Sunday, August 18, 2013

1968...who do we appreciate?


Sunday, August 18, 2013 Pietrasanta, Italy
I wanted to make sure to keep this update somewhere I could find it:

As many classmates already have heard, because of our email communiqués, the 45th reunion turned out to be a true blast! I think I’ll let a few of my classmates share their experiences, along with life stories that we may or may not have shared with each other because, well, we were just having too much fun! Let’s start off with the classmate who traveled the farthest and who even convinced her husband to come along…Anne Moses Bennett:
“Reunion was such a lot of fun! Everyone looked wonderful and Bill loved it - he felt so welcome. And it was good to see many familiar faces. We laughed and danced and learned things and met new and old friends. Five years ago, Bill had just retired after 38 years in the Royal Navy and we had recently left Naples after seven great years to move to Athens.  Since then, we have completed the 23-month renovation of our lovely old neoclassical house in the center of the city, a few minutes walk to the Acropolis. This huge project managed to satisfy my passion for architecture, design and re-thinking a structure, at least temporarily. Along the way we were joined by Gracie, our very clever English Cocker Spaniel.  She writes books, naturally, and the first of  ‘The Gracie Guides’ should be in print within a year. In the meantime, I continue to paint, with the occasional exhibit, but writing and illustrating children's books has pretty much taken over. The first big project, a bedtime story, is due to come out this fall.  It was a brilliant 45th reunion. After so many years of being elsewhere, it was just so nice to be 'home' with people I've known forever and where some things, even over the years, manage to stay the same.  Gordie, Kenny, Al, Duncan, Annette and amazing ‘Route 66’ lady- thank you for the music. Rob - thank you for Bill's hat.  And wonderful Abbot friends...what a time we had!  To all of you - please do come visit us in Greece.  It's still a wonderful place to be.”
            Karen Seaward, who, if I’m not mistaken, traveled the second farthest from California, agrees that it was one of our most special times: “Folks who weren’t there – you really missed out! And folks who were there – thank you so much for making the Reunion weekend a totally memorable experience for me. Cary Cleaver, my roommate at the Courtyard Marriott, so delightful and so glad I know you better, thanks for asking me to room with you. Anne Moses Bennett, my first Abbot roommate, and her husband Bill. Anne is always warm and elegant and Bill always full of mischief.  Annette Davis, our biggest cheerleader, still way cute and a way good singer and crowd pleaser. Patty Rockwood, after 45 years she has aged very well and has not lost her huge laugh. Laney Finbury, with many irons in the fire, nice to catch up a bit over dinner and lunch. Lee Sullivan, still looking great and being a great leader, even while handling difficult family obligations, my respect went way up for you. Karen Urie and Florence Newcomb Verrill, still inseparable, but did manage to talk with each of you, great to catch up a bit! Of course, there was Gordie Baird’s band that played outside next to Rabbit Pond on Saturday night, I danced and sang my heart out, other classes joined us, and I am comforted knowing that we still live and act from these 1968 roots – sex, drugs, rock and roll! OK, maybe the drugs have changed (ibuprofen?) and the sex may have changed (?) but not the rock and roll. Kenny joined in with his liquid sax, Al with wicked harmonica riffs, Annette sang and played tambourine, and a 1963 Abbot lady took the mike to sing a bluesy, long rendition of Route 66. Like, wow!”  Karen sends hugs to all and “plans to harass you regularly to show up for our 50th!!!”
            Cary Cleaver remarked to me that she thinks the two classes AA’68 and PA’68 were unified this time, that “we Rabbits were truly welcomed and an integral part of the party- and a great party it was!” Cary continues her quest to become a cowgirl with her faithful quarter horse, Guinness.
            As for me, Annette Davis Esteves, perhaps the biggest surprise of all was the moment my husband and I pulled up to register and then park at the Courtyard Marriott (where almost all of us Rabbits stayed). As I got out of the car, a woman standing by her car right next to me asked if I was Annette Davis. That woman was Tina Kaupe, who attended Abbot in10th grade (What was that-Junior?) and back then we recognized each other from kindergarten, first and second grade at Lewisboro School in Westchester County, New York! But at Abbot she disappeared as quickly as she appeared when she did not return for 11th grade, so I always wondered if I had imagined the whole thing…? Anyhow there we were, together again, and spent some of the weekend reminiscing about our antics at the ages of 5-7…taking naps- or rather NOT taking naps - on those blue cots in Mrs. White’s Kindergarten class, and then in second grade terrorizing the boys with a kissing game at recess.
            Here’s what Tina wrote: Annette, the reunion was so much fun and seeing you first was largely responsible for my not feeling totally awkward! Why did I attend after 47 years? I refer to the fact that my mother couldn't afford to return me to Abbot (we failed to check on scholarship options) as my being "untimely ripped" from Abbot's bosom. What I loved about Abbot was being thrown together with a group of characters 24/7 and exposed to courses that were not mainstream - ‘Visual Perceptions’ to name my favorite! The opportunities at Andover continue to astound me and Addison Gallery did not disappoint as a busy director treated four of us to a private tour of the storage area!  The place and the people loomed large whenever I conjured up images mainly with each delivery of Andover, the magazine. I was curious to return. It was more than wonderful to see Cary, Annette, Anne, Patty, two Karens, Lanie, Lee and Florence! Final reason to attend - live music!!! Gordo Baird's excellent, highly danceable band, occasionally accompanied by Kenny's saxophone and Annette's vocals! Fantastic acoustic sets with Ward, Dougal, and Al on Friday night. Rabbit sightings were few over the years: saw Diane Russell at Barnard (wish that ever-passionate woman had attended!), Betty Briggs at Duke, and Bonnie Cook at The Philadelphia Inquirer. I "ran into" Debby Webster at Machu Picchu. Several jobs and two sons later, semi-retirement has landed me in New Canaan, CT, where I continue my interest in art, play lots of tennis, and make a few bucks organizing people's messy lives!
            Karen Urie and I were too busy that weekend to catch up on life details, so she wrote me this afterwards. “One of the greatest things this year has been spending more time with Florence.  While clearly we have always kept in touch we have managed to get together on 2 trips so far this year and have consciously decided there will be at least one girl trip a year going forward.  Yes, sometimes old friends are, indeed, the best friends. After 30 plus years in financial services I took a job in 2012 as the Marketing and Business Development Manager for the Dave Perry-Miller Team, one of Dallas’ largest residential real estate firms. Lots of fun, lots of learning and I’m brushing up on my Mac skills. I am just finishing up my year as president of the board of the USA Film Festival here in Dallas.  It’s a great group, with a wonderful festival in the spring, sanctioned Academy Awards venue and movies all year long. And finally what has become my consuming passion is my work with the SPCA of Texas and any other animal welfare group I can assist.  I am fortunate to be a board member and work on such things as the Puppy Mill Initiative to make the public aware of the existence of and problems with puppy mills, and Big Fix for Big D - our spay neuter initiative reaching out to various neighborhoods around Dallas to provide low cost and/or no cost spay/neuter procedures. What started it all was a benefit called Paws Cause, which raises money for the SPCA Of Texas Clinic at Village Fair. Right up my alley, plan a party, have a party - go to a party…AND we manage to raise a significant amount of money for the clinic. Yahoo!”  
            Speaking of Karen’s dear friend, Florence Newcomb Verrill, I was so happy to see her in attendance this June. After my somewhat ludicrous appearance in the FLASHMOB dance that the 50th reunion AA Class of ’63 (and ’73) performed at the lunchtime picnic in front of Sam Phillips – great idea – well planned and executed – could’ve been a real hit had the music been a lot louder… Anyway, following my first and perhaps last flash mob, Florence and I sat together at lunch to catch up: She lives with her husband of 42 years (!!!!) in Southport, Connecticut. Her son, Gordon, graduated from Cornell in 2010 and now works in NYC. Her daughter, Sarah, is a senior at Emerson College in Boston. She is studying photojournalism and plans to be a travel writer. Florence discussed openly her many years battling a life-threatening illness, and she is a staunch survivor with an incredible amount of courage and belief that is truly inspiring. She credits her ongoing good health in the face of all odds to an epiphany she had that she would get better, and, shortly after, a new medication was prescribed that has made all the difference. All my respect to you, Florence, for your optimism and positivity - (she always was like that, wasn’t she?) She enjoys her many pets and loves spending hours in her flower gardens. She still works some, but says that the key to working at this stage of her life is to have a bit of flexibility…Boy, that’s good advice for us all.
            Patty Rockwood greeted me at the Abbot dinner on Friday night with blonde hair and a huge smile: I’m thinking, who the heck is this??? I didn’t feel so bad when she reminded me that she only attended as a senior, but I did know her back then, it was the hair that threw me off…well, she looks wonderful, trim, healthy and happy. She has a place in the San Diego area called Rocky’s, where she is the owner operator of a very happening restaurant/bar. She wrote me afterwards: “I cannot even begin to tell you how much I enjoyed coming to the reunion; I felt so reconnected to you and the rest of the girls. Quite honestly, I'm happy there were so few of us or I never would have had the opportunity to become reacquainted. I promise to stay in touch so I don't lose the thread again.”
            Also at the Reunion was local resident Lanie Finbury, with whom I always look forward to catching up. She’s a busy lady and a lovely person whose first words to me at the Abbot Dinner were, “Thank you for being class secretary and keeping us all a bit more connected.” It was rewarding to be thanked after all these years writing for the Bulletin and wondering who is reading- after all, that’s part of what got Tina here…
             And kudos to our reunion chairperson, Lee Sullivan, steadfast and true all these years. In spite of an incredibly busy schedule, she always manages to pull things together and make it look effortless. I saw a nice picture of her and Rob Barber leading the parade with the banner, which is probably here in the Bulletin. I spent the afternoon with Lee at her beautiful home in Rye, NH, following the reunion weekend. She spoke of her deep commitment and passion for “The Max Warburg Courage Curriculum,” a yearlong language arts curriculum for 6th and 9th grade to strengthen the literacy skills and character development of students by recognizing the role of courage in all our lives. One of the organization’s main goals is to engage and inspire students, particularly urban children, to make meaningful connections with literature, thus motivating them to improve their reading, writing and thinking skills, while acknowledging acts of moral courage in their lives and others in their communities. “The Max” started in the Boston area 22 years ago and not only has Max expanded in the US and gone global, but with the help of Blake Hazzard Allen, AA’66, it has reached Pakistan. A worthy cause, Lee, and one with far reaching implications, as literacy and courage have no boundaries.
            Too bad Cher Lewis wasn’t there, as I quite sure she would have loved being interviewed for a documentary about Abbot, called the Personal Histories Project. Some alumnae, Cary Cleaver for one, have written thoughtful responses to questions posed by those in charge of the project, but the chance to do an impromptu interview while at reunion was hard to resist! Karen Seaward and I took the bait, went to Draper Hall in the McKeen room area, and spoke individually on camera in response to probing, open-ended questions about our Abbot years. The interviewer was very good and a real character to boot. He promises to keep us informed as to when it will be completed – probably 2014. Cher could’ve certainly added to our juicy stories. She writes:  “Isn't it amazing how walking through those gates and across that campus magically turns you into the sixteen-year old still lurking in the psyche? I feel the marks of the knee socks, the splendid smell of the Bondes’ baking breads, the thrill of the sherry cocktails at the Bensley's welcoming household. And who can forget Pam and Chris' rock-outs? Or those intense, worried and bravely whispered conversations in the wee hours of the morning? Our shared thrill of being happy for being smart and our anguish at realizing we would always be ‘just girls’ in the eyes of many. But we survived and thrived and have so many tales to tell! Looking forward to perfect attendance at the 50th.... no going to the infirmary!! “
            Barbara Camp Linville, Paula Atwood*, Betsy Handy McCormack and Nan Roberts had other engagements reunion weekend as did Kathy Weis Dietz, but all are planning on or will try to make the 50th. I do hope many more of you will plan ahead and be available for what will certainly be a momentous occasion. THIS IS THE BIG ONE!!!!
            In closing, picture the recessional from the Chapel on Saturday morning: The PA class of ’68 broke into a rousingly beautiful, strong rendition of the school song, “The Royal Blue” that was being played instrumentally as the old guard exited Cochran. As every head turned towards our side of the room and listened with rapt attention- I was proud to be a ’68-er… it was a classic moment!
Paula AtwoodHere is my update from Ayacucho,Peru. That´s my excuse for not attending! I retired from full-time work in Feb and then took a locum NP job down the road from my house; I´ll go back part-time when I return from Peru. I am here on my first medical mission and enjoying it very much.The work is interesting but frustrating since what you can do is limited. I do get to speak Spanish though, Miss Judd would be pleased. I´ll spend another 2 weeks traveling before going home.
See everyone at the 50th.



Thursday, July 26, 2012

GOREME MUSINGS

Sunday, May 8, 2012 Sitting in the truck, after waking to a glorious day; blue skies filled with dozens of hot air balloons, sharing a proffered cup of coffee, appreciating a long hot shower, my sole companion acapella Sunday singing. Breakfast cook group smoothly rolls into action; latecomers volunteer to clean-up. Brilliant sun and I decide it's a great day to do laundry and read. Nassir, the owner, shows me how to operate the devil's device they call a washing machine in Europe...now the Asian version of an evil spirit..almost 90 minutes of tortured clothing. Moving my chair, imitating girasolles at home, every view from the terrace, issues squeals of delight. Different grouping drift into town or to roam the hills, a cucumber and tomato sandwich satiates hunger; I second read and slowly masticate, swallow each vowel. My brain swells with pleasure; books a not so secret erotica. The Group: Baby girl with an innocent beauty; the Victorians would have demanded early tubercular death. Alpha gathering followers but tired of wearing the mantle. Soft whisperer frightened by a deep well. Thirst is a very private matter. A lost Sacajewa blustering; a path paved with strained laughter and a keen discerning eye. Jovial service while managing to withhold critical elements: connection and concern. The mirror only reflects one face. Keenly holding on to love while praying the scales will balance. A rare earth spirit facing a chasm of change: wise enough to know it's impossible to protect those we love, only to continue to love them in any form. Comprehending the earth is moving, shifting changing, beneath his feet. After a life of control, staring complacently, and then with terror at the shadowed holes of the future. Enigma, a shell of humor, life as a shadow. Coming in out of the cold, finding great warmth in the setting sun. Sure of love; her laugh fills him and presents her great satisfaction. Swift told many tales, advantageous size gets hammered down; the journey ahead is hidden; not anticipated. The milk-maid, county beauty, sensing there's more than cows and brawny boys. Inoculated since birth on her lesser worth and evils of Metropolis: stuck between longing and loss. Administrative cog with enough wobble; realization of safety and security. Stays in the square, peeking over the hedges, wondering why strange people are laughing. I'm wondering whether this maze has the right hand on the wall. Beauty in a man is dangerous. It leads to women living on your smiles and men turning their backs to you. A taut suspension. Ahhhh...if perception and wit was a bank, a billionaire in our midst. A true Beauty masquerading as The Beast. Hippie, privileged and dreaming of future conquests: land, sea and lair. Flirtatious solely in existence; twirling her bag at borders. Capable and direct. A burr and a thistle; prickly sensible life plans. Will the thorny Plantagenet rose pierce the sheep, exposing soft skin underneath? Time won't treat him kindly. Peter Pan eventually becomes a Darling. So I bid you good night and wishing for sweet dreams tonight and good fortune in the morning.

CALLING ON HEAVEN

Friday, May 25th, Davit Gareja Monastery, Udabno, Georgia A green lunar landscape ushers us into Georgia's holiest monastic site. Black-robed monks stroll about the 5th century courtyard; hot, blinding sun. Frescoed chapel causes a sharp intake of breath: silence prevails. Golden icons illuminate our faces and reflects beliefs; who cannot leave a calling card for God in this drawing room?

CHA CHA

May 27th Still Georgia... Birds sing through the night. A day of inhibitions let loose by a a drink called chacha. I'm very American; unfamiliar with the British penchant of exhibition-quality social binge drinking. Embarrassed and fascinated, cringing at a winery when noise and behavior bounded out of my comfort zone. I left the revel, which morphed into a disco truck and later in the evening a mini-bacchanal, and walked through the small village. I visited a new born baby calf and rode the bicycle of a very handsome young boy. A woman with startlingly sapphire eyes and few teeth displayed her gardening grace; the mosaic of plants, herbs and vegetables rivaled any museum landscape painting. Today's news was that we would not be allowed to travel to Tibet because of a change in rules. One needs at least four of the same nationals to get a travel permit and I am the only American, with two Canadians, one Australian and one Dane being told we are being dumped for two weeks while the Brits cruise drunkenly on. I'm not too bummed-out or worried..travel always involves contingencies. Man plans and God laughs. Bedtime.

SEA FEVER

Dream state: Bus ride to Samarkand, Uzbekistan Who am I? Eight weeks float pass; my barge of longings ( good food, gorgeous wines, shared conversation, crisp linen on a bed, clean clothes ) trades for a simple rowboat: quick border crossing and a hot shower. Eyes constantly scan the horizon; particles of light, land and air are inhaled, bombarding my lungs, expanding my brain, filling every cell. Growing larger in the world; the desert lodges in my hair, sun colors my skin. The Caspian Sea lulls patience in my soul, Turkmenistan etches a tiny, new line of fear across my brow. Boastful Azerbaijan, home of twenty cents a liter gas and Eurovision pride, weighs in as a ton of feathers, a heavy burden to shoulder, yet blowing away in the slightest breeze; empty hands hang low. Uzbekistan decides my tongue has travelled widely; previous language impairments give way to fluency and an ability to fit any country I am given. I become French from East Africa, Russian is tossed in my mouth; have I been educated there? The "Nyet" spurted back does nothing to stop the flow of conversation. I smile as older women compare their skin with mine, asking me my age, my status, deciding I'm from some other Muslim country where Uzbeki is standardly spoken. Speaking in English does nothing to dispel this notion from either them or me. You would not recognize me. Whether witch or bewitched; my form has changed, a new mold made. Bountiful and inflammatory riches of my heart: family, loves, friends, are the fire for casting to be done either tomorrow or yesterday. Are these dusty alleyways sprinkled with dark cool courtyards, rising from my pillow or from a walking sleep? Stretching endless sands, mirage or oasis, shimmering in unfamiliar dry heat? Do I dream by day or night?

BISHKET, KYRGYZSTAN

Cultural Revelations My beliefs shattered of who is a Muslim. Watching families, different clans, clothing ranging from Western to tribal costumes, play in splaying fountains. Suddenly noticing how many Asiatic women, in this secular state, are covered. The call to prayer, having disappeared in the former Soviet-stans, returns, softly wafting over us in our steppe campsite. A scratchy recording; like sunflowers we turn east towards the voice of Mecca. I promised an update describing my trip mates. Time twists initial perceptions, small mercies and generosities bade forgiveness. Here goes: Betrayed loving heart, cruelly deflated, fills with heavy fury. Heated declarations can't raise thud-thudding along the ground. Needs open space to get up again. The " I am worthy moment " blinds bystanders. Dilated pupils see the magic, not the method. So much natural power, how to direct it? It's hard to concede that glory has an expiration date. Protect or isolate? Loving arms may squeeze life from you or dislodge a bit too big to swallow. How can you tell the difference? Just happy being chosen and asking no more than that. Old hippy trail stuff just isn't making it anymore; so what to do? Tantalize baby with a thinly strung mobile. The thin man is fat on substance, listen quietly between courses; generous proportions. Never wanting to be more than ordinary; wishes wrapped in regrets come true. Beautiful without guise; happy in the world. Emotion coated with pained laugher, true feelings are rendered indistinguishable. Running away from the past, following old footprints into the future. Lots of tears are coming. Steady and stand fast, earnest and fair. Judging others against her standards mean we all fall a bit short. Third eyed mystical lovely soul; radiates joy. Soooooooo British, in a good way. Redeeming features: dogged determination and a stunningly vulgar vocabulary. His insights, built on a superior education, aren't flaunted but handed round to anyone listening carefully. A ghostly hand, a shadow. Mean little man, always hiding; the rabble voice in the crowd, the brick thrown in the night. Stillness is a magnet for life; a quiet attraction. Boys to men in his own good time. Blind guide dog.

FAITH

A shadow attached to our plodding feet, faith under bright morning sun, precedes first, laying the way through our crowded existence, providing a shaded oasis for dreams and ambitions. In moonlight, the trailing night self, carries a lantern of hope; vanquishes despair, illuminating the dark, littered paths we've trod. Faith is opening a hand to give half when there is no assurance of tomorrow's whole. It is the entwined clasp, soft with fellowship, firm