Ummm, Where Are The Grown-Ups?

A few weeks ago, I had the unfortunate task of attending my Auntie Barbara's wake.  Auntie Barbara was married to my dad's brother and was also my godmother.  Although I hadn't seen her in a number of years, I loved her very much and was saddened by her passing.

 

The wake itself was not sad, and although the circumstances were not the most uplifting, it was good to see my first cousins again. 

 

There are 8 of us all together:  my cousins Donnie, Cathy, Jimmy and Joe, myself and my sisters Alisa, Laurel and Mary.

 

While I was at the wake, after I had talked with each member of the family, I stood back and observed my surroundings for a bit.  A split second of panic overtook me...

Where Are The Grown-Ups??

 

I looked over to my Uncle Donnie, who was sitting in his wheelchair, paralyzed on one side from a stroke.  My dad was sitting next to him, a couple of months post heart surgery.  I looked around the room at the white hair and stooped bodies, and I recognized that these were the adults of my generation.  The musicians and friends and family, who were the jokesters and pranksters and loud and funny, were now the elders.  And...Oh.  My.  God.  WE are now the adults!

 

Wait, that can't be.  US?

 

The eight of us who agonized over chocolate or butterscotch Jell-O pudding pops at Nan and Pup's in between games of Jarts?  (Yes, I'm talking lawn darts.  Not the sissy lawn darts of today, with their safe, rounded bottoms.  No.  These were the real things, with spikes on the ends that would spear our bare feet if we weren't careful!)

 

The eight of us (okay, the six of you) who would swim out to the float in the middle of the lake, leaving little Debbie on the shore desperately digging for China?

 

The eight of us who were banished to the outside while the adults ate and partied on the top of the mountain?  (You'll be okay, just watch out for the bears)

 

The eight of us who took our respected turns sneaking chocolates from Auntie Bea's carefully hidden box under the couch?  Who gratefully accompanied Pup on his Saturday morning visits and a trip to A&W for lunch and a root beer?

 

The eight of us who could, to this day, probably still belt out a round of "Out Behind The Barn"?

 

WE are the grown-ups?

 

Our children are now the kids and before we know it, their kids will be the kids.

 

That means...that we will be...the elders?!?!

 

Well, how about this.  When we are the elders and we gather together for one function or another, I'll pull my walker up to your wheelchair and we'll all have a laugh together!

 

 

Barbara Concannon Doane

November 1, 1931-May 9, 2015

 

 

But, Where Do They Run?

 

So, working with children allows me a glimpse into the lives of modern-day families with small children.  I hear about play dates and trips to the park and outings full of agendas.  It has made me wonder...but where do they run?

 

When I was growing up, we would spend many summer weeks at my grandparents' cottage on Foster's Point on the New Meadows River.  The adults, I am sure, were driven from the suburbs by the summer heat.  For me, the allure was the freedom!

 

 

 

The cottage was a part of Rock Haven Colony, a dirt road dotted with summer cottages nestled between grassy fields, pine groves and berry thatches.  Now, when I say "cottages", I mean just that...the cottage was a rudimentary structure with no insulation and smelled of mothballs, must and salt air.  We had electricity, but no running water.  Bathroom breaks included a short walk to the outhouse (ours was a 1-seater; the neighboring cottage had a 2-seater...fancy!  Although, I'm not sure what the draw was about chatting with a family member while you both pooped.).

 

While at the cottage, kids had the freedom to roam.  We ran through fields and (gasp!) over neighboring lawns and nobody batted an eyelash.  We would stop at the natural spring for a drink and pick sweet raspberries or seedy blackberries when we got hungry.  We were beckoned home by the ringing of a cowbell.  At some point over the course of our stay, Nana would send me down to the shore at low tide with a tin bucket, promising me that whatever clams I could dig up, she would steam for me for my next meal.

 

 

 

The colony was just that:  a group of families who summered together on the river.  Each night, the adults would gather at one of the cottages for "Club", which would entail several cocktails, snacks and lots of laughter.  The kids would gather for a game of flashlight tag or simply lie back on the hill and gaze at the night sky.

 

When my grandmother passed away, we sold the cottage with heavy hearts.  It was old and dilapidated and needed so much work, we just didn't have the resources to put into it.

 

I had been having a lot of dreams about the cottage, so David and I took a drive down to West Bath one summer day a few years ago, just to rekindle some of my old memories.  We were able to visit with some of my distant cousins who still have a cottage along the water and happened to be there the day we went.  We parked our car at their place and walked the rest of the way to my old stomping grounds.  So much had changed, yet some things were the same!

 

As we neared the top of the hill, I was immediately swept up in the smell...it was so familiar!  Salt, pine, earth, seaweed...I'm not even sure of all it was, but it was the same.

 

But, wow!  The feeling was sooooo different!  Everywhere I looked, there were fences.  Stockade fences between every cottage, marking off individual lots and securing privacy (I guess).  Gone were the fields and groves and berry patches, replaced with homes.  Ranches and two-story houses, it looked more like a suburb than a colony.  Our cottage was still standing, but had been updated (much needed) and winterized.  A well and septic system had been installed and the outhouse still stood, but is now being used as a shed.

 

I still have dreams about the cottage, the way I remember it as a child.  So much has changed, which is simply part of life, I know.  But it saddens me that this place I remember as open and free and community-driven has obviously turned into "mine".  

 

 And it makes me wonder...but, where do the kids run?