I've been thinking about hibernation. Last week's paper had a review of a book written by a New Paltz professor about a woman being put into a coma for two weeks to lose weight. It's fiction, but this is entirely possible today with medically induced comas. I'd rather hibernate. Last year the New York Times had an article about human hiberation that was known about in Russia (the people said 7 months of winter, 5 months of hell, so that tells you something about their lives). But the one I was interested in was a town in France which produced wine where the peasants would hibernate once the grapes were harvested and the wine was made. Their work was done for the year and there was no reason to wake up each day. It showed a picture of a family sleeping with their arms around their animals - a cow, sheep and pigs. Rotating, one member of the family would stay awake to tend the fire and the family would wake to eat a piece of stale bread every now and then. A long winter's nap. This appealed to me and I've been drawn to that thought now that the days are gray, darkness comes so early and even the mornings take a while to arrive. Just get under the covers and like Sleeping Beauty, wait until a prince comes to wake you up, a well rested, 30 pounds thinner you, get rid of the animals and get on with life. But, there is Christmas coming faster each day, Team Ria searching for the lost doubloon (our new member, Rob, has been coming up with the greatest ideas - he's found a shipwreck, numerous places to search including a sewer plant, can't miss that) and they called to tell us Maria's stone has come to Red Hook, to be put in place by next week. Sabra asked what does it look like, and the man said it hasn't been uncrated yet....too much going on. I'll hibernate next month.

We've been busy, searching for the lost crown of Captain Kidd. Actually, this was a plan 17 years ago to drum up tourism in Catskill, but failed miserably when a tv show that was featuring the hidden treasure was pulled and never shown. Anyway, for the last month we, Team Ria, have been studying the story and the map, looking for clues. The story goes something like this:

Captain Kidd and his crew of 185, 75 from the city of New York, are sitting in their worm filled boat waiting to find pirates. Instead they see the Quahog Merchant, and decide to become pirates. The ship is full of treasures, gold, fabrics and a diamond filled crown, and a beautiful young girl bound to be married to a rich king. Kidd's second mate, Lad Widerear, falls in love with the girl, who sits around in pantaloons and a camisole and gives him the eye. The rest of the men dress in the fancy clothes and pretend to lay golden eggs. Kidd sees Widerear's interest and gets rid of the girl, takes over the ship, goes back to New York and hides the crown with Lad Widerear 87 miles north of the Statue of Liberty and 36 miles down from Albany. Back in New York Kidd, who has been summoned about his actions, puts on his best dress and tells his first mate Dolton, if you see me drop my hanky, get the hell out of there. When he drops his hanky, Dolton and the crew head back up the Hudson to hide Kidd's share of the booty, before he goes to the brink. They hide the chests of gold doubloons in the same place as the crown, and Dolton asks for a straw from a haystack, takes a needle, puts it in the straw and a small bowl of river water, and laughs as the needle turns north. Then he takes a cross staff and shoots a light at Widerear's end. Perfect he smiles, half of Widerear's age. Aha...now he tells Widerear that he has to stay here with these directions in case Kidd ever comes back. Then the story jumps to the 1900's and a girl name Hannah, escaping the boredom of Catskill finds the crown. Now go and find it. That's all you get.

308 years later Team Ria is in action. Maria and Sam Bellamy, the pirate from the Whydah are sharing a rum coke and are watching from above. "Look at that", Sam says to Maria pointing at the bunch of them running around St. Anthony Friary, "They think they're on to it. Who's the one holding the girl up to the statue of the Blessed Mother, and what is she trying to do?" "Oh, laughed Maria, "That's my brother with Atticus my niece on his shoulders. I think they think the blessed Mother's crown is the doubloon. Oh, wow, Shane is trying to knock the statue down with a big stick. This is getting good." Pirate Sam, interrupted Maria, and pointed in the opposite direction, "And who are those three nuts in the Hudson River in November and what are they trying to do?" Maria turned and laughed out loud. That's my brothers-in-law, Tony and Michael and the white haired guy wearing shorts and no socks, is my mother's fiance. They've been engaged for 22 years now." "And, asked Sam, "What are they doing in the mucky low tides of the river in below freezing weather, in the water?" "Well" explained Maria, "Tim thinks that little piece of land that shows up in the map is Madagascar and he thinks that tidal land is where the treasure is." Sam laughed a hearty laugh, and pointed to a woman on the shore. Maria told him that was her sister Sabra and she was video taping the whole search. And that's my mother and sister Laura in the car watching with the binoculars. Sam turned to Maria, gave her a hug, and said, "You know you're family is nuts, but I am cheering for them." Maria and Black Sam lifted their glass, "Go team Ria, Go."

When Timmy and I are on a long drive, and he's behind the wheel, he likes to find a "happy place", a place on a major three lane highway, that suddenly has no cars in front of you and no cars in back. You relax, look at the scenery, slow down to the speed limit and enjoy the drive. Without the rush of cars passing on either side you are suddenly tension free, if only for a few minutes or even seconds. I have been kind of in a "happy place" since Cape Cod. It started one morning, early about 7:30 I was on Mayo Beach drinking a hot cup of offee, watching the shellmen about their job. Wellfleet Harbor stretched in front of me like a cinematic screen, land, water, Jeremy Point, more water and vast amounts of blue sky. The moon had been full the night before, so it was a very low tide and the men were so far off they looked like toy soldiers, their trucks pulled to the end of the water looked like Matchbox trucks. They moved slowly, some raking their oyster beds, some pulling rowboats filled with burlap bags of oysters and suddenly I felt a peace, a good feeling watching these workers doing a tedious job in slow motion, in cold water. A happy place. Then last week in my writing class at Bard I read my piece on "I knew I grew up when..." a piece that ended with even Maria's death not accomplishing my growing up. The class applauded me, the teacher said excellent and I went out of the room feeling a "happy place". I hate to read in front of people, I inherited the Murphy shyness and this was something hard for me to do and I thought I would cry, but I wore the scarf Maria had made for me, and I think that helped. My happy place continued.

Right now our country is not in a happy place and the result of next Tuesday is all important. Sabra e-mailed me an essay David Sedaris wrote for the New Yorker on voting. He mentions the voters who are undecided and likens it to being on an airplance. The stewardess approaches with the food cart and asks, do you want the chicken or a platter of shit with bits of broken glass in it and the undecided voter asks "How's the chicken cooked?" Funny, but sad too. We need to get into a happy place and Tuesday means the difference of an over crowded dangerous highway of crazy drivers or a long stretch of calm road ahead. Please, give us the calm road.

Back from a week at the Cape - beaches, Oysterfest and a memorial for a schooltime friend. Something for everyone there. I spoke a few words at Jackie's memorial, about our long time friendship. After the speakers, there was food, snack food and a small boat decoration filled with raw oysters. Her younger sister Sandy told me how she was so angry when Jackie died too early, Sandy thought they would have so many more years to be together. A few days before I had been to a funeral for a friend in Tivoli, who died at 69. The pastor there also kept saying, too young, she died too young. Made me think of Maria at 45 but then I guess they always say too young. Not my Uncle Ed Murphy, he was 96. There they said, "Doesn't he look good?" and he did. I went to Oma's 100 birthday, but was away for her funeral, but they probably didn't say she died too young either.

Anyway, something happened to me at the Cape, something broke free and I can once again do embrodery. I haven't been able to do that since Maria died. Instead I replaced it with Sudoku, the numbers game, placing numbers 1 through 9 in blocks, filling books and books of Sudoku. I even did the ones in the newspaper each day and the one in the AARP magazine, any Sudoku I could get my hands on. I realized in Cape Cod that was because when I embroider, I think. When I do Sudoku, I have to concentrate on the numbers, nothing else, no thinking. I had my bag of assorted projects to embroider and I picked up an apron I had started before Christmas. The needle went in and out and the brain started to wander. But my thoughts weren't scarey thoughts, they weren't awful thoughts, they were just thoughts and the needle kept going until I ran out of thread and then I picked another color and it was like I had never stopped for seven months. One small step.....

I've changed in many ways, I know it. Not long ago Caleb Potter's mother wrote in her blog that Caleb had asked her, "Where's my real Mom?" She was upset and hurt, but Laura wrote to her blog, saying something like "since my sister died, I lost my real mother, the one I had before" and I know what she meant. Tragedy changes you. I told Timmy the above, and he simply said, "I lost my old girlfriend too". I know I am less tolerant, less patient. At the Cape we were in line outside waiting to eat at Moby Dick's the last night of the season it was to be open. A big van drove up and parked next to the line of waiting customers with a bumper sticker NOBAMA. "Where did you get that sticker?" asked the man in front of us."I want to get one". The people behind us piped in, "We want to get one to," That's it, I told Timmy. Let's go. I'm not eating with people that think like that and we left, with the hostess saying, "Won't you reconsider?" I wanted to yell, "You assholes want McCain. Stand in line then, like sheep, waiting to go into a restaurant" , but Timmy (who is never the conservative) said to me, "I wouldn't say anything to that group if I were you" and I didn't. But that's just an example. No patience. I can't even wait for the next two weeks to go by so we don't have to see and hear all the politicians pointing fingers and telling us how much money they are going to save us. Well, I may be impatient now, but I can once again do my embordery.

I heard the geese last night. It was the full harvest moon and they must have been taking advantage of the light to make a few more miles south. It was bright, almost light enough to read by the bedroom window. I love to hear the geese. When I was a kid my father would sing "My heart knows what the wild goose knows, I must go where the wild goose goes" a Frankie Laine hit about a wanderer who leaves the woman he loves for the wild life - a song my father seemed to like a lot more than Bucky did.

The geese have always been a symbol to me of the changing seasons, the onset of fall and the long winter, and in the spring, the promise of warm weather and summer. I love to hear the honks, almost like dogs barking and to search the sky looking for the tell tale V formation. Last March, probably just a week or so before Maria died, I was waiting with Solomon for his bus to come to pick him up. I heard the sound, and sure enough, there they were, coming north, a big V. I pointed them out to Solomon, "Look, Solly, the geese are flying north, they're making a big V in the sky." Then, there were more, several flocks, making the familiar noise, making the familiar formation. "A big V, and another big V", I pointed out to Solomon. His head pointed up, he said nodding, "Yes, just like Darth Vader" - he was and still is big time into Star Wars. After that we yelled "It's Darth Vader, Darth Vader is coming - more Darth Vader", with laughs of joy. After I returned home, I phoned Maria and was telling her about introducing Solomon to the migrating geese and how he related it to Darth Vader. She answered warmly, "Oh, Ma, what a wonderful memory for him." And that's what it is - a memory of all the times I've pointed out the geese - all the years and seasons past and to come.

Today I heard two sisters talking on local tv that they named their farm "Gansvoort" after the old Dutch name which literally means goose crossing. My sister Kathleen lives in Gansvoort and Gansvoort is a name associated with the Huson Valley, which is a real goose crossing, a regular route for the geese to go north and south by. But I had never heard the translation. I like it though, that's what the geese symbolize, crossing, leaving summer, going into winter, and then in reverse. Hoping to still be here to see them come back, but never knowing. I always plant spring bulbs with that same thought, "wonder if I'll be here to see them flowering" - it's a small leap of faith and hope for the future.

The news this morning was all about the anniversary of September 11th. Family members were interviewed and spoke of how that day will never be forgotten. I myself remember it well. The phone rang after 8am and my neighbor Kathy told me to put on the television, a plane had crashed into the Twin Towers. Timmy and I watched in disbelief as the other tower was hit. To get away from the television, Timmy and I decided to do what we did every Tuesday morning, walk to Tivoli and go to the Thrift Shop. A small group was waiting outside the door, whispering in shock, "a plane has crashed in the Pentagon", more planes are attacking, the country is at war". No one knew what to believe and then I saw Maria drive up with Regina in the car. She, too, had felt the need to do a usual, normal activity. I don't even remember going into the shop, but Margaret who lives next door, called down to us to come to her apartment. Timmy said he would walk home, and Maria, Regina and I went upstairs. We talked nervously about the events, second guessing what was coming next, and then Margaret looked at Regina, two years old at that time, and asked "Regina, would you like to hold one of my birds?" Regina nodded yes and Margaret said, "I'll let you hold Retardo, he's very easy going" and Regina stretched out her hand and Margaret took a picture of Regina, wearing a long dress, a solemn look on her young face, with that bird held so gingerly on her finger, with the tv in the background showing the smoking twin towers. Wow! Talk about capturing so much with one picture. Seven years later, the family members still feel the grief, the loss and watching them being interviewed on TV this morning, I said in my head (sometimes I do say these things out loud too), "Yes, I understand. I grieve with you at your lose." That's what grief does to you...it humbles you, it humanizes you. It gives you an understanding of the "human condition" that you can only get when you go through it yourself. Seven years have passed, and I wonder what we learned as a people, meaning the whole country, from this event. I look at the polls with Palin sweeping McCain ahead and I shake my head. Bush used this event to go to war, thousands have died, and we have a chance to elect someone who can bring the soldiers home, help our country get back on its feet, make us feel proud again as Americans, and we would rather have a gun toting, moose killing, pit bull (lipstick wearing) hockey mom leading the way. God Help Us.

Monday morning Timmy and I were cleaning up the Bird's Nest after guests for the long weekend. He was reading from our guest book, but was having a hard time deciphering the handwriting of our latest guest. He does this to me all the time. He will pick up my grocery list and say "brood" for bread or "malt" for milk. He has that perfect handwriting of an artist and no patience for my scribbling. Well, even I couldn't read what the "pleasing sounds of birds and ????" were and suddenly it brought me back to last Christmas in Ria's car heading home from our annual Christmas trek to Beacon. Regina was in the back seat and we were headed a few miles towards home when Regina remembered she hadn't eaten all day..playing with her cousin Katie had made her forget lunch. So she started in the whining about Burger King as we drove through Poughkeepsie. "We''ll stop in Hyde Park," Maria told her, "there's a Burger King there". "Ria," I whispered, "I think that's a MacDonald's". The kid heard me and yelled "I hate MacDonald's-I want Burger King. They have the best fries." "There's one in Hyde Park", screamed Ria back, "I'm pretty sure anyway," she added. But when we got to Hyde Park, there it was, a MacDonald's. Regina had a fit...."you told me it was Burger King,,I hate MacDonald's". "Well," said Ria patiently and firmly, "It's MacDonald's or nothing til we get home." Regina grunted and we turned in and got in line behind several cars for the drive-in. Maria started to giggle and turned to me. "Laura gave me the greatest tape for Christmas, Ma. It's Dane Cook (I had never heard of him) and he's talking about working at Burger King. He was 17 and his brother was manager and got him a job there....but he was embarrassed to be working at Burger King, so he called it the BK Lounge and said he was a bouncer for the BK Lounge. But, Ma, the funiest part was his brother always made him work at the drive thru...which he hated. People yelled at him, I said large fries, MF'er and screamed into the mike. But worse, he said, were the people who whispered, and he goes, extra cheese, extra pickles, all in whispers. He said he thought they were talking dirty to him....like chicken tenders and put extra pussy sauce on the meat. Well, Ria and I got laughing so hard that by the time we got to the window, Ria could hardly put in the order, but she spoke loudly and clearly giving Regina's order. And the kid got her fries and stopped whining and Ria and I laughed the rest of the way home....It was the unreadable guest book that brought that back to me and it gave me a chuckle. I turned to Timmy, and pretended to read from the book, "Thanks for the worst stay of my life...the f... birds woke me up early after the shitty refrigerator ran all night." I think that's what my life is going to be from now on, little snippets of shared times with Maria. Thanks Dane Cook for making me and Maria laugh.