Stories From A Vacation Rental.....
So I am renting a place in Naples from a Boston man I've never met for the next few weeks. It looks like it's decorated from when it was built, mostly original, from the 70s or 80s.
I knew this going in. But our agent said it was exquisitely spotless and had very good golf course access because the club was small with wonderful, tight-knit members. And great location. Sold.
I love this place exactly for the schmatlzy original features. For all the kitsch. The plastic flowers; the palm leaves from Palm Sunday draped behind family photos; the cross over our bed; the poem written to the matriarch on the occasion of her 80th to the tune of "Let it Snow" but "On the Go, On the Go, On the Go." Colin Powell, David Hallberstam and Sarah Palin's books together on the book shelf; an electric piano with the songbook open to "My Favorite Things." The mauve drapes and matching mauve flowered love-seats. A Hummel ashtray.
You can tell a lot about the family by studying their design habits on the day of move-in 40 years ago.
But I love the kitchen best of all. It is a small galley kitchen with the old dropped ceilings and uneven, sticky walnut cabinets; I feel like I'm in a ship's kitchen cooking here. The countertop is that Formica brand countertop that was made to look like wood (we had that!). The wall covering consists of a plaid yellow background with little white and blue tea saucers floating on it. Curtains are blue and white toile which used to be all the rage of sophistication at one time. (I personally don't see the design tie to the teacups.)
But even better are the original appliances. They are all spotless and work perfectly. Including the giant microwave built into the wall with a turn dial displaying numbers as opposed to digitals that slowly ticks down after initiating a countdown. I definitely stand away from THAT thing when using it.
It's incredible that the mother had seven Irish Catholic kids when using this small condo as a vacation spot because there is absolutely no wear and tear. How do I know she had seven kids?
The photos on the wall of bookshelves. At first I didn't want to even look at them because I felt it some sort violation of privacy but then I thought, well THEY left them. But also I did not want to look at them because of the state I am in -- one of loss and sadness. I did not need another constant reminder of perfect cohesive, accomplished families as they grew through the ages.
In the photos, each subject is more handsome and beautiful than the next, and many are shown receiving their diplomas from distinguished schools. And then the grandkids arrive on the scene, and you see the one shot we all have--- the entire extended family standing on the beach in khakis and collared shirts.. Also on the wall are two pencil drawings of what I believed (and later confirmed) to be their two homes in Waltham on the Cape and Beacon Hill. Oh and then there's the cute grandchildren art Gram Jean had framed.
So all week I have ignored their teasing grins and did again today as I passed them on the way to a conference call. My plan was to try to find the pool in time for the 1pm call but ended up literally racing to one lone bench hidden behind an outbuilding. As I grew nearer, I saw this bench was engraved with names of the father and daughter of the folks who owned our condo, as in memoriam. There are dozens if not hundreds of benches within this 300-acre development. Why would I walk to that one?
After my conference call, I suddenly decided I wanted to know more about this family who heretofore I had believed had not been touched by the hand of grief. I thought they all went on to live perfect, unblemished lives.
Google was my friend when I returned home to find cancer took the patriarch at 74 in 1996 and that he was head of cardiology for a Boston hospital. Nearly 10 years later, two of his daughters would be gone too, as well as a 10-year-old-grand child due to complications from the influenza B virus, his obituary with a close up of his dark brown eyes. Before I knew this, I remembered seeing young William's photo as a toddler on a stand by the kitchen, imagining him to be a lucky young adult member of this family by now.
Yet the "On the Go" grandmother lives. Not here anymore, which is why her family is renting it. But as I sit here at night alone in this tiny galley kitchen and screened in porch, I feel a connectedness to her. I imagine how many dark nights of worry she faced as her two daughters succumbed to serious illness. I can picture her scrubbing down the tiles to stop from crying after her breadwinning husband died. And then her daughter and little grandson.
This place is a metaphorical life lesson for me. Though I would never wish anyone grief and loss, until I realized that this imagined perfect family from all the photos was not immune, I had a difficult time settling down here.
You see, these photos remind me to live today like it's your last, no matter the heavy burdens on your mind about yesterday and tomorrow. Grief is universal; grab what joy you can. They are all staring at me with their big beautiful smiles as I type, nudging me like good Catholic kids do.
Some of them are still in this realm; some have passed on. For some reason, I had used my own hurts to justify that their generous smiles could not coexist. It's time to join the hurting, grieving, joyful living.
