Paula

A blog a day keeps the boogie-man away. Time to turn my attention to those individuals and outings that are and have been bright points of joy. For although I haven't ventured too far from home or even out of my apartment lately, their love and friendship and strength of character remind me that there are mighty angels among us masquerading as humans.

The power of the ocean to heal the spirit has been understood for eons. Now that the summer season is upon us, access to the ocean beaches can be cost prohibitive, but previous generations set aside parks along the shore with benches to take in the smell of the salt air, to watch the sailboats bob on their moorings and to view the ocean and the islands that dot our coastline. Enter Paula, with her imagination and knowledge of these local peaceful spots. In the past week, she has twice coaxed me out of my shell and off the hilltop to remind me that we live in a beautiful world created for our enjoyment. Knowing what a pitiful eater I am, she packs us a picnic lunch and she drives us out to Salem Willows. There we sit under a shaded tree at a picnic table that faces Beverly Harbor. And we talk of family and her genealogy excursion to Ossipee to locate the burial site of her ancestor who fought in the American Revolution. Yes, she is a true Daughter of the American Revolution. Who among us can lay such a claim?

Less than a week later, we head off to Marblehead, the birthplace of the American Navy, to Old Town, where Paula grew up and where her widowed mother still resides in the family home. To reach her home, set among the antique houses nestled closely together, along the waterfront of Marblehead Harbor, one must go down a pathway located between very old houses. There, set in the back, out of sight of the street, is Paula's childhood home. The "right of way" is lined on both sides with seasonal plants and flowers that are all in bloom. I have always found this walk-way magical even when we were teenagers attending the local college. We've come to collect her mother who insists on treating us to lunch at the Barnacle, a small well-known restaurant, serving seafood that offers outstanding views of the harbor crowded with sailboats. It is just a short walk away to Fort Sewall, where during the American Revolutionary War, the fort protected and defended the mouth of  the harbor from the British Navy. Today it is a shaded park with benches aligned along the promenade that encircles the fort. We stop at one new bench that serves as a memorial for their deceased husband/father, daughter/sister and son/brother. Why is it that some individuals and families must endure so many losses? There are no clear cut answers, of course. It simply is. Both Paula and her mother, Lois, bear it with strong faith, grace and dignity.

So we sit on this scorching hot day to catch the sea breeze and reminiscence of earlier days. Of a mother calling her children home while they fished, rowed and sailed in the entry to the harbor. I sit between them marveling at their mother-daughter relationship, the ease of their communication, and the obvious love between them. I feel embraced by their warmth, love, understanding and compassion.  And I am grateful, eternally grateful, for having such a wonderful and loyal friend.