Yankee Doodle Dandy

When I was younger I never understood the odd fascination Ginny had with magazines. One in particular caught my eye: Yankee Magazine. Why in the world would a woman who lived on a ranch in Oakley, Utah keep a subscription dedicated to New England living? It made sense to me that she kept Sunset; after all, it was dedicated to living in the West. But really, Yankee?

Yesterday my adopted Boston mom took J and I up to one of her favorite places in the world: Rockport, Massachusetts. Her story is one of both independent marriage migration from New Jersey to New Hampshire, Boston to Chicago, and San Diego back to Boston. She had to leave home to find it. Her love affair with New England is palpable and when I was ruled by my back pain, she kept me entertained with stories of her journeys and places to which she felt a natural affinity. There she was taking my blood pressure and chirping away about kayaking on Spy Pond or taking the train to the New Jersey shore. Ever since we learned our time in Boston was limited, Judy's urgency and drive to play tour guide grew stronger. We specifically blocked out yesterday just for her, which was no small feat but something so worth while.

As J's and my time dwindles in Boston, our bucket list seems to grow longer. We've played tourist this past week by eating at the Nation's oldest restaurant The Union Oyster House, taking the T down to the common and catching a movie, and renting a canoe to take Edgar down the Charles River with a picnic to hear the Boston Pops and watch the fireworks explode over our heads. There we moored with a couple who had made this a ritual for 6 years and knew the ropes, so to speak. The current of the river is strong and they brought their own anchor as well as a small motor to get back upstream after the show. Thank God we met Rachelle and Peter otherwise we would have been paddling aimlessly around the river during the whole show. The Coast Guard isn't exactly friendly and strictly enforces the rule that all watercraft must be either in transit or at least 100 feet away from the shore. They don't tell you where you can go, but they make it very clear you can't stay where you are. By the end of Neil Diamond's "Sweet Caroline" there were 5 canoes and kayaks tied to Rachelle and Peter's boat. You could almost feel the small anchor groaning. Although we couldn't hear the music, the drunken choirs on all the yachts surrounding us would catch small chords of the song and keep echoing the embellished chorus of "so good, so good, so good" over and over again. Oddly enough, Peter is from Wisconsin. While J and Peter discussed the merits of taking a ferry from Michigan to Wisconsin on our upcoming cross country adventure, I learned all about Rachelle's masters in children's theater and her recent discovery of the Twilight series. Not bad for someone who is 62 and just bought her first house to claim she is now finally "settled and grown up." Rachelle, originally from California, talked about how she never thought she'd end up in Boston and how hard it was to start friendships here 14 years ago. We talked about how it can be hard to find friends here as they are a little slow to trust, but once you are let into their lives it's forever. My friendship with Judy was much like that only oddly enough I was the one who was slow to let down my guard. So much for the stereotype of the East Coast natives being the ones with so many boundaries.

We arrived at Judy's house late yesterday afternoon, which wasn't an issue. She nurtured our lateness and said we deserved to take it easy after such a demanding year. There I saw the photograph of J and I at my graduation framed on her mantle next to photos of her daughter and soon to be son-in-law. Not even my own family has photos of us on the mantle, but they aren't exactly the family photos on display kind of people. Judy shuffled us into her car and we began our trek up to Rockport, Massachusetts. The small Cape Ann town is home of such films like "The Witches of Eastwick" and "The Proposal." We wandered around Bearskin Neck to her favorite art gallery where she promptly bought an oil painting of two girls on the beach. We had lunch at a very elegant restaurant on the point complete with harbor views, sailcloth curtains, whitewash clapboard, and fresh fish sandwiches. As we talked about her daughter's upcoming wedding and the pondering of grandchildren she said, "You can't make wine before it's time." I realized it was a very Ginny thing to say. I also wondered if this was a town Ginny and Pop visited on their RV adventures through New England during retirement. Was it a town highlighted in Yankee Magazine she felt drawn towards?

We wandered around the little shops drawn into places that made "witches balls" - colorful hand blown glass balls with spider web strands inside to attract and capture evil spirits before they enter your home. We found local pottery, adorable crocheted baby sun hats and homemade fudge before finding the new age store. There crystals, tarot, and books on numerology ruled the shelves. J could only take so much of the chanting cd, but Judy and I perused the books on body-mind connections and various essential oils. She bought a book about mediums and inquired the Gaia inspired women about the meaning of the number 7 in her life. She was born on 7/7, one of 7 children, several 7's in her license and phone numbers. They were more than happy to oblige and I once again realized another connection to Judy. 7 is the number of the mystic and who would have thought new age would be yet another connecting point for us.

By the end of the day we took our Arnold Palmer's back to the car and discussed medicine, given the common connection between Judy and J's careers. We got caught in the 4th of July weekender traffic coming from Maine, but it gave us an excuse to take the scenic route through the Mystic Valley and Arlington. Before we departed from her home, she insisted upon lending us her recent copy of Yankee Magazine. She thought it would be good for us as there were some articles about lighthouses and Maine - places we may want to visit before we left.

This morning, for the first time in my life, I sat with a cup of coffee and read the whole magazine. I was captured by the photographs of Adirondack chairs, suggestions of bed and breakfasts around Maine, and the preservation of small towns in New Hampshire. I finally "got it" about life in New England. The juxtaposition of busy city life to small town heritage and small town preservation movements over simple things like colonial rock walls appealed to my soul the same way I fell in love with Ginny's herb garden.

Perhaps I'm over-romanticizing it or perhaps I'm just a little nostalgic, but I believe that people are sent into your life for a reason. Last year I lost Ginny, but within months I was given the gift of Judy. Who knows, I just might get a subscription to Yankee Magazine sent to my Wisconsin home.