Tuesday Morning

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My last day alone in Provincetown. Liz will arrive from Connecticut, then JB.
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My last morning alone, Stella and I walking a long block or two past an amazing abundant apple tree, past the cemetery where the captains and fishermen and their wives and babies are buried, as far back as the 1700's;
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Past these small houses and even smaller yards in Ptown where a single dahlia is cause for celebration;
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I drop Stella back home and head 'downtown', a comical term in this town where the main street runs 3 or 4 miles, from the east end to the west end, and if you walk it, you feel like you've been plucked into Appreciationville.
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I am at the Post Office. How old is this building?
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How comfortingly old it is. Majestic, even.

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I mail silly postcards to my children clients. Ny first supervisor recommended that to me for when I am away and the kids may not be understand for sure that I am coming back. So I send a postcard that says 'see you soon."
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JB and I had one of these post office boxes when we lived here. It was one of my favorite things to do:

meander to pick up the mail.

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It's good to be back here. I haven't walked the streets too much yet. I recovered from my hot water plumbing problem and found myself with the symptoms of a pain-in-the ass cold. I lost a day lying on the couch saying WTF? But I wrote in between and how sorry could I feel for myself, really? I have the time to have a cold. I love where I am. No reason to complain.
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I visit 'her' every time. She lies outside of the A-House, a gay men's bar where anyone can go to dance, and what fun it is. I've only been twice but the strobe lights and the music and so many people having an unabashed time of it: wicked fun!
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I walk back home
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When Liz arrives, I read some of my snippets to her, we eat dinner at Cafe Heaven where I have fresh scallops from a fishing boat the next town over, and Liz and I get one good hug from the waiter and we laugh with the guy sitting beside us;

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We meet an unlikely and thoroughly interesting woman from New Orleans who lost everything in Hurricane Katrina and moved to Provincetown five years ago;

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We check out a couple of shops--Liz has favorites;

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We have a "visitation" in the Fudge Shop where I show Liz those home made giant peanut butter cups. ( I will have at least one before I leave);

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We sit on the brick steps of Spiritus Pizza and watch the world, in all its ages, stroll on by. I call Lo and it is good to hear her voice.

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JB arrives at midnight. We catch up with three days of show-and-tell. JB has framed two of her collages and they are stunning. She will offer them for sale at the YART in October. She is quietly delighted by the cooing responses from Liz and me.

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A good day. A very good day.

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The heart is thankful today.

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Love Love

kj

Animal Wednesday: The Poet Emily

I stole this picture

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Hello every one, it's me Emily. Did you think I was really in jail? Well, I kind of was but only for an hour because the local Board of Health said that rabbits are not allowed to be placed in jail with people so they called Animal Control but Animal Control said they do not get involved with animals who commit crimes unless it is because of destruction of property or barking too loud or growling at or biting little children and joggers and I didn't do any of that so they had to release me.
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Plus I was innocent.

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And it's a good thing because kj said she wouldn't put up my bail this time and Babs and Mr. Babs invited me to Oklahoma so I went there by bus, train, car, wheel barrel, wagon and go cart until I got to the Oklahoma City Go Cart and Bus Terminal and Babs picked me up and Mr. Babs made me a carrot salad for me which was very nice even though he forgot to include the raspberry dressing.

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Now I am at Cape Coddy with kj and Stella and I spent the day bobbing in the ocean with Muck, Truck and Fuck duck, who you may remember are my friends here, along with Gregory Squirrel who I will sneak out to meet later tonight we climb trees while he looks for nuts and I look for radishes and jellybeans.

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Last night I went to the birthday party of Thaddeus Rabbit, who is a well known poet. Here is a picture of him. Can you tell he is alittle odd? He writes poems about trees and mountains and gardens and streams. Very very boring. But you can see that he had a good time at his party. I don't know what happened to his ears and I almost asked him but I didn't.

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Since he is a poet, I decided to write my own poems instead. I am noticing that people don't know what to do when someone hurts their feelings or is mean to them so I am giving some rare lyrical free advice:

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# 1
Don't be mean

You lima bean!

If you aren't nice

I'm throwing ice

at your head

so you better tread

and be sweet instead

I could could even throw

wet spaghetti too.

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# 2

If you start boasting

You won't be coasting

because I'll start toasting

and your a__ will be roasting!

(it could be a___: ankle)

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#3

go away you pickle!

you're not worth a nickel!

not even candy

can make you dandy!

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#4

if you are hatching

to be clingy and latching

I will throw ink at you

and you will turn blue.

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I hope this is a good start.

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Don't let any one push you around.

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And don't forget you can always cry very very loud. But also kick your feet straight up in the air.

At the same time is best.
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Sincerely

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Emily V. V. Rabbit

A Snippet: Lost Love

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Casey cannot find her shoes, her pocketbook, her earrings, her calendar, her checkbook, her car keys. This is a common occurrence in the life of Casey and Yan.
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“Help!” she says.
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“What do you need?” Yan says.
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“My fricking sandals.”
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Yan puts the paper down, stands, walks and bends.
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“Here they are, honey.”
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“How do you always manage to find things for me?”
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Yan smiles, “I look.”
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* I cannot tell you if Emily Rabbit will be contributing to Animal Wedneday this week. She is currently playing and bobbing with Muck, Truck, and F--- Duck in Cape Coddy. I've told her she needs to be home for supper...

A Night & a Day

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She loves it. Her surgery has not gone well and her right back leg is weak. Somedays she just wants to lie quietly on her bed. She has never been a water dog.
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We both had a tough night. I have been writing up a storm, 'storm' with a double meaning. The words are not easy but they are spilling out. I am very pleased really, but it is not easy.

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But last night was wonderful. It is quiet and peaceful and cozy and breezy here in Provincetown. I didn't go out yesterday, except for walks with Stella. Last night I wrote, I read, I thought and relaxed.

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I love the rain. I know not everyone does. Stella doesn't. (understatement!) It poured last night. I closed every open window (all of them!), gave Stella some Rescue Remedy to calm her nerves.

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I went upstairs to bed in a lovely calm place.

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Then!

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When I went to turn off the hot water faucet, it crumbled in my hand. In pieces. I tried to shut the faucet off for 45 minutes. I found a screwsdriver, a wrench. I tried to shut off the valve. No way. I closed the bathroom door and nervously hoped the water would not back up, would not overflow.

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Then!

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Stella was whining. I got out of bed, went downstairs and lay on the couch, my hand on her back for an hour or more. When I woke up, I remembered the hot water was still on.

It was a sleepless night!

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The plumber came at noon. I flunked 'environmental consciousness' school today. All that hot water made me think of BP and all that oild pouring forth.

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I am still tired.

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But a walk to the bay changes things fast. What a luxury. Even Stella said so.

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Love

kj

Renee's Book of Love

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It's been almost six months since Renee died. Not all of my friends and visitors here know Renee, but many of us walked with her during her courageous and gutsy and insightful and inspiring life and death. Saying that she is missed is the biggest understatement that could ever be.
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When Renee died, I committed to putting together a book, primarily for her family and friends, composed of the love stories and relationships Renee had with so many blogging friends.
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So far we have 33 stories written (click on my side bar for the link) and many more expected. I have not written mine yet; many of us struggle to find words to convey how much she handed over, how deeply she is loved.
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I have not put a deadline on submitting stories but I think it's time to do that. When I return home at the end of August, I am going to ask for the support of my local cancer society to apply for a $ 1000 grant so Renee's Book of Love can be published.
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Our memories and tributes to Renee are so precious, but it's become clear that what is most precious is Renee's own words. So this book will include selected posts and essays from her blog.
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I've asked Renee's sister Camille to choose a favorite. I received her reply yesterday: it is the Christmas post when Renee received her We-Treasure-You Chest. You will find that post here today. Whether you knew and loved Renee or not,. I hope her words will bring comfort.
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So. Here is what I am asking:
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1. Please email your love letter and/or story about Renee to me no later than September 5th. It's okay to send along any graphics and images you would like included.
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Please be sure to include your Blog name, and if you don't mind, your real name, your email address, and the city and country where you live so I can credit you properly
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2. Do you have a favorite post by Renee? If so, let me know. As space allows, we'll try to include at least ten of Renee's incredible posts.
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3. Please spread the word. I don't claim to know all of Renee's special wonderful friends.
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Thank you.
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And now, if you have time, here's Senior Angel Renee and her family, grateful for the gifts bestowed upon them from all over the wide world:
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On Christmas Eve I received a treasure chest. It was gold and green speckled and I knew that it would leave an X marked on my heart forever, before I even opened it, I knew it would.
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Christmas day arrived with many bangs by the bats. They did not want to go outside to play; they said it was too cold. So inside they stayed. I fed them a little bit of bat poison and they seemed to fall asleep. Good thing.
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We had a wonderful Christmas dinner with curry shrimp, dhal purrie, stewed chicken, trifle and wine.
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We sang to Domenic ‘Domenicky nicky nicky nicky Domenicky nicky doo.’ We had tea served to us out of jeweled cups poured by Ms. Josephine using her Mrs. Potts teapot. I even got to drink out of Chip. She wheeled it around on its magic cart and how delicious it was to have invisible tea with nonexistent milk and fairy dust sugar. Nathan was quite happy as he scored the best gift for Josephine.

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We opened our gifts to each other and we all thanked and hugged one another. We all loved our gifts, all of our many gifts. We are so blessed.
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When we were done Nathan suggested that we all open the treasure chest and so we did. Oh what fun we had. Oh how blessed we felt.
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We opened the box.
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We gasped.
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You took our breath away. You all did.
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To see the astonishing gifts blossoming in front of us, the treasure was overflowing. Not only with gifts of love but with stunning splendor and glittering unexpected magic.
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We sounded like broken records saying ‘How can people be so generous. Look at this. How beautiful. How talented. How kind. How thoughtful. How humbled we are.’
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What did you do you lovely, lovely friends?
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You have given not only me these gifts, but all of us. You have given my children memories that they will always have. ‘Remember the time all those wonderful people sent all those wonderful gifts for Mom. And not only Mom but Auntie Jacquie too. Remember that Christmas as we all unwrapped something one at a time and marveled together.’
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You blew us away.
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The treasure chest full of treasure did more than make us happy, that would be an understatement. It was something else entirely, almost otherworldly. It was as though you were sitting there with us sharing love and fellowship, right there in that room with the Christmas tree in the corner and the family in awe. You were all with us. It was truly spiritual.
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Blessed be your hands, with which you have touched life in its beauty and in its need. You have given your hand in friendship, held out your hands to those who were suffering, worked with your hands to create. May your hands be blessed and held firmly in the hands of the Eternal forever. ~~ Kosu Boudreau ~~
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I have received many other Christmas treasures too, no they were not in the treasure box, but they were picked up off the sand on the way to the treasure. They were treasure that led me to more treasure; treasure that was just as treasured as the treasure in the box. I have had many dear friends mention on their blogs what has been happening in my life and asking for prayers of loving energy. I have had paintings done and poems written and I want you all to know I will never forget this.
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So many of the things we think about within our lives such as jobs, houses, possessions, etc. they count for almost nothing, really. Our lives are about people, and the people that we love.
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Truth be told, we are all better when we are together, not because we need each other but because of our faith and trust in each other.
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You all remind me that I am doing more than surviving this world and so are my kids and so are all of you. We are all thriving, and one of the reasons is because we have found each other and made love happen! Our hearts have met and that is what is important.
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I hope it is okay with everyone if I don’t mention the gift but just your names. The gifts are amazing and they consisted of paintings and boxes and a sacred spiral and ornaments, and necklaces, and dolls and silk scarves, and more cards and paintings and books and poems, and the most beautiful hanging bird that held a dream, healing eucalyptus, and a Renee Angel and a Jacquie Angel, and slippers that were made with bliss in every stitch and a scarf that I know was made the same way and a tea that was specially made to banish bats and an angel cup to drink the banishing tea. On and on and on they go; but I know that it is your heart that mattered; the heart that you put into the gifts.
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Thank you dear friends:
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Julie-Ann
kj and JB
Silke
Manon
Bella
Sweet Mango
Bonnie
Betty
Angela
Arija
BT
Corey
Marie
Debra
Manon
Laurel
Sarah
Tessa
Ribbon
Constance
Babs
Doris
Mim
Baino
Darla
Elizabeth
Ces
Pam
Deborah
Linda
Sonia
Lori Ann
Kelly
Caroline
Lulu
Annie
Jos
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If I have forgotten anyone, please forgive me, and let me know as I would like to add you to the list. It will be entirely my fault as my brain is a sieve.
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Jacquie, Camille, Nadalene and I sat at Jacquie’s going through the same magical routine with her gifts that were sent to her and she; like me, was humbled too. When Angelique, Josephine, Domenic and I had arrived at Jacquie’s she was crying and very sad. Everyone was able to go see our Mom at the hospital as she is very sick but Jacquie couldn’t just get up and go like everyone else. Jacquie had to stay home and miss our Mom from afar. It isn’t easy for Jacquie. When Nadalene and I left at night instead of tears Jacquie was smiling and ever so grateful for all the kindness that you have all extended to her. She remembered that there is a world that people do care for others. Jacquie asked that I let you all know that she is forever grateful.
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I am forever grateful to each and every one of you for the support that you have shown to me. I am glad to know that you all inhabit part of this space with me.
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Love Renee xoxo

Buy the Balls! Day 3 in Provincetown

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Today was my birthday. It was a day of easy moving, my favorite brunch, beaching at low tide, giving thanks.
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JB has gone home until Thursday. I am here in this coastal town at the land's end where each day I will write, blog, catch up, draw, walk the beach and walk Stella, shop alittle, socialize alittle.
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I do not spend much time totally alone and I welcome this chance to make my own acquaintance.
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Then, when JB comes back, we have written a list of things we want our vacation to include:
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tuna sushi at the Mews
kayaking
visit the metal man
look for a beautiful water container for the yard
visit the galleries
see "eat pray love" with liz
dinner at terra luna and front street
check out and hopefully blow up flo the giant giraffe
bike in the dunes
beach or pool every day unless it rains
fine arts center auction
look at real estate
jump up and down when lo and marianne come
meet jess and mike and mr. ryan and mr. baby drew at the Fishermen's wharf ferry
&
buy the balls!*
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I can't resist a good play on words. forgive my use of male body part street slang here, I can't help it. :) I really mean buy several blown glass balls for decorative purposes. (I'm sorry) (I can't stop giggling) (hahaha)
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So far I'd rate my vacation a solid A- to B-plus.
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Love
kj

To Laurel: Happy Happy Birthday

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You are a sister of my soul, lo.
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Look at all these faces. You and I and others have shared cancer and broken hearts and lost jobs and moves and transitions and death and dying and we hold each other up and from that we have been blessed with evolving precious friendships.
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I hope you and I will be friends for all my life, until I take my last vibrant breath.
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Where will we be a year from now?

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What will we look like?

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Will you have had your first return-to-New England gallery opening?

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Will my second book be published?

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Will we look back on our time with Marianne in Provincetown and let our hearts be warmed all over again?

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What will we do next year to celebrate our birthdays (and Mim's)?

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I don't know, Lo, but I do know this:

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I count my lucky stars that you are in my life.

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And whatever adventures

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and misadventures come calling,

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count me in, pumpkin pi!

Love always

kj

Arrival

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This is my first official day in Provincetown; my first day of a three week vacation. Unbelievable.

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Today we are four adults, one teenager, and one tweenager. We decide early on that we all want to do mostly nothing.

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We adults go out to lunch, chose a great place with a fantastic second floor patio. This is our view.

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I have jumbo shrimp from the raw bar and Caesar salad with fresh garlic and fresh parmesan cheese.

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We walk along Commercial Street and stop in the surprising zen garden behind a store front. It is hard and lovely to imagine such a sanctuary tucked away from the hustle bustle of Provincetown's one main street.

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We come home. Relax. Catch up. JB and I have not seen our friends in almost a year. Every year for about ten years we have met here in Ptown each summer, each year marveling and relishing in how magical and relaxed and lucky we feel, surrounded by the sea breeze and warm sand.

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We plan to go to the pool at the Provincetown Inn but we never make it. We talk, rest, stretch, catch up some more.

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Our friend Gordon fixes dinner: bruchetta with tomatoes from our gardens, breaded chicken breasts, pasta with Alfredo sauce. Besides for being a Canadian musician and songwriter who performed at Bush I's inaguration, Gordon is a wine buyer and he has brought the most wonderful bottles with him. I do not drink but I know he and my friend Heather and JB are having a great time savoring several different kinds of fine wine.

We eat on our patio, sit there as the sky turns pink and then dark. The breeze is incredible.

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Tomorrow Heather and Gordon and the boys will leave and JB and I will (probably) spend the morning relaxing, will head for either the beach or the pool, tomorrow night will celebrate my birthday at one of my many favorite restaurants.

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On Sunday, JB will head home and I will be here alone until Thursday, when she returns and our friend Liz arrives. Until then I will have four days to write, just Stella and me. I am excited to write because I've started to see the characters and the snippets come together. I am no longer worried about writing with integrity. I know I will.

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I am in Provincetown and it is a space and place I am always glad to be. I am at home here.

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I relax here, I think because somehow the rhythm of the sea encourages me to go with my own rhythm. Plus: this is a very very fun place. Most of the faces here are happy. That part is contagious.

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Thank you for all the well wishes for my first ever three week vacation. I am pretty sure I am going to make the most of it.

Love

kj

An Inside Joke That Didn't Start Off That Way :)

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I am telling JB about this research by Virginia Satir that says to grow and be healthy we each need at least twelve hugs a day.

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I clarify that it doesn't need to just come from people.
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"Stella counts," I say.

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"What?" JB asks.

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"Stella counts," I repeat.

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"How high?" she asks me.

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"What??" I say. I have no idea what she's saying.

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JB looks confused. "How high can she count?....And how do you know she can count?"

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hahaha.

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Sometimes communication takes its own twists and turns.

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hee hee hee.

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I will not have great internet access in Provincetown. I will try my best to leave comments when I delightfully visit my delightfully favorite blogs, but if I can't, please know even though I may be quiet, I will be present!
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Love
kj

Today

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This is the world's tiniest dining room, located at # 9 in the house of kj and JB.

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After my illustrious weekend return to Provincetown, I am home for three days of work before I start A THREE WEEK vacation that I am not able to comprehend is really going to happen. What if my Mother gets sick? What if there is a huge crisis with a client? What if Jess needs me?
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That is my stubborn mind spinning. The reality is that things are looking good for this:
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I had a big meeting today. I've been worried about three of my clients: children, ages 4, 5, and 6. I have written already about "Angelina." They were removed from their Mother's care because of neglect and something has happened to Angelina that I will not write about here, but it is something unimaginable done over time to a 3 year old child.
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Her brother, Alex," age 6 has been in three foster homes in one year. He is a very very bright first grader who held it together until two months ago, when the foster family he shared with his little brother felt that they could not handle him.

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I see Alex one a week, since kindergarten. Always I ask him how he is and always he says "fine." He says 'fine' so often I tell him I earn a nickel every time he says it and I tell him I have enough money from that alone to go on vacation. We laugh about it.

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But when he got pulled from this last foster family, his emotional reserves got depleted. Alex has been acting out, having temper tantrums, crying and kicking and screaming. I am telling his new foster family that he is not being oppositional, because that's not what it is. He is feeling terrible about himself. Something is being triggered to the point that he cannot calm himself. How could he even think about fitting in to a new family when the last two have rejected him, when his Mother has abandoned him?

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I tell his new foster mother, who is angry at him, "If a baby cries, you comfort the baby. When you comfort a baby, the baby learns how to be soothed. This is what we have to teach Alex."

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I am telling you all this because today I attended a meeting with the Father of these three children. He speaks only Spanish and I don't, but there were Child Protective social workers and supervisors and his girlfriend all present, because this Father wants custody of his children. He cries when he asks me what actually happened to Angelina and how he should help her. He listens while I tell him that Alex is going to need special help to get through trusting again, that we must proceed slowly with Angelina, that very horrible people made a 'game' of what they did.

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He has faithfully shown up at state supervised visitations for six months now. He works as a cook and he is poor. And he loves his children.

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"Take Alex first," I say. "He has not bonded with this new foster family and take him so he is already with you when he starts second grade."

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"Take J. next. He thinks his foster mother is actual Mother; he may have trouble leaving her but it is good you know her from church. Take a couple of months to visit J. at her home, to have him for a weekend while he is still living with her. We'll make sure he knows he will still be able to see her when he lives with you."

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And Angelina....I have thought so much about this. She has been with one foster Mother for two years now. As fate would have it, her foster Mother now has a terminal illness, but she is still mostly active and she loves Angelina. She has asked to have her over Christmas, no matter what happens about custody, because she has promised to take her on vacation.

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I provide details about Angelina. "Her foster Mother wants to stay in her life. Are you okay with that?" I ask her Father. Yes, he appreciates what she has done and he wants to meet her and will follow her routine and suggestions.

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I suggest that Angelina's transition extend over five months, that she stay in her foster family during that time, while she gradually spends planned time with her Father and her brothers.

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I ask the girlfriend if she is in this for the long haul. I ask if she knows how to braid hair and how to match clothes and sneakers, because Angelina loves the way her her foster mother helps her look. The girlfriend smiles, she says, "Yes, I can do that." I smile too.

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They ask,"What do we do if we and the children run into their Mother one day? We need help to know what to do....(We will keep it simple, I tell him. I tell him to hold their hands and not let go. I tell him we will work with all three kids to talk about, plan for the possibility of seeing their Mother at some unexpected time.)

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Their Father begins to cry. I tell him that his children will heal, that he should not think of them as damaged, that his love and care will change everything. I tell him I am and excellent Therapist and I care about his children and I will help him and his family.

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He and his girlfriend cry. I am relieved that this is a family I can work with, that I will work with. They are going to do their best. I can see that.

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I am relieved. This was a good day.

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Okay. Is this too hard to hear? I'm sorry if it is. Sometimes I'm amazed I and others can do this work at all. But most times I am honored. It is a high privilege.

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Okay. I would like to end this post with Mary Oliver. I admit I was a bit surprised at how many of my friends and visitors are not familiar with her poetry.

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So please, take a moment, no matter what else you are doing, and read these two poems. I think when you do you will understand why she is such a revered poet and you will understand something about yourself and life.

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And if like me you have already read these poems a hundred times, I know you won't mind reading them again. And again. ♥

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Wild Geese
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You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting —
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.
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The Summer Day
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Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean-
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

Day One & Mary Oliver in Provincetown

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JB and I planned to arrive in Provincetown for lunch but our lazy movements and very heavy traffic got us here at 4 pm.
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The traffic was bad. We moved six miles in one hour, bumper to bumper. And in the midst of it we had to pee. We were lucky to come across a rest area that had bathrooms. But when we tried to get back on the highway in this bumper to bumper traffic, a van refused to give way.
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JB was driving and was no more than a few feet from the van's front seat passenger, who looked menacingly at her.
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"What do you want me to do?" JB asked her.

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"That's what you get for stopping at the rest area!" the woman scowled.

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That was more than JB could take. Normally polite and mostly respectful, she looked back at the woman and said, "We had to pee, you bitch!"

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We fumed for a few minutes and then laughed for a lot longer. We both decided that if we had occasion to help or hinder this van, we would be nice and give way. That must be our version of 'teach you a lesson." :)

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Last night I made the first purchase of my Provincetown summer.
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JB and I walked up and down Commercial Street last night before and after dinner. I always find my way to the Provincetown Bookstore. It has been here for forty years and the walls and bookshelves are tatteredly precious. They're old.
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I bought a signed copy of Mary Oliver's book called Our World. She published it in 2007, two years after her partner, Molly Malone Cook died. The book is a combination of Molly's worldwide photographs and Mary's incredible words.

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Mary Oliver lives in Provincetown and she and Molly Malone Cook lived here together for close to forty years. Maybe because I know what it's like and what it means to live here, or maybe because I've been in a loved relationship myself for 25 years (not without its sometimes ups and sometimes downs--let me not romanticize misleadingly!), or maybe because Mary Oliver can write so deep and so well, like no one else; what ever the reason, this book is the perfect start to my time in Provincetown.

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There are two parts of Our World I want to share with you.

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The first is this by Mary Oliver about Molly:

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All of a sudden she began to whistle. By all of a sudden I mean that for more than thirty years she had not whistled. It was thrilling. At first I wondered, who was in the house, what stranger? I was upstairs reading, and she was downstairs. As from the throat of a wild and cheerful bird, not caught but visiting, the sounds warbled and slid and doubled back and larked and soared.

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Finally I said, Is that you whistling? Yes, she said, I used to whistle, a long time ago. Now I see I can still whistle. And cadence after cadence she strolled through the house, whistling.
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I know her so well, I think, I thought. Elbow and ankle. Mood and desire. Anguish and frolic. Anger too. And the devotions. And for all that, do we even begin to know each other? Who is this I’ve been living with for thirty years?

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This clear, dark, lovely whistler?
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To know and love someone well and still be surprised? I know this is true. And when that happens, if I don't find it unsettling, which I sometimes do, then I find it thrilling too.
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Molly Malone Cook died in 2005 and Mary Oliver is still here, still vibrant, still writing. This is the the last entry she wrote about Molly, in this lovely book:

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Afternote

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How often now I just sit, with my

elbows on the deck and my hands

holding up my face bold and upright,

and stare into the past.

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This is my reaction to that: Love is worth it. I won't say it doesn't hurt to the very core sometimes, I won't even pretend that it always works out, or that it's enough, but love is worth it. I don't want to ever forget that, and I don't want to ever believe otherwise.

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Love

kj