Hotels for the Memorial Service

Blocks of rooms are being held at two hotels near Winchester for the convenience of people coming from out of town for Mary's memorial service. Please mention Mary's name or the Winchester Unitarian Society for the discount. Car pooling is strongly recommended since parking may be a real problem on the day of the service.

The Marriott Courtyard off Montvale Ave on the Stoneham Woburn line, right off I-93 ($109)

The Hilton Boston/Woburn ($99)

Memorial Web Page & Call for Photos

If you would like to share comments or recollections about Mary with others, the Strong Hancock Funeral Home in Damariscotta Maine has provided a lovely memorial page:

stronghancock.com

If you have any electronic pictures of Mary that we can add to a slide show during the memorial service reception, please email up to four pictures to:

photos@maryjharrington.com

Memorial Service

The memorial service for Mary will be held on Monday, November 8, 2010, at 11 AM at the Winchester Unitarian Society, 478 Main Street, Winchester MA 01890

Mary Jeanette Harrington 1952-2010

The Rev Mary J. Harrington died on October 26, 2010, at 6 AM, in her home in Sheepscot, Maine. This is the end of her lengthy and hard-fought battle with ALS, and also of this blog, which we'll leave up for a while.

There will be a memorial service celebrating Mary's life at the Winchester Unitarian church, Winchester, MA. We'll post the date and time here, and it will also be listed on the Winchester Church web page at winchesteruu.org.

- Marty, Julia & Sam

Loose Ends

Nothing ever really ends. I see this in the marsh, where things certainly change, but they don't stop. The colors provide a continuing lesson in how the color green, for example, can become greener, or greenish, or green-like, or sort of green, depending on the day, the season, and the light. Right now this is especially true of the browns: the umbers, khakis, caramels, and military camouflage abound. There is no one true brown when you look out the window. Instead there are many many many variations.

So what does this have to do with loose ends? In my life as a person, I have stretched myself towards certain goals, such as the kind of spouse, mother, sibling and friend I long to be for those people in my sphere. Once in a while, I have had that particular thrill of feeling I had gotten something just right, and perhaps I did. But it only lasts such a short time, then there's the next day, or month, etc. So I can never become a truly pure, purely good anything. There are always changing circumstances - cranky days, and loose ends. Nothing can get pinned down for long. Just like the browns outside don't stay any particular shade of brown for more than a week or two.

Which leads to the realization that even if you could try with all your might to hold on to one of those glorious connections, it just couldn't last. This makes leaving hard, wanting so much to find the moment when all is well in every part of my life, and with every person in it. Instead, I have to settle for knowing that at a certain point, things will simply stop where they do. And my ability to improve, repair, refine, or finish will have to be sufficient, and enough.

This is why I rest my eyes on the marsh. The slow, languorous, drawn-out days fill me with a little bit of peace and solace. Sometimes there's the excitement of a storm, or an astronomical tide - these really get my attention. Mostly, I attune myself with what is easy, swimming, or in flight, or the way the current carries the water in and out with such deftness. My hope is that I too will sail off on a such a gentle, peaceful current as my friends the geese and ducks do, leaving behind whatever loose ends my little ducky toes didn't have time to complete - but knowing that my people will come with me in my heart.

Wisdom of a Three-Year Old

I received this lovely little note from my friend Jessica, with a song her three-year-old daughter Greta composed for me, my little soulmate.

Dear Mary,

Greta asked me what I was reading and I said a letter from you and you were sad and needed some cheering up.

How would you cheer someone up who was sad? And this is what she sang:

"Sometimes when I'm sad, or mad, or glad
I sing about a duck in a nest
With an egg and a worm
This nest is the best
Love this nest
The end"

I kind of think there is some deep wisdom here and I sure would never try my hand at doing any better than that.

I read a lot of Duckdreams. I had no idea you and Greta have the deep connection you have.
Love from us, Jessica and Greta

Autumn Rolls In

Sometimes a visual view is way more powerful than words to describe the beauties of this marsh, as more and more of the leaves begin to turn. We have not only the glory of the river running through everything, but also the rolling grasses and the trees undergoing their preparations for winter.

The umbers and ambers, the golden radiant light, coat everything with autumn's palette. At times, the marsh looks bright and sprightly, like a late spring or early summer afternoon. At other times, the deep power of fall can been seen and felt everywhere you look. Even though my heart still longs for summer days, I find myself more and more melting into the beauties of this season.

Little Journeys XII

as promised my brother john wrote about his (often) weekly date with spouse pam to the Fredrick Meijer Gardens Sculpture Park, in grand rapids where we all grew up and where, of the six of us, he still lives:

Our trip to the Gardens this week was extra special as we were able to share with Pam's Ethiopian team who were here for Bethany's annual conference. They were: Sebilu Bodja (country Director), Helina Shimeles (Sebilu's wife and also Community and Family Education Coordinator), Senait Mulugeta (coordinator of the women’s skill training program), Sisay Simon (adoption coordinator), and Desalyn Shanko (foster care coordinator). They were very much in awe of the gardens and excited to see not only the Chihuly exhibits and the many spectacular sculptures but the tremendous fall colors of the trees. It is also the last week the Art Prize entries will be there so that brought out even more people to join in our guests fun. It was a very educational evening for me as well, learning all about their homeland and families and their various journeys along the way. Just a very cool and awesome way to spend an evening surrounded by new friends and our gardens.

Afterward we brought them back to the house for a chili dinner, which they spent time trying to compare to various Ethiopian dishes. But it didn't really matter given they were incredibly hungry from the day and lengthy tour of the gardens and would have eaten most anything. But they did enjoy it just the same. Love, John

Tidal River Turns Into Giant Lake Once Again

Here is what high tide on our marsh looks like most of the time. You can see the lovely, narrow winding river and four of the stately firs that stand across from our house. But lately the high tides have burst forth in ways that have been nothing short of breath-taking, even including several alligators.

While I know it is rumored that alligators don't reside in Maine, my sister, Terry, and I have both seen them with our very own eyeballs. Just because they turned out to be made of driftwood instead of all those scales, claws, and razor-sharp teeth doesn't make them any less alligatorish.

Just see for yourself, simply look below, at the Great Blue Heron Pond photograph taken hours ago just for proof of reptilian visitors. In the right foreground you can clearly see an alligator of sorts with its jaws wide open. I hope the Quackson Five are well protected at this precarious time in their vulnerable little lives.

Astronomical tides bring back Great Blue Heron Pond

Lots of news from a record high tide. First of all, the river has once again become a pond or actually more like a lake. The amount of open water is astonishing. Very little marsh grass can be seen above the water line. The sky, reflected by the water, is a steely gray, making the water many shades of silver, charcoal, and here and there, a few patches of dark green.

The Quackson Five have been out and about, although the number five now appears to have been overly optimistic. Still, it is lovely to see that at least three of the ducklings are still with us and they are just so darn cute. Ronny, the mallard, hangs out mostly with the geese, who promenade up and down the river continuously on the opposite shore.

It is interesting to see how geese change formation. The goose in the lead will suddenly turn and start swimming in the opposite direction. This leaves goose number two looking confused and not sure what to do next. Continue swimming forward as it had been or turn to follow the lead goose? Then goose number three also seems baffled and the whole gang gets all bollixed up. It is quite comical to watch. the way they try to right themselves to an orderly flow once again.

There is definitely a pecking order with a senior goose in charge of his gaggle. It's just quite challenging for the other geese to keep track of what he expects them to do. Sometimes, because I have hours to contemplate such things, I wonder whether the other geese resent their boss and wish they could spend a little more time doing what they pleased instead of having to drop everything and follow the leader. But probably I wonder about this mainly because of my own distaste for having my own life micromanaged.

These days especially, I long for a greater independence and mobility and the capacity to plan my own hours. The people who love and care for me are incredibly sensitive and I know they bend over backwards trying to make sure I have as much say in what goes on around here as possible. But still, I can sympathize with goose number two when a sudden change in direction throws me for a loop and I'm not sure which way to swim.

Bats!

The other night three bats flew by at dusk. I couldn't hear them, which was really too bad. When we lived in Haverhill, the neighborhood was filled with bats and I had found quite a variety of bat houses I was hoping to order off the internet. Alas, we didn't live there long enough for me to establish the bat village I imagined for our back yard. Plus, Marty hated the whole idea.

Bats really freak me out but I also find them fascinating. When I lived in a third story apartment in Grand Rapids in my 20's, a bat got into the living room. We tried to get it out by taking screens off windows and using brooms to chase it away. Mostly it flew about frantically and then hung upside down from the draperies. I was sharing the apartment with a guy at the time who was just as unglued by bats as I was but he didn't want to ask for help because of looking like a wuss. So I called the police. The dispatcher was very sympathetic and said she would send someone right over but wouldn't tell him why. That, she said, would be my job. When I asked her how come, she said cops are terrified of bats like everyone else, and she wouldn't be able to get them to do it if they knew ahead of time.

So, when this car pulled up in front of the house, I went down to the sidewalk to introduce myself. I tried to be as flattering and helpless as possible and coax him by implying he must be a very courageous officer of the law. He said he was calling for back-up and they would give it five minutes. If they weren't successful, they were going to leave.

It was quite a show once they got into it. They couldn't bear to fail, plus having another guy around ramped up their macho factor substantially. I had hoped throughout this ordeal that the bat would glide peacefully out the window into the dark of the night never to return. Instead, we eventually heard a loud thump made by a broom and one of the officers asked for a brown paper bag and where the outside trash can was. I have always felt vaguely guilty about the little critter's demise. As they were leaving, they asked me how I had gotten dispatch to send them and I confessed that I had participated in some duplicity to get them there. "Well, it's a good thing you did", one of them said. "I'd rather face a guy with a gun anytime." I lavished them with praise and offered them a beer but they were too honor-bound to accept.

My only other up-close bat experience took place with my little niece, Mary Elizabeth. We were on a church retreat, sharing a bunk bed and she threw up on me and all over the bed at 2 in the morning. I still can't believe no one else in the cabin, all adults, offered to help. It's not like they couldn't hear or smell us. I lugged her and all the stuff up to the bathhouse and cleaned her up as best I could. Then, not sure if she was contagious, I remembered one of the buildings with a vacant floor so we hiked over there and tucked ourselves in.

Our room was right under the eves of an old barny-style lodge and in between the ceiling and the roof there must have been at least three thousand bats carrying on. I could hear every one of them scratching, squealing, and fluttering in and out throughout the night. I finally fell asleep at day break when they quieted down and went to sleep themselves.

For some reason, I am glad to know that we have bat neighbors in Sheepscot Village. It makes the place seem more natural, and more eerie. And thankfully we have plenty of room for bat houses.

Acorn storms on the Vineyard

I thought you might enjoy hearing about my cousin Diane's first year of retirement on Martha's Vineyard with her husband Brad and their dog Max:

After reading Mary's blog, I started to look around with new eyes on the Vineyard. This is our very first year living here full time. We have been here to close things up for winter, but never for the whole transition from summer to winter.

Mostly, I had been thinking about the human transition, as the island slowed down and emptied out -- moving from its summertime population of 105,000 to its year-round population of 15,000! What a dramatic shift. Parking spots appear on Main Street. Most of our immediate neighbors are gone. Our dog Max and I walked on the beach that is barred to us all summer. It's lovely and very dramatically different from summer.

We live in the woods on this island, not the water, so we don't see the kinds of changes you do. Several times we have turned onto our road and had to stop suddenly because of deer. They were as surprised to see us as we were to see them! The hummers seem to have gone (now that I learned from Mary that they migrate, difficult as that is to imagine). The leaves are not changing yet; I don't know if they get colorful or not. Our woods are mostly populated with what people call "scrub oak" trees, and on our quick visits in the past we saw only brown.

A couple of days ago, the acorns began falling. They come down violently, as if someone were sitting in the trees throwing them at us. Even the porches aren't safe, as acorns bounce around there, hitting the walls and anything else in range. Brad suggested we get padded hats. Since we have few squirrels, this must be the woods repopulating itself. I wonder if other animals eat the acorns. I know that, come spring, I will be pulling many tiny oak trees out of the garden.

When Max and I walked up to the point of West Chop, the white caps were coming in at a sharp angle, one right after the other. It felt so clean, as if the air, the water, and the land had all been scoured. It is so very wonderful to be here. Much love, Diane