Patti and John Zussman are among my oldest and dearest friends. So I was pleased and honored when they contacted me, nearly three years ago, to be a beta tester for their new website “MyRetrospect.com”. They explained it was a story-sharing medium for baby-boomers to tell their tales, based on prompts the site would provide. They were shaking out the bugs and needed people (beyond the few alpha testers) to write and help work out the kinks. Having little computer knowledge was a plus, as they anticipated their general user population to be people like me. If I could figure it out, anyone could.

It’s not that I am such a terrific writer. But they know I have lived a life full of ups and downs, have a penchant for story telling, a few brushes with celebrity, and am not afraid to share all the gory details. In fact, sometimes I am the queen of “TMI”. So my brief was to write a minimum of three stories, read at least three others and comment on those, if I felt like it.

Here it is, three years and 125 stories later for me, reading and commenting on hundreds more along the way. I’ve written countless tales on family members, homes, what we wore, ate, listened to, read, watched, politics and so much more. I’ve poured out my feelings and shared and shared. It was therapeutic. I didn’t miss a week (unless the prompt was repeated, and even then, sometimes I would write it again, sharing a different tale, as I am for this last prompt). I found I loved the discipline of writing, finding something (I hope) interesting to say, looking up old photos to enhance the story, looking for meaning in my life.

The last prompt – poems – was dropped, since this site will close on the last day of the month, yet I awoke this morning (confession here: I usually write a few weeks ahead, so “today” is December 15) with a full story ready to go, having thought about it for a week, changed what I would write at least three times, found my entry into the topic and a poem worthy of the topic. I even decided upon a Featured photo (not from my personal photos), but the story about a passionate Pablo Neruda poem won’t be written.

I’ve made friendships through this site. Those will continue. I think I am a better writer, having seen how the pros, whose honor it was for me to read their work, shaped a story. So this is both a sad turning point for me, and a remarkable one, as I leave behind a body of work that makes me proud, and a community that has enriched my life. I offer a great big thank you to Patti and John for pouring their time and treasure into this labor. There are many who are very appreciative of what they did. Now it is time to move on.

We did not relish listening to praise and platitudes about a woman who was, to put it charitably, hard to get along with.
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He gave me all kinds of intangible gifts. As I wrote in Dude – A Message of Love, I knew Dude Stephenson virtually my whole life as he was my operetta teacher for five glorious summers at the National Music Camp, Interlochen, MI from 1965-1969. He taught me the value of being an important member of an ensemble, he gave me self-confidence, he gave the gifts of friendship and love. I was honored to be recognized every summer while in the High School division with the Outstanding Chorus Award and, years later, as the best female chorus member for the first 25 years of operetta from among the thousands of girls who had been in Dude’s chorus. That was no small gift.

So his death, last December 29th, was a cruel blow. Every time we spoke, he told me that I was special and how much he loved me. That was a rare gift. Days after his death, the president of Interlochen informed us there would be a celebration of Dude’s life the last weekend of July. Those of us who loved him (and there were many) made plans to return. Then his widow, and true soul mate, called me and asked if I would be one of two alumni to speak at the service. Another honor and gift.

I wrote the first draft of my speech the next day, and continued to work on it for months, to hone and shape it. It had to be perfect. It was my last gift to Dude. I think I got it right. The weekend was a tremendous coming-together of friends from across the country.

The night after the Celebration of Life, Cathy continued one of Dude’s cherished traditions: an ice cream social back at their cabin on the lake. She is so gracious, she hosted all, whether she knew them or not. She provided homemade brownies, pies and of course, ice cream and toppings of all varieties. We gorged, visited, enjoyed the view and each other. As we prepared to say good bye, she handed me a gift bag.”It’s just a little something,” she demurred.

We hustled into a car and went back to our cabin. Christie and I shared one, as we did years ago when we often visited Dude. She looked over my shoulder as I pulled the red tissue paper out and unwrapped a tiny porcelain owl, then read the card.

“Dear Betsy, Thank you again for speaking at Dude’s Celebration of Life. Your thoughts and memories were perfectly conveyed. Dude would have loved every minute of it! Thank goodness for these memories that keep Dude firmly in our hearts. As you know, Dude collected many things, including owls of every size and shape. Please allow me to make a gift of a little owl from his collection. I know when you see it you will think of Dude…Above everything else, thank you for your continued friendship. Love Cathy”.

I collapsed into Christie’s arms, overwhelmed by a sense of loss and gratitude. She comforted me.

The owl now rests on my bureau, with my grandmother’s little hand mirror, in front of my most precious family photos. I do think of Dude whenever I see it. I cherish this final gift.

We looked for two years. Did we want in-town, or in Katama, closer to the beach? Finally, we bid on and had an accepted offer on a house on Main Street across from the Old Whaling Church; a small cape, but we knew our architect, Patrick, with whom we’d worked since our first Back Bay condo in 1979, was inventive and could work wonders.

This was 22 years ago. Our financial situation was quite different. We could only stretch so far. Just before we were due to sign the purchase and sale, we got a call from a friend in Newton who lived around the corner from the Main Street house in Edgartown. As an abutter, he’d been given advanced notice of a house across the street from him on School Street coming, quietly, onto the market. He knew we were close to purchasing a different house, but might we be interested in this house; larger, in a quieter location? It was being sold furnished.

A dilemma. It sounded interesting and Patrick and Dan were already going to the Vineyard the day before we were set to sign the P&S to take measurements and start discussing renovation plans. They could go in to 25 School Street and take a look. They first looked at the carriage house (a garage, which at the time housed a 13′ Boston Whaler on a trailer). On the side of the garage were stairs leading to a bedroom and bath. This was October, so the plantings were gone from the garden and patio furniture was stacked inside the screened-in porch, but one still had the sense of a nicely planted backyard with good screening from the close-by neighbors.

The two entered the house. It had high ceilings, a gracious living room, a first floor bedroom with private bath and tiny half bath under the stairs. Dining room behind the front hall, kitchen beyond that, screened-in porch off the back hallway. Upstairs were three more bedrooms with two captive bathrooms all connected between bedrooms. Behind one bedroom and up from the kitchen through a narrow set of stairs was a small sitting room and tiny half bath. At the back of the second floor was a large laundry room/storage room. Patrick commented that the laundry room had the best view of the garden from any where in the house.

There was a closed off set of rickety stairs leading to a third floor attic that was unfinished. It had plumbing roughed in, and one room had sheet rock up, but it was mostly crawl space. The only windows were on the far sides of the roof line. Still, it had potential.

No room was painted the same color. The dining room and master bedroom were wallpapered with a small floral pattern (neither room the same and definitely not to our liking). Wallpaper on the up and downstairs hall walls was not in great shape, over the plaster walls. The house had 6 fireplaces. There was a 1985 stick-shift Jeep in the driveway.

Dan and Patrick came out of the house and stood in silence for a moment. Patrick turned to Dan and said, “I’m your architect, but I’m also your friend. This is a much better house. I think you should buy it, but make the offer including the car and the boat. The sellers are leaving the island and need to get rid of everything. Make it one transaction for them.” Patrick is a smart guy.

Friday, the next day, and the day we were supposed to sign the P&S, I flew to the Vineyard with two checks. If I liked this house, I was prepared to make an offer, only valid until moments before I had to fly back and pick up the kids from school (Dan was in NYC on business, tied up in meetings all day, unreachable…everything fell to me). The other was the check to conclude the P&S for the Main Street house. We didn’t want to lose it, if this offer was not accepted. I was a wreck. We had looked for two years, we knew there was very little inventory and we knew what we liked. I took a walk through the School Street house, handed the offer and check to the broker. I knew it was a good house. I waited in our lawyer’s office. No word came. I was driven to the airport, which at the time was WWII quonset huts. Someone behind the Cape Air desk called my name, “Is there an Elizabeth Pfau here?” and handed me his phone. It was the real estate broker.”I just got a signed fax, you have an accepted offer!”

Holy crap! What had we done? We had committed to buying a much bigger, nicer house, but now had to walk away from the other deal. I called the other broker after getting the kids home from school and broke the news to him through tears. We had worked with him for two years and really liked him. I also told him we had figured out what his commission would have been on the Main Street house and planned to pay him that amount after Dan got his bonus in November. And we did. The Vineyard is a small place and we wanted to able to hold our heads high. We are honorable people.

We closed on December 30, 1996 and stayed through New Years. That night, Dan and I sat in our new living room among the strange furniture, in the colonial-style house and thought, “We don’t know how to do this, we only know contemporary”. It lightly snowed overnight. The village (and our house is in the historic district) was decked out in all its Christmas finery. It looked like a Currier and Ives print. So lovely. We knew we’d made the right decision.

We took the kids to the Main Street Diner for breakfast, a cheery place with checkered tables, hot chocolate, but best was the Trivial Pursuit cards in a mug on the table, with which our children enjoyed challenging us and each other as we waited for food. That night we went out to a nice dinner and watched fireworks over Vineyard Haven Harbor. Magical.

We started spending holidays here, Thanksgiving and New Years. On the first anniversary of our house purchase, we came down with our best friends to celebrate the new year. They have children about the same age as ours and she is a wonderful cook. They led us through the mezuzah hanging ceremony to sanctify our house. We had changed the front screen door and painted the doors and shutters a different color already – Essex Green, one of the colors approved by the Historic District Commission.

Slowly we undertook renovations of what we knew would be our sleeping beauty. First for me was to replace the old heating system and get in central air conditioning, as I need it to temper the heat and humidity, which are migraine triggers for me. We took down the wall paper and painted every room the pleasant yellow we found in the kitchen to unify the look of the house. We replaced all the kitchen appliances. In fact, we did an overhaul of the kitchen and added a little island to get more counter space. We closed off the master bath and renovated it. Slowly a “master plan’ emerged, based on Patrick’s comment about the laundry room, on the second floor at the back of the house, having the best view of the yard.

 

In 2003, we blew out much of the house, expanded the foot print, added dog shed dormers to the 3rd floor, moved David’s room up there and added a study, moved the master bedroom and bath to the back of the house, turned David’s old bedroom into a comfortable den with a large flat-screen TV, added a large addition to the kitchen with a bump-out for the laundry (and put a laundry shoot from my closet, so the clothes go straight down). We put a pool and hot tub in the back. Over the years, we redid all the bathrooms. Dan pulled a page from “This Old House” magazine and said, “I want them to look like this”. and they do, beautiful marble and cabinetry, gracious size, doors moved so beds no longer have to straddle the entrance door. Antique, country pine furniture was purchased. We worked with a decorator who became a friend.

 

I studied the history of the house. It was built in 1829 by Jared Coffin, master builder of Edgartown (and Nantucket, where his later home still stands as an inn) for his brother Holmes, the stone mason, who laid the stones for the cellar foundation, as well as the first curbs for the street. Jared’s 1823 house is across the street. Holmes and his wife, Lydia occupied the house for a mere two years. In 1831, Holmes died while on a business trip to Nantucket. His widow supported herself by boarding boys who came from Nantucket to attend the Thaxter Academy, one block up the street.  Their daughter, also named Lydia, married the Reverend Hebron Vincent in the front parlor of the house (and inherited the house). He was a leading Methodist minister of the island and one of the founders of the camp ground in what was then called Cottage City, but now called Oak Bluffs. There was a huge Methodist revival movement in the mid-to-late 19th century and people came to the island for religious instruction and the ocean retreat. Large tents were erected, later replaced by distinctive Gothic “gingerbread” style homes that still exist around an iron-frame Tabernacle. The camp ground is one of the wonderful, unique features of Martha’s Vineyard. Hebron Vincent wrote a history of the camp ground from our house. One rainy day, David and I found the book in the museum library.

Hebron and Lydia’s daughter, Fannie Deane was the last of Holmes’ descendants to inherit the house. She lived in it into the early 20th century and was, from the descriptions I found in the museum’s library, a beloved lady of Edgartown.

After her death, the house passed out of the family, was bought by a New Jersey family. I’ve traced the house through many owners. It fell on hard times in the ’80s and was divided into a rooming house, run by the Hall family, notorious slumlords on the island. Eventually, it was purchased by Dick Christiansen of Brattleboro, VT, who set about doing a massive renovation. I found documents he left in drawers for the owners from whom we purchased the house, who were from Pennsylvania. Through the years, we have replaced virtually everything except one bedroom of furniture (my younger child liked the posters on the beds – he hung sheets and made forts there as a youngster and now doesn’t come often enough for it to matter).

After 22 years, and many renovations, we absolutely love this home and its in-town location. We have several comfortable guest rooms; our guests can walk to restaurants, shops, movies, the water front…everything is moments away. Or they can sit in the comfort and sanctuary of our remarkably quiet backyard and lounge by the pool, watching a cardinal family flit in and out of the 170 year old Rose of Sharon tree; absolutely gorgeous with pink flowers when in full bloom, or look for hummingbirds on the trumpet vine, festooned across the arbor on the driveway.

It is our custom to leave the front door open (with screen door shut) when we are home, and, with the “Holmes Coffin House, 1829” sign above the door, we occasionally have people come in, thinking we are either a Bed and Breakfast, (“you can’t afford our rates”, is my retort), or we are a museum. I am amused and gracious and, depending on my mood, and how much time I have, I will give my intruders a little talk about the history of the house. I feel I am merely a caretaker of this historic property for this moment in the passage of time. At some point it will pass on to others. I hope they will take good care of it and love it as much as we do.