Archive for August, 2015


I just trashed “They Shall Be Nameless,” that snippet I published by mistake.  Was about to share some sour thoughts  best kept to myself. Was trying to get another post out before August ended, but thought better of inflicting that one on you. I’m writing this at the Southampton library on Monday, August 24th — came to my nephews’ house out here last Thursday to be with Tim, his darling girls, my son, his wife and their darling boys. Tim, Elizabeth, Caroline and Josephine left yesterday for home in Massachusetts and it was wonderful to be together.

We had at least $80 worth of fun on Saturday, a beautiful, sunny day at Cooper’s Beach.  The Hogans, here for only a week, didn’t buy a resident season pass, and we paid a $40 parking fee for each car — an outrageous price meant to discourage day-trippers and short term vacationers from enjoying God’s gorgeous ocean. The men and kids built a sand fort near the water, took turns holding the little ones in the waves, and rescued me after a strong one knocked me to my knees. My Grandma Beatty and her friends, wearing long black bathing suit dresses, were more cautious at Rockaway Beach — all in a row, holding onto a rope anchored at each end, dunking themselves sedately.

I’d planned to come the end of next week to join my family, but wanted to see everyone together, especially the children. And I’m glad I did, but confess it’s been an effort to be my cheerful self — am in the throes of another down time.  I’d decided to go home to Maryland today, feel like such poor company and didn’t want to spoil their vacation — but Bethany and Kieran talked me into staying longer.  I’m so blessed to have them in my life, and love them, little Nolan, and baby Jack with all my heart.

Bethany, Kieran and I talked this morning about my recurring depression, and my former psychology major son thinks I may be bipolar — I’ve been reluctant to admit that possibility.  Would rather believe I’m an outgoing, vivacious person with occasional lapses, but realize I probably talk too much and am overly optimistic when up.  Even had dreams of seeing my ramblings published in print someday.

I know these moods don’t last forever. But I’m anxious and frightened anyway. Petty annoyances bother me more — I panic when I can’t find my keys or glasses.  I’m shaky and unsure of myself, ashamed of my weakness. To belabor the ship of life metaphor in my Introduction, I’m adrift in my own little rowboat.  I’m lonely, but it’s difficult to be with others — hard to hide my confusion and sadness.

And I have another problem in my left eye — been coping since the end of March with what look like little reddish florets appearing often in the upper left corner. I’ve had a tiny dot of a floater in my right eye for years, but hardly notice it now.  A retinal ophthalmologist recently told me a gel-like substance called the vitreous contracts with aging, pulling away from the retina, and can’t be corrected. Worse could happen, but it’s very distracting.

Since my cousin Paul died, I’ve been shocked by the sudden death of my friend and sister-in-law Peggy Collins at age 75, with no previous sickness or warning.  Another cousin, Bob McSweeney, is very ill with prostate cancer.  Pat Davies, a college friend who lives in Australia, is postponing treatment, if any, for cervical cancer till October — she wants to enjoy the opera season now.  Tim’s wife Stacie couldn’t be with us at North Sea because her mom’s M.S. has worsened.

It helps to keep involved and moving, but I have to talk myself into getting going. Angel and I went to Agawam Park this morning and I sipped coffee while I worked The New York Times crossword, harder than a usual Monday, but I finished — proving I’m not completely brain-dead. Then we walked around the playground and immaculately kept grassy area. The Gallaghers had gone for a swim in the bay, back to the house for lunch, and Nolan and Jack are having their naps now.  I’ll finish this soon and leave the library. Might have a nap myself later. Nolan and I are sharing a queen bed, and as much as I delight in his snuggling next to me, he flings his arms and legs around in his sleep.

I’m  grateful for the happy days —  My cousin Patty Aubert visited and we went to a veggie cooking event at fabulous Rousedale Farm — outdoors on a lovely evening — delicious samples accompanied by wine. The Colony’s Fourth of July celebration — very sociable, with excellent pizza and wine. Baby Jack’s first birthday party on July 21st — downsized for family and a few close friends because of a emergency room visit for congestion and difficulty breathing a couple of days earlier.  A relaxing ride to and from Manhattan on Amtrak to meet my friend Therese for lunch and the play at The Irish Rep.

Had to edit this often  — tough to concentrate. I’m trying to be brave, relying on the promise of the titled hymn: “Blest are you that weep and mourn for one day you will laugh.” Please God, soon.

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