Tapestry of Memory

Potter Place

“There are places I'll remember

All my life, though some have changed

Some forever, not for better

Some have gone and some remain

All these places have their moments

With lovers and friends, I still can recall

Some are dead, and some are living

In my life, I loved them all...
John Lennon & Paul McCartney (“In My Life”)

This year, on Christmas Eve, my sons and daughter-in-law came to my house for dinner. Afterward, like all families, we sat and reminisced about old times. I'll bet you did, too. It seems to be a holiday tradition. This year, we traveled back to a house called Potter Place on Block Island, off the coast of Rhode Island. It belongs to my former husband's family, and has been their gathering place for almost seven decades. It's a big old, three-story sea Captain's house, built at the turn of the 20^th century. It is covered from ground to roof in cedar shakes, and has a wrap around porch complete with wicker rocking chairs.

In my life, Potter Place was often the scene of complicated and painful interactions. Scenic, beautiful, windswept, but fraught with family turmoil and trouble. I have wonderful memories of picking wild blackberries the size of my little finger along dusty, dirt roads. And, pulling mussels off slippery rocks at low tide to steam in Vermouth for dinner. I recall getting lost in an enormous boxwood maze and finally finding my way out half a mile down road from where I'd started. Wild waves, nor'easters, fields of wild flowers, the Milky Way, great white sharks, sailboat regattas, and privet hedges covered with Monarch butterflies. Also, terrible family feuds and misery. I'll bet you have places like that in your memory banks, too.

The nice thing about the passage of time, and the increase in maturity, is that all the good and bad memories wrapped together become like vintage furniture—smooth edges, nice patina, valuable because of their age and style. We remember them with fondness; they end up as a good story, a tapestry of many colors. How boring it would be if Block Island had been like Club Med—just beautiful, nothing more. Would I even remember it?

“Though I know I'll never lose affection

For people and things that went before,

I know I'll often stop and think about them,

In my life, I love you more...” (Beatles)

We all have memories, both good and not-so-good, because we are all weaving those tapestries. We need all the varied threads—the dark ones, as well as the light and bright ones—to make it rich and beautiful. Learning to love the depth of our experience takes time and willingness, but eventually, we get there. It's good to be here, now, and at peace.

                                                              In the Spirit,

                                                                  Jane