(The title is a nod to a quintent from The Mikado, for all you G&S fans out there. Having been in at least three productions, that song popped into my head as I thought about this prompt; it seemed so appropriate.)

We had a lovely, fragrant garden in my first house in Detroit providing fond memories of specific flowers stemming from that yard and how we would play there as small children. I’ve told my husband that I wore overalls, looking like Scout in the movie “To Kill a Mockingbird”. He always doubted me. Here is the proof.

Along the side of the house was a veritable thicket of grown lilac trees, so full of wonderful fragrance in the spring. A cardinal family made its nest there, returning year after year. I could hear them outside my bedroom window when I sat at my desk. The male would call his mate. I’d pretend he called my brother, “Rick-y, rick, rick”. I returned his call. We’d have conversations, as I sat at the open window, breathing in the lovely air.

My dad put in a rose garden in a cultivated patch between the lawn and the concrete driveway, leading to the garage. He really tended to it and put in variations of roses that were quite stunning. We had a screened-in porch and this made a lovely vista during summer nights.

On a trellis, at the edge of the garage, a honeysuckle vine grew wild. The scent was heavenly. If I walk past honeysuckle, even today, it takes me right back to my playful childhood; hula-hoop in the driveway. Running around with my best friend Susie, who lived next door. We saw a robin fly up into that trellis one spring day and went to investigate. I got some blocks, or something to stand on and reached up. I found a nest with eggs in it! I gingerly withdrew my hand and made sure never to touch them again, for fear the mother bird would abandon the nest. We couldn’t follow along closely enough to know whether the eggs hatched or not. Here I am, maybe at the age of 7, on the driveway in front of the garage, set up for a cook out. My dad loved to barbecue. He was the grill master, so we did that often throughout the spring and summer. Note the stylish “pedal-pushers”, even with a matching jacket!

But our favorite thing to do in our backyard was to use our swing set. It had a teeter-totter, a ladder, a trapeze and a swing. The swing was my domain and I used it as much as I possibly could. Right behind it, at the end of our property, was a large patch of lilies of the valley, as you see in the Featured photo and I just LOVE the way they smell, perhaps because I strongly associate the sweet fragrance with swinging on my beloved swing. I’d be out there early in the morning, singing Rogers and Hammerstein songs at the top of my lungs, waking the neighborhood, alerting my friend that I was up and ready to play. I would pump my legs and go higher and higher. As noted in an earlier Retrospect story, my brother and I staged our own version of Peter Pan in our backyard (with the kids in the neighborhood taking various roles), using the swing set to FLY! Here is my brother, at a young age, maybe 7 or 8, on the teeter-totter. At times, as I could see in our home movies, we’d enlist our elderly aunts to join us on the other end to balance us out. We were good kids and they always obliged. Goodness, doesn’t he look happy? We had such fun out there.

The prize of my father’s garden was his four, mature rhododendron bushes in a deep magenta color. They only bloomed for a week or so in the spring but were absolutely glorious when they did. No discernible scent, but truly beautiful, bathing that side of the yard, right next to my swing, in the most gorgeous color! I did have to be on the look-out for bumble bees, but other than that, they just made me go weak in the knees when they were in their glory. In fact, one of the contingencies when we sold that house, was that we took those four bushes with us to Huntington Woods (2 1/2 miles away). They got transplanted along the side of the garage at our new house. My dad took a few of my prom photos in front of those bushes in bloom. The light wasn’t perfect, but you’ll get an idea of the size  of the rhodies. I see now, they were already past peak in early June.

Dad never planted a garden in our new house (1963), for various reasons. We had a tiny piece of land, and two years after moving in, we got a puppy, who, of course, loved to dig and chew everything up, so it just wasn’t practical. Life was coming apart in big and small ways, children growing up and leaving. So the memories of the garden in Detroit are quite pungent for me.

I wanted to have lilies of the valley in my wedding bouquet, but that didn’t work out, perhaps they weren’t in season. I didn’t even get the requested roses, couldn’t afford them. I had daisies (with baby’s breath) instead. White for me, pink for my bridesmaids. They were fine.

But I have always loved the lilies of the valley fragrance, reminding me as they do of those carefree days, swinging on my swing, romping in the yard, playing with best friends, when anything was possible, even talking to the cardinals in the lilac bushes.

 

 

Yes, life has changed for all of us. Statement of fact and gross understatement. Many doctor appointments scheduled for late March or mid-April, now rescheduled for June (who knows if they will even happen then). The few that happen are now via FaceTime or just phone calls. Important questions answered via email (of course one of my eyelids has acted up, not quite in the same way as last summer, but a big, uncomfortable swelling at the corner of a lower lid, probably a stye. It took a day to get a response from my eye doctor, who I THOUGHT would call in two prescriptions that day).

But no…he didn’t; he didn’t answer my follow-up message through the hospital messaging system for almost 20 hours ( I had to call his assistant to prod him). Meanwhile, I had my “annual physical” over the phone with my new internist, who, later in the afternoon, intervened and called in a MUCH less expensive prescription, because I knew I’d never hear back from my eye doctor again. Ridiculous!

Important neurologist appointment postponed, so now I am headachy again. That hospital  converted its orthopedic floor to a COVID emergency floor, and, though I checked a few weeks before my appointment and was told they planned to continue seeing patients, I was called a week later and postponed to June, messing up not only this appointment, since I get treated on a quarterly basis, but up-ending the entire calendar of treatments. I’ve had migraines for decades, so Botoxing the back of my head offers me tremendous relief (I honestly can’t stand having my forehead frozen; ironic as that may be). I am once again relying on a very potent, expensive drug to treat the too-frequent headaches. In the years since starting the Botox treatment, I needed to take far less of that medication.

Hair salons closed. As one friend posted on Facebook, “Soon everyone will know the true color of our hair. But no one will be able to see it!”

I have never been a user of Purell; I believe we need a few germs so we can develop our own natural immunities and I am not in a position where I come into contact with lots of people on a daily basis, not having held a job in over 30 years. By the time I tried to source some, even a few weeks before the actual orders to shut down occurred in Massachusetts, none could be found in any local store I tried. Finally, one of the websites I use to purchase cosmetics offered a sanitizer spray: 99% alcohol with some peppermint, tangerine and aloe. I purchased three bottles.

I still venture out, masked and gloved, to the grocery store and drug store when I need to. I had never heard of Instacart until the first time I went to Wegman’s (local grocery store), downstairs from my long-shuttered gym. I didn’t notice the socially-distant line and started to just walk in; was asked if I was from Instacart…um, no…then go to the back of that LONG line! Inside the store, it was something of a free-for-all as we danced the “social-distance dance”…your turn in the aisle, no yours, I back up, we “do-si-do”. It took 45 minutes to check out, that line was distanced as well and we were called individually to open check-out lanes, put our purchases on the belt, but stayed back until it was time to pay. Then the cashier stepped back, we swiped our card, the receipt was placed on the counter, we pick it up and away we go. Only one door to the store is open and the person controlling the line has a counter, allowing one person in for every person who leaves. Forget about Senior hours. I’ve discovered that 11am on Wednesday or Thursday is the best time to shop.

The stories in the newspaper abound with tales of people staying up all night, hitting “refresh”, trying to score an Instacart appointment, as we are almost out of the COVID-19 surge in Massachusetts. I only go out when I need to and then spray everything with that sanitizer.

Though I stocked up on non-perishable food at the beginning of the lock-down, Dan is undeterred and orders in from a few local restaurants almost every night (though or favorite one is barely staying afloat, and open fewer hours with each passing week). I still try to eat healthy (not as easy) and I exercise daily.

As I saw my gym time coming to an end, I bought a mat, a Pilates circle and a few sets of hand weights so I could do my own workout. We’ve always had a good treadmill in our finished basement, so a few days a week, I go for a trot on that. During the third week of March, my favorite instructor, the incredible Josie Gardiner, who teaches Core Synergy twice a week at my gym, showed up at a North Shore studio, virtually, on Zoom. She teaches her class, for a small fee, twice a week. My gym membership is frozen for the duration, so I am thrilled to have this available. In fact, for slightly more, I can take any class available at that studio, and I’ve found others at this studio that I like as well, so in addition to my own workouts, I’ve added to my repertoire. I’ve never seen myself from the back before (NOT happy with the view; remind me not to wear horizontal stripes), but here I am, taking Josie’s class via Zoom. She will have 40-60+ people Zooming along at any one time, from all over the world. She has a large following. I am using Shakespeare for my yoga block. Poetic, right?

The owner of the studio, PJ, demonstrates the moves in the background. PJ is also a wonderful trainer and I learn more and more from her. In addition to taking a Sunday morning class from her on a regular basis, I took an excellent class on posture with exercises that I’ve incorporated into my own workout. I particularly like “neural flossing”. While it is an excellent exercise, I love saying it!

Dan walks outside when the weather is fine. He ran into too many people while walking around the Chestnut Hill reservoir, so found other routes to take. And he still has his fancy bike up on the smart trainer with Zwift, so goes on rides through various virtual locations. He was recovering from a hamstring, pulled before the lockdown (of course, came back too soon and pulled it again).  Since he’s been retired for 18 years, we are used to being home together, but this is A LOT of togetherness. He works on large jigsaw puzzles, on-line crossword puzzles, and watches old movies, taped from the Turner Classic Movie channel. He’s going through a WWII streak, and has been on film noir for a while.

I am not complaining. I know I am one of the lucky ones; to live in a house large enough that we each have space for ourselves and be able to get away from each other. We are not trying to work from home, teach young children, live our lives, get groceries, worry how to pay the bills, worry about losing our jobs, or where our next meal will come from. Or on the front lines, going out each day to care for others who may be sick. Those people have my deep admiration. Yes we are lucky.

We check in with our kids often; one in London, which is about 10 days ahead of us in the global pandemic, and also has a leader who didn’t shut down the country early enough, then paid a heavy price, getting sick himself. Now Boris is a believer. My other child is in San Jose, which was also an early hot spot. They are both working from home, have been for some time and will likely continue to do so. I worry more about child #2, in total isolation, which is very difficult. London son has a lovely girlfriend.

The lockdown has given me time to actually call friends and family, knowing that everyone will be home (if they aren’t out walking dogs, grocery shopping or also on the phone with other relatives). So that is a bright spot.

I am not in a panic about the pandemic, per se, though there is no end in sight to social distancing and our lives, even as the restrictions life, will be so different. I am in a panic about the president’s increasingly irresponsible and irrational response to the pandemic (how many of his “faithful” drank the Clorox, I wonder). I never listened to his daily bullshit, er “briefings”, which, mercifully, morphed into something else, after his last episode playing TV doctor. We’ve never watched any cable news. We watch CBS at 6:30pm, read the Boston Globe and parts of the New York Times on-line. I subscribe to several very good daily Coronavirus briefing emails. I get what I need to know from that. I truly fear for our country with the person we have in charge “leading” us through this.

I am in awe of the great health care workers around the globe who put themselves at risk every day for the welfare of others. Because there are so many fewer cars on the road, pollution is way down. That is fantastic. One might think it would make everyone a believer in the science of climate change, but now there are dangerous (and politically-backed) idiots in the streets, not social distancing, without protective face masks on, demanding their “liberty”. They want the country to be “opened” up so they can go back to work…and kill us all. No appreciation for how the virus spreads or the continued need to remain apart. If these demonstrations were, indeed, spontaneous, I would have a tad more sympathy for them, but they are not. They are well-funded by cynical groups that originally began the Tea Party movement, the Koch Brothers, and other Right Wing groups who want to re-elect the Orange monster, and don’t care a whit about people’s lives and livelihoods. I have genuine sympathy for people’s need to work to earn a living. Brandishing guns and Confederate flags in the streets, calling for “liberation” just isn’t the right message. I have cousins in Detroit who are nurses. One was hospitalized with the virus for 10 days, another, who works in nuclear medicine, just lost his job. They have no sympathy with the demonstrators in East Lansing.

And of course, the man in the White House is relaxing the EPA emission standards, so pollution will be worse when all the cars are back on the roads. And that puts lungs at risk for the virus. This mentality truly offends me. He held up much-needed stimulus checks by a few days to get his signature on them, something that has NEVER been done before (not even in 2008 in the Bush administration), and is not clear if it is even legal to politicize the IRS in such a way. In fact, a bi-partisan trio of prominent lawyers claims it was an illegal campaign ploy and just called for a special prosecutor to look into the matter.

His vanity knows no bounds, his insecurity is pathological. When we need real leadership, there is a void (many Governors are doing great jobs, but Federal coordination would be helpful in coordinating testing, getting supplies where needed and the like). His minions only care about holding onto their power and their pocketbooks (and yes, ours has been hurt in this downturn too). He makes stuff up as he goes, he looks as shallow and stupid as he really is. That is what puts me in a panic.

And that we might not really be able to hold a free and fair election in November. That is the stuff of my nightmares.

 

 

White Shoulders – for Aunt Frances

I’m from a small family and have always felt close to my aunts and uncles.  Now, like my parents,  they’re all gone.

(For more about my family see  Call Me by Their Names)

My parents were each the middle child of three, and both had strong bonds with their siblings and stayed close despite geography,  and sometimes politics.  But of them all,  the one I knew least will always loom the largest in my memory – my father’s older sister Frances who died tragically when I was 7 or 8.

Whenever I tried to ask my dad or my uncle Stevie to tell me more about their sister,  their eyes would invariably tear up at the mention of her name.  They were both very close to Fran and I know that my mother too adored her.   This is what I know and remember about my beautiful aunt Frances.

In the late 1930s when Fran’s son Eric was a toddler,  she was to take him cross-country by train to join her husband in California where they would live.  Fran asked my mother, who was newly married to my father,  to accompany her.

I don’t know how many days those two young sisters-in-law and their curly-headed charge traveled on that train,  or what adventures they may have had,  but I know that my mother grew very close to Fran on that trip,  that she thought of Fran as the sister she never had.  I sense on that journey they coveted their time together,  knowing they would soon be living separate lives on separate  coasts.

As a little girl I remember Fran’s visits east.  When she came to New York she always stayed at the Sherry Netherland,  and I think of her whenever I pass that grand old Fifth Avenue hotel.  I remember once my mother and I were having lunch with Fran in the elegant hotel dining room when my mother took me to wash my hands.  When we got back to the table I found a menagerie of little glass animals set up on my plate.

And I remember packages from Fran arriving in the mail.  Once a large box arrived with a lovely brown dress and a white pinafore for me,  and also  wrapped in mounds of tissue paper was a beautiful doll wearing the same brown dress and white pinafore!

Fran was a beautiful, elegant and gifted woman and an accomplished writer,  though I was too young to know that.  But I knew she was someone special,  that she had a special grace.   A few years ago we visited my still curly-headed cousin Eric and his wonderful wife Chiho in Oahu, and talking to Eric about Fran then was bittersweet for us both.

Years ago I was shopping with my mother in a crowded department store when an elegantly dressed woman walked towards us.  As she passed I caught the strong scent of her perfume,  and then I saw that my mother was crying.

“She’s wearing White Shoulders.”  my mother said through her tears,  “That’s the perfume Fran wore.”

– Dana Susan Lehrman

Blossoming

                  

What are you doing, now? He asked me peering

up with my line of sight.

I am giving the wisteria a standing ovation!

As he shakes his head

my heart pulls toward admiring

the purple tresses of the vine-

so stunning, arresting in their 

delicate beauty-

sweetly fragrant, vibrant

I want, I yearn

to be such exquisite

authenticity,

and by sheer being

unfold into a radiant 

beacon of such-ness

as to inspire

pause and

peace without

notice