Our next door neighbors greeted us with,
“So how did you like the play, Mrs. Lincoln?”
As surrogate family for the dogs in our absence, they received updates
on our 12,000 mile journey. We had flown
from Los Angeles to Charleston, South Carolina
to witness the unveiling of a weaving made by JoAnne, forty-seven other weavers,
and tens of thousands of thread contributors from around the world. Not only was there fellowship, international
goodwill, lots of networking and hugging, but also great seafood! (See www.threadproject.com)
We returned to L.A. and the passing of JoAnne’s mother (HLP
9/07). Much to the delight of Northwest
Airlines, we altered our plans to stop “at home” in Minneapolis
before the funeral in Philadelphia. Except for the heaviness of losing her mom,
JoAnne and I had a wonderful time. We
returned to our old and now vastly improved home on the corner of 24th
and Humboldt. (Barb and Alan say come over, one and all, and sit around the
fire pit in the side yard.) We were well
fed at parties given by friends, and, I have to admit, the Lake Harriet
neighborhood where we stayed with our buddies Jay and Cheryl is awfully
nice.
Our time was especially meaningful because
our daughter Rachael was able to join us for a few days between work
obligations. Together we went to garage
sales, just like in the old days, with Rachie in the back seat. The only difference was this time she was
fretting whether her husband would
like her purchases. JoAnne, Rachael and
close to a hundred of you came to hear Tom Cassidy (the mad poet of
multi-housing) and I read at the Black Forest Inn. I was so touched, I did not
mention that the Star Tribune has become a humorless parody of itself, or that
the roadways look like the terrorists have not only followed us home but gotten
jobs with the state highway department.
Our agenda was full, with plans to see many
more friends and neighbors, revel in the beautiful architecture, enjoy the
start of the fall colors, and succumb to the lure of St. Patrick’s rummage sale
in Edina. When there is a large circle of people at a
sale, I figure there must be some very good deals nearby. What I did not plan was to see JoAnne on the
floor with, it turned out, four broken bones in her foot and two in her
ankle. The next days were a blur of
X-rays and specialists.
Too soon it was time to fly to Philadelphia, connect
with JoAnne’s big Italian family, and support her (sometimes literally). JoAnne’s sister Donna, a bi-coastal wizard
who lives both in Philadelphia and L.A., did all of the
planning from airport runs to guest lists to housing accommodations. With a foot in each camp, Donna was able to
keep peace between all the Mozzones and Troncellitis at the service. I had
not seen many of the relatives since our wedding thirty-five years ago. I thanked each guest sincerely for the fondue
pot, and assured them it was still in use.
Our son Ben was there to help his mom physically and emotionally, and he
was ready to finish the eulogy if she faltered.
JoAnne’s foot was getting increasingly
painful, and circumstances would not permit her to follow her doctor’s orders
(“Keep your toes above your nose”).
Again, to the delight of Northwest Airlines, we decided to go back to L.A. two days ahead of
schedule. This threw off Donna’s elegant
transportation plans, so we joined the earlier departing guests. That delivered
us to the Philadelphia airport a mere six hours
early, with a two hour layover in Minneapolis.
To answer our neighbor’s question, it was a
deeply moving and compelling play. There
was more Life in the last two-week period than I am used to living in many
years. I admit I would not wax as
philosophically if it were my foot,
but coming together with our dear friends in Minnesota
and sharing laughter and nostalgic reminiscences, and then experiencing the
support after the accident felt just like our old times in the Midwest. Going on
to Philadelphia,
reconnecting with family, and having the opportunity to introduce our grown son
was deeply satisfying. To be around the
shadow of death for months, and then to have JoAnne’s mother help to re-forge
old connections and unite us as a family…now that’s good theater.
