GO AND COME

INTRODUCTION

In her captivating story of a visit to meet her African family members entitled “My Soujourn to the Lands of My Ancestors,” Maya Angelou uses an African phrase, (KO NE BRA) which means "Go and Come."   Spoken by her new kin after a festive village event celebrating her stopover, the phrase was meant as a combined benediction to go in health and an invitation to return for another visit. 

PROLOGUE

I know three women who have lived rich, full lives.  They have gone years without seeing each other.  They are coming together for a reunion.  I’ll be present.

In these next pages, I’ll introduce you to Marge, who made the reunion possible.  She, in turn, will introduce you to her two longtime friends Carole and Eileen.   Then as I tell the story of their reunion, we will see the personification of the mantra “Go and Come.”

In the role of the observer, I have reflected that friends and family members often come into our lives for a time, then leave to answer the call life places upon them.  When a relationship is real and substantive, we find a way to reconnect, again and again.  That is what this planned reunion has already taught me. 

What I have learned and hope to pass on is this:  For those whom we wish to see again and again, may we adopt this phrase… “Go and Come,” and in so doing, may we ensure that our lives’ paths will always find a way to cross once more.

MARGE

“Ginny, I need you.”

I called my mother Ginny when I was 3, and I needed help as my pyramid of blocks collapsed.  So it was logical, albeit a bit unorthodox, to call out to her using her first name.

By the time I was three, my father was gone and Ginny was a single mother.  Living across from her parents, she raised my brother John and me with their help, and with a strong constitution that drove her work ethic and her maternal devotion.

My brother John was 4 years older and the family prince.  He successfully outsourced his chores to me and went off to live the life of the fatherless adolescent and teen, all the while assured that his little sister would cover for him.  One Saturday, when he had slipped up and allowed himself to be grounded, he snuck out the upstairs window to go to the movies convinced he would win the new bike they were raffling off.  When Ginny asked me to go and get him, I fumbled through a lame excuse for his inability to come downstairs and she tore up the stairs after him.  When she found his bedroom empty, I was grilled as to his whereabouts.  Now a co-conspirator, I was about to see an equal measure of punishment meted out to me when John appeared in the front door with a victorious look on his face and the new bike by his side.  My temporary relief was quickly squelched when Ginny beat us both with whatever implement she could find, and my brother and I found ourselves grounded together.  I seem to remember, though, that he somehow obtained furlough while I was remanded to my full sentence… such was the way in our household.

Of course, the exception to the “sun shines on John” rule was at Nanny’s.  I was Nanny’s favorite, and she and Granca afforded me extra protection and indulgence to offset their knowledge that Ginny was entirely wrapped around John’s baby finger.  I spent many afternoons watching Nanny bake her magical breads, cakes, and famous lemon bisque.  As President of the Ladies’ Sodality at our church, Nanny was gregarious and social, in contrast to Granca’s “Quiet Man” decorum.  Their love was real and abiding, and my model for marriage.  Granca had great success as a builder, and his homes stand today as a testimony to his quality workmanship.  Yet it is his success as a family man, protecting his three children and watching over the grandchildren that would follow, that made him the man I have most admired in my life.  As to the woman I knew I wanted to become, my model was certainly Nanny, for the love she openly shared, and the fortitude she constantly showed.

As to longevity, Granca lived to be 104 (and bought a new yellow Mustang at age 96!)  Nanny predeceased him at age 94, ready to surrender and go home to the God she so loved when she finally admitted to me “Margroosh, I no can hear the birds no more.”  They celebrated 75 years together, and I have a treasure trove of memories of warmth and love learned in their home.

When Nanny died, my friend Betty was in New York and I was on an overnight flight and could not attend the first night of the wake.  I asked Betty to be there for me, so she looked up the address of the Polish funeral home and called them to ensure that Nanny was in their care.  In her nervousness, she could not remember Nanny’s given name, so she described her to the owner.  After going into the two rooms occupied by clients, the owner came back to say that he was sorry, there was no 94 year old woman there.  He did remark that there was a woman who looked to be in her late 60s (of course, that was Nanny).

Betty attended with her sister Pat, who accompanied her for support.  Pat had been on a health kick and essentially starving her family of everything demonized by the food critics at the time… salt, sugar and fat being the biggest culprits.  After she had paid her respects to Granca (100 at the time and, like Nanny, looking much younger than his age), Pat asked Granca what he did to stay so young.  To Pat’s (and certainly to her family’s) absolute euphoria, Granca said he ate bacon or sausages and eggs for breakfast, enjoyed a wide variety of Nanny’s rich meals, breads, and desserts, and topped off each evening meal with a fine cigar on the porch.  Needless to say, Pat’s menu restrictions lifted immediately.

Granca went to live with Ginny after Nanny’s passing.  Ginny was a devoted daughter, and although her cooking could not compete with Nanny’s, her company was more important to him in his loneliness.  Ginny had inherited some of Nanny’s quiet resourcefulness, though… when she was in need of solitude at the end of the day, she would reach for the TV remote and tune in to “The Muppets,” one of Granca’s least favorite programs.  Invariably, his palms would slap the arms of the recliner chair, he would rise to his feet, and say, “I go to bed now.”

Granca and Nanny were there for all the important dates in my life.  When I announced my first marriage, Granca, having met Hugh only once, commented to Nanny and Ginny, “He’ll never hold her.”  He was right.  After my divorce, Nanny and Granca were there to cheer me on as I led a single life and enjoyed success as an amateur golfer.  When I married my second husband Jay, Granca walked me down the aisle (at age 100).  When Jay was killed in a car crash 3 years later, I was glad that Granca was not there… he had passed without pain or struggle, dying like an angel, just the way he lived.

CAROLE  Jay’s death was an absolute devastation to me.  Ginny had predicted something was going to happen as she protested my plan to send her off to visit her sister Pauline that morning.  I had also always thought that something horrible would happen to me when I reached 50 years of age. 
One month after the wonderful 50^th birthday celebration Jay had arranged for me, my friend Joan Savlon and her brother John knocked at my door.  John was a Massachusetts State Trooper in full regalia, and I my knees buckled when I saw them standing in somber silence as I opened the door.  I was sure that Ginny’s plane had gone down.  “Is it Ginny?” I gasped.  “No, it’s Jay,” said Joan.

The next thing I remember was calling my dearest friend Carole McCarthy.  Carole lived in Topsfield, 15 miles away, and had three children and a husband at home as well as an important job as a court reporter.  But David, Michelle and Karen took care of themselves for the next several weeks.  Phil oversaw the household and saw as little of his wife as the kids saw of their mother.  Even her boss was neglected as Carole shifted jobs to other available reporters.  The person who got Carole’s attention, and her heart, was me. 

What I can tell you I remember of that awful time was sitting in front of my living room fire with Carole holding my hand.  There was not a lot of dialogue, no “aha” moments of unforgettable words of wisdom.  There was a hand holding mine.  Every time I called, Carole was there.  Just there.  Always there.

Carole’s husband and three children will always be a part of my family.  David is now a father of two children, Michelle has three, and Karen has two.  They are devoted to each other and to their parents.  Phil is a proud grandfather and Carole is his best friend and confidante.  And they never leave my thoughts and prayers.  Every joy and sadness either of us has experienced since Jay’s death has been shared.  Whether words are meaningful or even necessary, we are there for each other.  Always there.

One defining event in Carole’s life which stands as a testimony to her inner strength occurred when she and Phil were forced to move to Florida due to an unexpected change in ownership at his company.  Instead of filling their lovely suburban home with the sounds of their first two grandchildren whose birth was imminent, they were forced instead to sell that home and relocate.  Carole was understandably devastated, but knew that Phil needed her support at this critical time in his career. She put on her best game face and went through the motions of expediting the sale of the home she dearly loved, and searching for and finding a lovely golfing community homesite near Phil’s new office in Florida.  She packed, moved, decorated the new home, arranged for them to meet new couples and join the ladies’ and men’s golf leagues.  All the while she ached to be with her children as they brought their babies into the world.  She visited often, and I know it was only the anticipation of the next flight back to New England that kept her sane during those two years.  Finally the time came when Phil could retire and they could return to New England and the family.  The housing market required that they downsize to a condo, but it is big enough for their 3 kids, 7 grandkids, and all extended family members that can pack themselves in on a snowy Sunday or a family holiday, because it is filled with love.  She and Phil play golf with their old friends, stay close with siblings, enjoy all their memories and continue to make new ones.

Carole and I often discuss our memories.  We know that personal challenges have helped each of us build character, and have prepared us to face anything life may offer.  We are grateful to share our wonderful game of golf, and our respective trophy shelves have a fair number of crystal bowls and other awards inscribed with the team name “Wolf/McCarthy.”  Our favorite part of the best or worst game we have ever played, though, is the time on the cart together.  (My reputation for finding every hill and knoll on each fairway and taking it at top speed is well-documented by the many head-bumping stories in Carole’s arsenal).  Win or lose, our friendship has never faltered.  We have played some formidable competition, and we have made friends of the gals we met in many of those matches, some of whom we still see today.

EILEEN
Among the friends I have met and loved through the game of golf is Eileen Gibbons.  Sharing the loss of a husband, Eileen has reached out to me with much more in common as well.  We are both ready with our friendship… for a good time or for support.  Eileen was always a fierce competitor, and never lost her smile regardless of the outcome of a golf match.  She and I also teamed up to take home many a trophy, and have a million laughs in our memory bank of times together.

Taught by her Dad as a small girl, Eileen played a course famous for its tiny greens.  She learned to be deadly in her accuracy with approach shots, and became one of the best putters in the State.  But the best part of Eileen’s game was always her attitude.  Once, after a bad shot, Eileen threw down her club and uttered a curse.  Her Dad picked up her club, delivered her back to the car, and took her home, with the simple admonition that if she ever did that again she would never play the game again.  That was all it took for her to realize that the most wonderful lesson of golf was the lesson of how to handle life’s ups AND downs.  She has always credited him with any success she has had, in golf and in life.

Eileen and I were mentored by one of the greatest female golfers in Massachusetts– Blanche Nies.  Blanche had a keen eye for talent, a droll sense of humor, and a penchant for a few drinks after a match.  Eileen met Blanche as a youngster, and having been turned over to Blanche by her straight-laced Dad who had taught her that golf was a game of honor and tradition, Eileen was always amused and sometimes shocked to experience Blanche’s methods. 

On the way to a team match one morning, Blanche admitted to her carful of teammates that she was lost and had to stop for directions.  A helpful gentleman told her to follow him, and he would motion when she was to turn.  A few hundred yards prior to their turn, however, he tossed his cigarette out and over the roof, and Blanche jerked to an immediate right and directly into a ditch.

Eileen stayed close to Blanche throughout her life.  In her old age, Blanche retired to Florida with a severe case of emphysema, and Eileen joined me on a farewell trip to our lifelong friend and mentor.  Blanche recounted her advice to us when we would allow our hearts to lead their minds and let up on an opponent once we gained a significant lead in match play.  “Honey,” she would say (at that time with a cigarette dangling from her lips), “when you get ‘em down one, get ‘em down two.  And when you get ‘em down two, get ‘em down three.  And when you get ‘em down three, get ‘em down four.  Because lunch goes down a lot better when you’re a winner than when you’re a loser!”

Having the privilege of being teamed up with Eileen was one of the pleasures of my life.  Our golf matches were always played at the highest level, as we brought out the best in each other.  Even today, as we both watch our distance and accuracy fade, we can put on a blistering competition on the putting green.  And, like Carole, Eileen always knows that my cart driving is something for which she must be prepared (once our clubs are loaded and we get into the cart, she puts her right foot against the floorboard and issues the call to arms before we take off: “Okay, I’m braced!”)

Eileen is a treasure to me not because of golf, but because of life.  I have watched her nurse her husband Jack as he was dying, and heard utter the words “when Jack died my life was over.”  Then I watched her recover.  Not forget, but recover.  Her son Jack suffers with emotional and psychological challenges, but none too great for Eileen.  He lives with her and she affords him dignity while showing him a mother’s unconditional love.  Her daughter Laurie is a dedicated nurse, married to Kenny, a dedicated police officer.  Their two children, Jennifer and Patrick, have enjoyed their best cheerleader, Nana Eileen, throughout their upbringing.  Jen’s dancing and ice skating were made more dramatic by the costumes created and sewn by Nana.  Patrick’s math grades, faltering as he entered the foreign world of Algebra, soared thanks to Nana’s tutoring, and prepared him to tackle Geometry, Advanced Algebra, Trigonometry and Calculus. 

Eileen’s chosen profession of teaching is truly a vocation.  I remember a defining moment when when one of our golf friend’s sons was failing and desperately in need of information and inspiration.  Eileen stepped in, turned his dread into determination and soon to success.  In return, when asked for her fee, Eileen asked for one dollar.  His success, she said, was more than enough compensation.

That’s Eileen.  Good to the core.  Patient, resilient, and a faithful friend.  My favorite telephone conversation with Eileen goes something like this… “Eileen, how about dinner tonight at Crackers.  Meet you at 6?”  “Sounds good!”   In this day and age of frills, drama, and high maintenance, that sounds good!

REUNION PLANS

The idea started in the summertime.  Perhaps it was the mortality bug that made them think about getting together for one more hurrah.  Certainly they noticed more “Organ Recital” telephone conversations (‘my heart, my lungs, my kidneys…’), and more references to “Obits” than “Orbitz” as notifications about deaths of mutual friends eclipsed discussions about travel plans.  So they finally promised each other that a winter break from the northeast weather would be a plan, and since Marge’s California desert condo is located in a golfing paradise, she cast out the net and opened her calendar… all of February was cleared.  By Christmas they were all in agreement, and flights were booked.  The worst New England winter in several decades made the plan all the more exciting as February rolled around. 

Then near-disaster struck two days before the flight when weather cancellations closed the Dallas airport through which Carole and Eileen’s flight was connecting.  However, Old Man Winter obviously did not know he was dealing with these intrepid ladies.  Gals who have overcome some of the greatest bumps that life can throw their way have too much resilience to give in to airport closures.  As Marge waited for the results of their multiple conversations with the airlines, she knew in her heart they would prevail.  And, in fact, they did!  Not only were they able to reschedule the same careful connection 2 days later, but they even managed to extend the trip by an additional 2 days (thus yanking the silver lining right out of American Airlines’ cloud!!)

Tee times had to be re-arranged, and the fresh strawberries and bananas needed to be replaced, but Marge was happy to wait an extra two days for the blessing of a reunion that would last nine days instead of seven!

The gals were thrilled as well:

EILEEN – “Two extra days?  Sounds good to me!”

CAROLE – “Now don’t think you’re going to do all that cooking – we’re going to share!”

MARGE – “Why can’t you extend it to two or three weeks?!”

ARRIVAL

The weather they each left behind had consumed them.  Snow, ice and unseasonable cold had dominated news and plans to the point where the stark reality of a 75 degree day at a venue surrounded by azure blue skies and multi-colored mountains should have been overwhelming. 

But what actually overwhelmed these real, solid, centered women, these dear friends too long separated, was coming together. 

 
Eileen and Carole deplaned, walked up the outdoor concourse (only possible in a desert venue), and took a moment to breathe in the peace and solitude.

Marge caught sight of them and raced up to greet them.  And then, in an instant, it began.  The bantering, the silent, shared jokes.  The old winks and nods that only a lifetime of shared experiences can bestow on each of us as human beings always in need of that next hug, that shared story.

THE DESERT CONDO – VENUE FOR THE GALS REUNION

The sound of cascading laughter was the story of the first afternoon and evening the gals enjoyed together.  Of course, the subject matter was irrelevant… husbands, friends and acquaintances, grandkids, aches and pains, joys and sadnesses.  Each story was the precursor to the next, and magically, they were young together again. 

The warm desert air, filled with the ebb and flow of their conversation, flowed through the house as the gals flounced in the living room over coffee, wine, and snacks.  Outside the birds were chirping, perhaps as a choir to underscore the pure joy of being where they all were at that place, in that time.   

As the gals each carefully placed the puzzle pieces of their respective lives in place, everyone gradually became filled in and up to date on each others’ lives.  Whether they were discussing their lives in the context of a global disaster or a sports icon besmirched by bad behavior, they showed their cards and openly gave their opinions, thoughts, and conclusions.  Undaunted by disagreement, interested in opposing views, and appreciative of insightful comments, they illustrated one of the underlying core value consistently apparent in all good friendships… respect. 

PRACTICE MAKES PERFECT

Morning dawned, the clubs were unpacked and thrown in the back of the SUV, and off they went to a nearby golf resort with an expansive practice area.  After a few swings to shake off the rust, years were shed and the champions beneath very quickly began to emerge.

The golfers surrounding them as they hit balls on the driving range and chipped and putted on the greens were mostly men, full of the bravado that excuses bad shots as mistakes and perfect shots as more representative of their real prowess.  In a matter of minutes they began to notice and acknowledge these seasoned veteran ladies of the game.  They did not have the length that the guys enjoyed, but at twice (or more) their age, the ladies were definitely turning some heads with their accuracy, humor, and grace. 

Perfect golf only exists in the mind of the player.  That perfect shot is the visualization goal of every student under the tutelage of a sports psychologist.  Golf is described as difficult and unforgiving; fairways and greens are often declaimed as battlegrounds; the 19^th hole is frequently a forum where analysis is done and victory is claimed. 

Yet the lucky observer that day saw a glimpse of perfect golf in Marge, Carole, and Eileen.  Their stories during and after their two-hour practice session painted a picture of a game that is challenging and welcoming.  The courses they described at lunch afterwards were places visited and enjoyed for their natural beauty.  The anecdotes they recounted were of a game played, not of battles fought.  And there were no victors, no spoils.  Only friendships forged at many courses around the region, embraces sending each other off, and reminders to reconnect for games in the future.  Golf, as these ladies lived it, was a game of Go and Come.     

LIFE IS A GAMBLE  Perhaps it was the conversations they had had over dinner and afterwards about friends they had lost and lives cut short.  Perhaps it is that each of them has cheated death by overcoming serious illness.  Or perhaps they share the personality type that can only be fully energized when some element of chance is injected into the storyline.  Whatever the reason, Eileen, Carole, and Marge all share a wicked love for gambling. 

Casinos abound in the California desert, and the gals visited a few to try their luck at each.  Sometimes they were on their way home from brunch and “just happened” to pass by a casino.  Other times they “had time to kill” before their next planned event.  And once in a while they actually put the casino visit in a plan for an evening.  In any case, they spent plenty of time taking in the myriad of sights and sounds of the world of casual gambling.

They never came away big winners (at least at gambling).  It’s hard to tell whether they even came close to breaking even.  But with each trip, they came out smiling and satisfied that their time had been well spent.

Experience teaches us that when we reach the point in our lives where we commit to leaving no stone unturned, we see life anew with each opportunity presented.  Some would say that philosophy is limited to the major decisions we make.  To be sure, the decision these gals made to reunite was one with financial and time implications.  Yet they overcame concerns about cost and scheduling because they seem to invoke a daily, even opportunity-by-opportunity philosophy more closely described by the aphorism “Carpe Diem,” to never miss a chance to have fun or take on a new experience.  As “carpe” literally means “to pick, pluck, crop, or gather,” so too do they seem to grab fractions of every day and mold them into memories. 

We can all learn from this trait.  As life plops chance encounters in our path, perhaps we can replace our internal conservatism and reluctance to venture out, and more closely mimic Eileen’s response to an impromptu invitation: “Sounds Good!”

THE LIVING DESERT

As lovers of nature, the gals were drawn to the indigenous species of wildlife and flora found at the Living Desert, a perfect place to see and enjoy giraffes, ostriches, big horn sheep, cheetahs, coyotes, and the many colorful birds who call the desert home.  Walking and riding along the paths they observed many desert habitats, and of course reflected on the climate contrast with their own native New England.  Most of these plants and animals would not survive even one snowy and icy winter, yet they have adapted to thrive in the harshest of high heat and dryness.

Here in the desert, the girls reminisced about the many harsh winters they had endured, and marvelled at their ability in their retirement to escape such weather, either seasonally as Marge has done, or periodically as Eileen and Carole have done.  Although they see themselves as lucky to be healthy and able to make such transitions, their lives are proof of the sacrifice and good, sound judgement and decision-making that have made these happy retirement years possible!

ON THE COURSE

One of the benefits with which the gals are blessed is the ability to still knock the ball around the golf course.  Even the casual observer can see that they are seasoned veterans of the game, well aware of the intricacies of course management, good club selection, and playing the percentages of each shot to drive the most favorable results.

Once again, though, that same observer would come away with an impression much deeper and more profound than that of a group of athletes well-versed in their treasured game of golf.   The real impression would be of the friendship, the laughter, and the fun they derive from a game seen by most as a struggle. 

Shrugging off bad shots and moving on to the next opportunity is what sessions with sports trainers are all about today.  The spin heard in an interview with a professional golfer after a bad game is filled with “I hit some great shots today, and the putts just weren’t dropping.”  One notices the active tense when the shot is good, and the passive tense when the ball misbehaves.  Absent accountability for the game’s inevitable bad turns of luck, mishaps can be externalized and the player’s ego can stay intact.  As more players espouse such thought process, winners seem to be the luckier ones and losers the ones on whom fate frowns on tournament Sunday.

Our gals never learned that process of thinking... if anything, their humility drove them in the opposite direction.   When they made a bad shot, they made a bad shot.  When they executed on an excellent shot with an excellent result, however difficult the shot, they credited luck as they graciously accepted compliments.

Might we find here a larger lesson to take responsibility for our actions??

PARTING TOAST

The airport would be the time for tears… the respective rides home would be the opportunity for reflection.  But the celebration of their time together was joyful and appreciative.  Over cocktails and dinners, they had shared triumphs and silliness, swapped concerns and compassion, and unlocked treasure chests of memories. 

They had experienced the great exchange of life.  Exchanging your life’s vignettes for those of your friend is the most intimate and personal transaction in our personal economy.  It is not about money, or power; it is not glamorous or self-serving.  It is a baring of one’s soul in complete trust.  It is the very basis of our shared humanity.

And it was all done in a simple, unaffected way, among simple, unaffected gals, on a simple, loving mission to reunite.  “Go and Come,” their lives whisper to one another.  Go with God.  Go in peace.  Go with my blessing.  Then, when our separation time is over, Come.  Come back and be with me again, my friend.  Go and Come. 

A SONG FOR YOU- Leon Russell, 1970        
       

I’ve been so many places in my life and time.
I've sung a lot of songs; I’ve made some bad rhyme.

I’ve acted out my life in stages
With ten thousand people watching,
But we’re alone now and I’m singing this song for you.

You taught me precious secrets
Of the truth, withholding nothing.
You came out in front and I was hiding.

But now I’m so much better,
And if my words don’t come together,
Just listen to the melody cause my love is in there hiding.

I love you in a place where there’s no space or time,
And I love you for my life ‘cause you’re a friend of mine.

And when my life is over,
Remember when we were together.
We were alone and I was singing a song for you.