Last week in Cape Cod we spent a lot of time indoors listening to the radio and CD's. Two songs brought me to tears, Eva Cassady singing Autumn Leaves (I dare you to listen to that with a dry eye) and "Has anybody here seen my old friend Bobby?" (I always let out a few tears at that one - the Kennedy's are still like family.) Yesterday my old friend Margaret died and the song that keeps going through my head is "Piano Man".

Margaret and I were carpooling to Dutchess Community College, oh back in the late 70's or early 80's. One night she turned to me and asked if I had heard this song Piano Man? She praised the song, the lyrics, the singer, an unknown to me - Billy Joel. "..when I wore a younger man's clothes", she quoted some of the words. The following days I listened to the radio and finally got to hear the song, a song that was sad, an encompassing all the lonliness of the world, but also the hope that a piano man and his song can bring.."we're in the mood for a melody, and youve got us feeling alright".

In 2001 Margaret and my sisters went on a mini cruise from New York City to Nova Scotia. Margaret was a riot, attending every show, finding every ice cream station, attending yoga classes, my sisters and I were amazed at her sheer energy and ability to stay up late at night. (We all were ready for bed at 8:00.) But Margaret was like the Enigizer Rabbit, on the go, exploring every inch of the boat. She would report back to us her findings and one day she told us about a piano bar and how great the piano man was. It was late at night she advised, knowing of our early to bed, early to rise habit. Maureen and I steered ourselves, made it to ten o'clock and went to the piano bar. Sure enough, there he was - just like Billy Joel sang about him, taking requests, and playing each one. He had a miniature hoop, like a basketball hoop and when people requested a certain song, they would throw a couple of dollars in it. Maureen and I drank Fundador (which was to become my favorite drug of choice) and listened as long as we could keep our eyes open.

Thank you Margaret for Piano man and all the good times we shared. Rest in peace. I love you.

A few weeks ago, Henry was at my house playing, when he suddenly said, "This day justs keeps getting better and better." I looked at him surprised, and then I realized he was quoting his mother who says this sarcastically as work calls with bad news, tax bill comes in, Solomon's school contacts her, etc. But Henry used it the other way...he meant it.

The week in Wellfleet was like that. Cold weather, rain, wind advisory, no beach days, no walks at Duck Harbor. I was like Sabra, well this vacation just gets better and better. Then it was Saturday, a nor'easter had blown all day Friday, keeping us near the fireplace, and the weather was not forecasted to be much better on Saturday with another nor'easter coming in on Sunday. But I could see the school buses running up to the festival, it was starting and a little after 10 Timmy and I climbed on a crowded school bus to get shuttled up to Main Street. Just getting on that bus, with all those happy, expectant faces, started to cheer me up. Crowding in, knees tucked up to your chin, in seats meant for smaller people, the mood suddenly brightened. (I think they ought to run the school buses on the weekends for adults - it would be a mood booster. Of course they would have to be taking you to a pub or someplace fun but thats another good idea, as they would be the designated drivers.)

Our first stop was at the Catholic Church that is being renovated into the Town Center where we already have signed up for a bench in the garden that will have Ria's name on it. The volunteers recognized me, "how are you doing? so good to see you, we remember you and Maria, all those cards with donations for Maria - I opened the mail and was amazed at the number of people that donated, etc, etc". Then we got to the festival, really good band, 3 guys that had a big sound. Timmy was happy and although he's not drinking (in training for a race next month) he went and got me a Sam Adams and oyster stew....yummy stew, not thick, but thin broth with almost a dozen oysters in it, potatoes and carrots...delicious. Looking around the crowd of strangers, people began looking familiar. "Look at that girl," I pointed out to Timmy, "shes
a cross between Bessina (Tivoli woman) and your sister" and he had to agree.

Then I saw a blond woman, good hairdo, well dressed with boots, and I thought that looks like Sharyn, Caleb's mother and I saw she was with a young man, whose back was to me. He turned and I saw the blind eye...IT WAS THEM. Normally shy, I surprised myself jumping off the seat and chasing them through the crowd. Sharon turned as I waved. I saw her look, like Do I know this woman? But she smiled and I reached her and asked Sharyn? Yes she said, and I introduced myself as Linda, Maria's Mom. She hugged me and introduced me to Caleb who gave me a hug and a kiss too. He looked wonderful, big smile, weaving to the music. He was with three young women who were introduced to me as his nurses from Boston. We exchanged a few words, I think of you often, I think of you often, too. Then she said I need another hug and I hugged her and out of the blue I said she was blessed. She looked surprised and we parted. I didn't get even a glimpse of them again, although I kept looking over the crowd.

The shucking began and we had front row seats. Another Sam Adams, Oysters Ole Cliff (like oysters rockefeller) and my mind shifted to Henry's words, "This day just keeps getting better and better." And I meant it. The sun even came out a few time.

Timmy and I are leaving for Wellfleet tomorrow morning, but since Ria's death I just don't have the enthusiasm I use to feel at packing up beach chairs, looking for the right clothes and books and food to bring. In fact, I didn't shop for my usual goodies - dry roasted nuts, herb teas, good crackers (not just saltines), etc. It's Oysterfest, the ninth festival and I think Timmy and I have been to every one. It started with just a table set up on Main Street across from the Light House Restaurant and the spectators just stood on the hill in front of what was then Aesop's Table Restaurant and watched and cheered the shuckers. Everyone laughed when one of the shuckers' mother reached over to the table to rearrange his freshly opened oysters and the judges moaned. The first festival lasted a few hours. Now it is a weekend long event.

Maria loved the festival. She would get Regina out of school early (like ten minutes after she started) and drive out on Friday. The festival is always the Saturday and Sunday after Columbus day. They would stay at a nearby motel with a heated pool for the kid to swim in and Maria would pack everything, as if going for a week, not a couple of days. One of my best memories of the festival is sitting at a bench in the rain watching the shuck off. The man ahead in the contest was Karl with a K and the little crowd braving the rain were yelling "Karl with a K, Karl with a K" and Regina and I were yelling as loud as we could. Maria said that night, when Regina was taking her swim in the indoor pool, she was so wound up she kept yelling Karl with a K, Karl with a K, the sound echoing throught the pool room.

Another memory is of a hot day, very hot the sun beating down on us, with no shade to hide in - the leaves were off the trees. Timmy was complaining that he had forgotten his hat, didn't have on sunscreen, and Ria said, "I know what to do - I'll make you a hat out of this paper bag" and she rearranged her purchases so a grocery size brown paper bag was available. She started folding it one way, crumpling it another, and before long she had this hat, big, like the Cat in the Hat wears, and Timmy promptly put it on his head. The nearby crowd loved it, more entertainment and cheered him on. "How did you learn to make a hat like that?" I asked Ria, and she smiled and said Mary, Kevin's mother had shown them one night hats they use to make when they were working in the fields. Timmy wore it all day and even on the bus ride home.

They shuttle the crowd in school buses. You park down by the wharf and school buses run back and forth all day taking people to and from the festival. One day we were waiting in line and Ria was arranging Regina's hair. The woman behind her looked at the golden hair, shining in the sun and said to Maria, "that looks just like spun gold" and Maria beamed brightly, so proud she got tears in her eyes.

Ria loved the food at the festival. I remember once she got pizza with clams on it and talked about it for months. Oysters Rockefeller were another favorite but the oyster stew and clam chowder are worth the trip alone.

This year I am going to plant bulbs on Mr. Brown's grave. His grave is the one that Ria traced years back when Rachael was about 3 and Jeremy about 8. We have a picture of her making the rubbing. This is the same rubbing we put on her stone, an angel with an hour glass on her head. His stone is one of the oldest ones, dating back to the 1700's and I think it is fitting for him to have some flowers next spring. A little surprise for anyone who looks and wonders where they came from.

There's a killer on Clay Hill Road. According to Peterson's "A Field Guild to Birds" the identity of the killer is an immature Cooper's Hawk (not to be confused with the Sharp Skinned hawk who has a notched tail). Anyway, about a month ago, I noticed the birds often getting into a tizzy, blue jays screaming, birds frozen in position on the feeders. Then I saw the reason - the above named hawk. At first he would just sit in the apple treee looking at the bird feeder. "He's a young hawk", Timmy explained, "he's just learning to hunt." He boldly set up a surveillance system, one time even calmly sitting on our deck's rail, right outside our window, head turning almost completely around as he watched his prey innocently eating at the feeders.

Then, he put his information to use. He doesn't fly down and grab the victim like most hawks I've seen, he chases them into the window, knocking them to the ground, and then he just picks them up and flys away with the poor stunned creature. Today, he got a mourning dove. She flew into the window, leaving that smudge imprint of herself, a little bird poop, and he picked her up as all the birds screamed in terror. I flung upon the deck door, screaming at the hawk, "Bird Killer, you're a Bird Killer", which jolted a memory of Maria in my head.

Maria was caretaker for Aunt Lillian in her dying months, actual years. Others had gone before, and now it was up to Maria to help Aunt Lillian with her daily living, doctor appointments, various medical procedures, visiting nurses - everything an elderly person that lives alone needs. One day Aunt Lillian was in an especially foul mood. Maria tried to joke her out of it, but there was no chance. Looking out the window, Ria said, "Oh, Aunt Lillian, your mail just came. I'll go get it for you." Getting mail was an event that usually cheered Aunt Lillian up, but today Ria saw that it was going to be a challenge. Ria selected a red envelope from the pile of mail, looked at the Christmas stamp, and said, "Aunt Lillian, I think you just got your first Christmas card." Aunt Lillian just muttered and looked the other way. "Do you want me to open it for you?" Ria cheerfully asked, and Aunt Lillian just waved her hand, like "whatever". Ria opened the envelope.."It IS a Christmas card, a family picture card, with two boys, twins, wearing suits and big owl glasses, with a proud mother in the center." Aunt Lillian snapped to attention. "Let me see that card", she demanded, and when Ria handed it to her she screamed, "Dog Killers. They're the ones that killed Spotty. Damn Dog Killers", and she threw the card down in disgust.

Now Spotty had never been a favorite of mine. When Atticus was not even two, Spotty jumped off of Aunt Lillian's lap, and bit Atticus right under the eye, one of the worse scenes I have ever experienced. We knew Spotty had died, just before Maria became caretaker, but we never knew why, just thought of old age. When Ria told me about Aunt Lillian, and the Christmas card and the twin boys wearing glasses, we tried to figure out how they killed Spotty. "Maybe Spotty had a heart attack thinking about biting TWO boys at once", was one suggestion. "Maybe Spotty had a stoke thinking he was seeing double, looking at the twins", was another. We got laughing at the thought of Spotty getting so excited he just keeled over, and for days, Ria and I only had to say Dog Killer and we would go off laughing.

So now I have to figure a way to get those killer twins up here. Or maybe I could put out a whole bunch of stuffed birds that wouldn't fly into the window at the sight of the hawk. I'll have to come up with something soon because I can't stand the sound of birds slamming into the windows all day.

We started Our Learning Institute classes and one class that I am taking is on French artists in the 18th and 19th centuries. This week we looked at Jean Baptiste Greuze who was painting at the time that France was becoming emotional and interested in everyday life. His paintings usually depicted several subjects in a way that told the viewer immediately the story of the painting. For example Broken Eggs has this little demon boy holding an egg shell, while the family is scolding the maid for the mishap of eggs on the floor. Anther one, Return of the Prodigal Son, the family surrounds the father's death bed, the mother is pointing accusingly at the son, the people surrounding the bed are wringing their hands, holding their heads and hearts, all melodramatically. The instructor even said that silent films copied these familiar stagings. Then he said something that clicked with me. He likened these paintings to Norman Rockwell, who likewise, used ordinary looking people, in a scene that was instantly recognized by the viewer. Christmas Homecoming has the mother hugging the son, while every one, old and young are smiling around them. Norman Rockwell brings me right back to when I was 12 in the 6th grade with Mrs. Fritz as my teacher.

Mrs. Fritz was a tiny woman, with curly gray hair, that ran a tight ship, mostly keeping us in line with her "credit system". Everytime you did something right, or got a 100, you got a line, 5 lines made a star, or a credit. Likewise, when you did something wrong, or failed, you lost a line, or if really terrible a whole credit. One of her weekly assignments would be a Norman Rockwell Saturday Evening Post Magazine cover. She would set it up on the chalkboard and have us write our own story to go with the picture. I loved this assignment, it was right up my alley and my pencil would fly. Norman Rockwell's picture practically wrote the story themselves.

There was only one problem with Mrs. Fritz's class. My seat was next to Paul Cooper's, a red headed freckled handsome boy that could have modeled for Rockwell. He had a good sense of humor and could make me laugh easier than anyone had ever done. Soon after entering Mrs. Fritz's class Paul and I noticed something strange about her and the Pledge of Allegiance. Instead of putting her hand over her heart, she cupped her left breast, most gently, almost as if she were checking to see if it was still there. I didn't think too much of it, until one day when Paul made a noise and when I looked in his direction he was mimicking her method, had his hand cupped over an imaginary breast. I giggled and looked away, but the damage was done. He knew he had me and every day after that he would do the Pledge the same way as Mrs. Fritz. Now, she never noticed, her eyes intent on the flag, her full attention on her patriotic duty as a citizen and teacher of the young. But, as my giggles got louder, she began to look in our direction. One day it was really bad, and I laughed out loud. Mrs. Fritz stopped the Pledge, stared at me, and said "Linda, I think you better go out into the hall until you can control yourself". Red faced, I did so. After that Paul stopped doing the gesture, I think he knew how embarrassed I was. I don't remember how many credits I lost, but I bet it set me back a bit.

Norman Rockwell could have done a painting of our class, with Paul making me laugh (the evil kid with the broken egg shell) and Mrs. Fritz staring angrily and disappointed at me (the innocent kitchen maid) while I am shaking with laughter. I would like to see that one.