to be. Actually, I find myself happier at 65 than I ever was when I was young.
Congratulations on the new ride. I've only bought one new car by myself and it was such a chore trying to make the right decision. In the end I opted for reliability and went with an Accord.
I'm so glad you're back!
Hadn't really read him before, Rubye, but thoroughly enjoying his short stories!
DeleteI think that another reason I tend to hold on to vehicles is that, like you, I loathe the process of finding the right car. In fact, my husband picked out this and the last car. I just went in for the test drives--but conducted a LOT of online research. And then, once you're in a dealership, they don't let you out too quickly. I'm glad that part of it is over.
Good to be back here, Ru. :)
You know when i went to school in the stix i'd sit on back porches drinking beer and smoking weed and staring off at the trees and listening to the occassional car and i'd be restless for a bit, looking for action, anything really to do but after awhile i'd settle in with some tunes and a friend or two and we'd just sit and contemplate, very peaceful... now as for the beach we are polar opposites, as you know i've always gravitated to the dirties, most crowded cesspools the Eastern shore has to offer, better to blend into the gold and gum snapping when one is completely off his head on drugs...as for accomplishing anything of substance at the typer, hah, i haven't done anything for months.
ReplyDeleteKono- I have a feeling that w/your boyos, you're going to be searching for some quieter coastline. And really enjoying it. I've no doubt.
DeleteI've read your recent posts and there's plenty of substance. Yup. You know exactly what you're doing. ;)
for adventurous kids nothing beats spending summer on a farm. my cousins and i got into more than a few scrapes whilst being renegades with guns, old trucks and bulls. those were the days my friend!
ReplyDeleteWow, Billy. How come my grandmother didn't live on a farm like that. Oh boy, I woulda really found trouble. Best it was a dairy farm. ;)
DeleteOne loves Maugham.
ReplyDeleteI'm falling... ;)
DeleteMy boys would never have had to ask about the mysterious substance in the milk bottle, because my daughter is such an over-reactor that nobody within a ten-mile radius would have escaped the story of how her mother tried to poison her with chicken stock!
ReplyDelete(That's just too funny. I think I would have burst out laughing, too.)
Nessa- LOL! Girls. If Lulu had been around for the day, and evening, I'm sure she would have given her big bro the heads up--in great detail. Drama. Girls!
DeleteCars always seem to go when it's least expected, don't they? Great descriptions of the overcrowded beach and your grandma's farm. Hope you're enjoying your summer.
ReplyDeleteTim- I think I could have gotten quite a few more miles out of the old car, but she was getting to the point of where replacement of parts is a usual and necessary event. Better to cut my losses, even if she'd been a terrific girl up to that point. Plus, the kids can now take their respective friends with us up to Maine. And the beach. And wherever else their little hearts desire. Mama, though, still has to get used to the bigger lady. ;)
DeleteEnjoy your summer, too--hope you have a nice long, school vaca!
Gum snappin' radio blarin' et al....i love it!
ReplyDeleteGreat descriptors one and all....ive said it once and will say it again, like that kafka character you are metamorphosing (???)into something different with this writing...keep going!
Dan- Will the metamorphoses result in a grotesque, pesky buzz? Hehe. Off to the beach again this week. At the beach last week. And the beach, well, maybe for the rest of the summer! (Don't I wish.) Not much time for writing/reading (or working for that matter!) this season. Thanks for being here, as always. :)
DeleteI have been eager to find a quiet moment to thoroughly read this post since I first spied that gorgeous old Maugham book cover. Finally, the moment has arrived, and so much to savor here, a beautiful weaving together of the "silly" present (three rows! what's in that milk bottle!), with the memory-glow of the past.
ReplyDeleteSusan- Thank you for waiting for that quiet moment. Seems they are all too rare for me these days. I have to tell you, I made iced tea in the milk bottle yesterday, and the kids made sure they smelled the contents first!
DeleteJayne, I am with you on Maine beckoning. We just bought our little piece of heaven in Maine and weekends will be wonderfully spent with our children (who are less and less children and more adults) while we can.
ReplyDeleteWhere in Maine, Bill? And congratulations--wonderful news! I'm looking forward to returning there soon.
DeleteFunny, at the ortho the other w/Max for an evaluation, the doc says: "Well, he's a 25 year old kid in a twenty year old body. It's no wonder he doesn't want braces." Ha! Well, if he were 20, he might be easier to negotiate with. ;)
Aren't you sorry you missed your daughter's face after she took a swing of the chickenade? Your memories of life on your grandmother's farm sound delightful.
ReplyDeleteHilary- When I first read this--chickenade--I laughed out loud! I think we may have something entirely new to market here. You think the world is ready for it?
DeleteJayne- Your Grandmother's farm. Strawberry rhubarb pie. Hand whipped cream. Hugging a goat. Maybe Maugham is onto something with his thoughts on ideals. I still like the sound of your Grandmother's farm. We've tried to instill some of our values of goodness in our kids. The ability to hope and dream. Maybe being bruised builds character. Nice writing. You make me think.
ReplyDeleteOh yes, Scott, the farm was ideal. Especially to someone who played, rather than worked, there.
DeleteBruised, failure, embarrassment-- all those awful feelings of which we wish to spare our children are definitely character building moments. And hopefully, ideally, for all, tempered by lots of love and goodness. You've, no doubt, done a fine job with your babes. ;)
Jayne: Another great post! I was laughing at your son calling to you upstairs. Great dialogue! Car purchases can be very stressful. I'm glad mine ended 14 months ago. Nice to be here!
ReplyDeleteSheesh Michael, I'm just looking at the date stamp of your (and others) comments here, and I'm thoroughly embarrassed it's taken me so long to get back to everyone. It's taking me even longer to visit. And write!
DeleteHope your 14 month old is being good to you. ;)
Dear Jayne,
ReplyDeletethrough husband's accidnt I am very late to comment on your very amusing post! It made me remember when I visited my Grandmother von Kroge, who kept some sheeps and chicken - and I, being 4, helped to make butter in a churn and collecting eggs.
Chicken soup in a milk bottle - I say!
Somerset Maugham was a real surprise for me, when I bought some of his novels and stories - I only remembered him through school lecture in English (though I always remembered 'Outstation' - because I hate it too, when somebody reads the newspaper before me. Now I get it first - husband is still in hospital - and I don't like it either; seems I'm complicated :-)
Oh dear, Brigitta, and I'm SO late in returning your comment! "Grondmother von Kroge." Now that is quite a name. Churning butter with Grandmother von Kroge: even better.
DeleteMaugham is to be savored, eh? I hope your husband is feeling better these days. :)
(Complicated is good. ;))
I don't see any misery here? Neither do I see great, abandoned, shouts of happiness - that much over-rated and never to be searched for state of mind. Instead I see a funny, average, real life tale of an ordinary day or two, with a bit of stream of consciousness, an amusing tale or two, a touch of nostalgia thrown in.
ReplyDeleteNow that's what I call a blog post I do NOT need to take the mickey out of (bad grammar, I know).
Abandoned shouts of happiness. Yes, Friko, that can give me a headache. An uncomfortable state of mind. ;)
DeleteI'm glad that you, instead, saw humor and, ordinary, real-life story. Tells me I hit my mark. ;)
oh those pesky unidentified liquids in label-less jars. reminds me when my mother in law was taking care of my daughter and poured apple juice into her tippee cup. upon seeing my daughter's screwed up face and subsequent spit-take she realized the straw-colored liquid was not apple juice but chardonnay.
ReplyDeleteHa! Amanda- that's hysterical! Chardonnay! Seriously, sound like something I could have easily done back in the day of "mommy's little helper" - desperate for sanity, bottle close at hand, baby safely strapped in chair. Ha! (I am not at all implying that your m-i-l has the same alcoholic tendencies as I may have. ;))
DeleteWhen I was a kid, my parents had the complete works of Somerset Maugham in the bookshelf (and they probably still have). I read some, but never got really hooked on it.
ReplyDeleteI used to enjoy crowded beaches when I was younger, in particular the beaches crowded with girls >:)
Cold As Heaven
Complete works? Wow. True Maugham fans.
DeleteYes, I could see you enjoying a crowded beach littered with bikini-clad girls. Well, er, I suppose I can see any man enjoying this. ;)
In my refrigerator are many unidentifiable things. They get in there when I point to a tiny leftover and say "shall we throw this out?" and Dave says, "no, put it in a tub and we'll throw it out in a couple weeks." I do remember wise words from some comic who said if you can't tell whether it's cake or meat, throw it out. I think the same applies to milk and chicken stock.
ReplyDeleteMurr- I used to have that disease: do not throw it out until it has evolved into something unidentifiable. Got it from my mother. (Happy to say I am now cured.) Thanks to you, though, I have some good advice to pass on the Mother: cake or meat? Funny though, she doesn't really like either--which is perfect!
DeleteNice post as always Jayne - I haven't read much of him but found an old copy of Of Human Bondage recently - was hooked. Happy hols.
ReplyDeleteOf Human Bondage- quite a read, David. His shorts are good, too.
DeleteHad a wonderful 4th. The celebration lasted for quite a stretch! :)
I've always wanted to play in a hay loft and eat strawberry-rhubarb pie. I grew up in the country, as I think you know, but I never did either of those things. And real whipped cream is a beautiful, beautiful thing, so much better than just mere milk.
ReplyDeleteHow lucky would every city kid be to have a grandma with a farm in the country where they could spend a weekend? So that's what I need to do: find a surrogate farm-living grandma for my poor city-raised children.
Hillary- "a surrogate farm-living grandma for my poor city-raised children." You know, that could be a new career for you. I'll bet you'd be well compensated by many a parent for placing city kids w/a surrogate farm-living grandma for the weekend. Let me know when you find one!! ;)
DeleteWe so easily forget the most essential task, to be. No product to share on etsy, but no supplies required for its non-production, it may lend itself to brief blog words or it may not. Accept the gift of not doing, at least not doing in the usual, 3/4 of the year sense. It all sounds like a dream, a faerie realm, a treasure. Enjoy. xo
ReplyDeleteWhy is it so difficult at times, Marylinn, to accept the gift of not doing? This summer, I am more determined than ever, though, to accept. To not push anything that is not itself willing to, let's say, actuate--of it's own volition. No urgency, then. Just being: a treasure indeed. :)
ReplyDelete