Shedding almost all one's earthly possessions is said to be very therapeutic, but at what point is it just a mechanism for running away? I am reminded of the poem , One Art by Elizabeth Bishop. The opening line is: "The art of losing isn't hard to master;" Whether a talent or an escape, I have certainly mastered the art of losing, leaving and shedding. I've perfected the art in the five times that I have walked away, packed up, abandoned furniture, and moved to a room, cottage or apartment in a new country or state.
If therapy is meant to help one maintain a perspective on one's self or stave off neurosis, shedding has indeed been therapeutic in my case. Let's see. The first time was when I walked away from a twenty year marriage and left Switzerland and my role as Headmaster's Wife, for a bohemian life in Greece.
Hauling my two suitcases and a small box of books, I landed in Athens and within a few weeks was fortunate to be hired by the Campion British School to teach A-level English as the token American and an oddity among the skeptical Brits. That move led me to a second marriage, the impetus being the need for an EU work permit when Greece joined the European Union. Fortunately, the man who shared my cottage was British/Australian. So we traveled to Florida to be wed in my mother's garden.
A year later, our teaching jobs took us to Rome and then to London and finally back to Rome in l998, where my husband took up with the young French teacher.
In 2003 I made the decision to go back to the United States. I arrived in Baltimore with my two suitcases and a box of books to take a teaching position at the St. Paul's School for Boys in Baltimore. I found a wonderful consignment shop in Baltimore and furnished my Brownstone loft with Chippendale and Queen Mary, that five years later suited the on-campus dorm apartment at Westminster School in Simsbury, Connecticut. Three years of teaching English six days a week, managing a dorm of thirty-six teenaged girls, moderating the Chapel program. starting a Model United Nations activity, advising eight international students, and coaching Squash, I'd had enough!
I accepted a job in the south...the deep south...Uruguay. A lovely couple of guys from an antique store in Avon, Connecticut came and gave me a check the furniture. I opened my dorm apartment to other faculty to sell all the household furnishings and packed my two suitcases and a box of books. I was headed to the Uruguayan American School in Montevideo! The school provided me with a small cottage and a budget to furnish it. Although there was no heat, the cottage had a lovely marble fireplace and a fenced in garden. Soon my little nest was ready for a coming out party, and the visiting poet was a perfect excuse to invite forty-five colleagues to celebrate with wine, food and music. The poet taught at Texas A&M, but was originally from Montevideo, so he brought his friends who were writers, artists and musicians, to join the party. The gathering was a great success and soon, the cottage was a Friday afternoon destination for an aperitivo before walking several blocks to the Garcia restaurant for steaks. The rest of the week I was coordinating the IB Diploma Program, college counseling and teaching English literature. The students, colleagues, parents and administrators made UAS the ideal school.
Four years later I received a call from my sister asking me to come home to Amelia Island, Florida, to help take care of my mother who had turned ninety-six and "was still driving."
I had to retire and come back to the United States to help keep an eye on mom. Yes, she was ninety-six and driving, but she was also playing golf three times a week (she had her third hole in one at ninety), heading up the Nassau County Republican Women's Club, going out to lunch with friends most days; her only medication was a double shot of Jim Beam on the rocks each afternoon at 5:00!
I informed my Head of School that I had to leave at the end of the school year and began the process of clearing out my beloved cottage. I sold all of the furniture and planned an open house to get rid of everything, and I mean everything, else. The invitation read: Come to the cottage. Have a glass of wine. Take the glass with you...and anything else. Everything must go!
The turn out was fantastic and the event evolved into a wonderful, boozy party; the liquor and wine cupboard needed to be emptied. In the end, everything did go, even the clothes, since my wardrobe of professional suits, jackets, dresses and high heels would be of no use in my new role of caretaker.
My posse of friends from school accompanied me and my two suitcases to the Montevideo airport. The books had been donated to the school library, so I was traveling light this trip. There were tears and hugs and I was truly sorry to leave the best job of my life.
When I arrived in Amelia Island, my mother looked confused. "What are you doing here?" When I explained I was to be her "wingman", she simply said, "Well, don't get in the way. I have a very busy schedule!", and she did, right up until she passed away two months after her 100th birthday!
Being mom's companion for her last four years was amazing and I felt so blessed to have had the chance. In my years of teaching overseas, I'd only pass through Amelia Island a week here and a week there to visit mom. We had some hilarious adventures together including two hurricane evacuations. A charming gentleman I'd met at the Club 14 gym, (I had my first experience with a gym after those lunches and cocktails began to take a toll on my shape) took charge of our evacuation. Ron and I started dating a month before the first hurricane was due to hit our island. He played golf at mom's golf club, so she had immediately approved of him. I had no clue what to do in a hurricane, so Ron made all the arrangements. Mom simply threw a couple of nightgowns and a clean golf shirt into a bag, proclaiming she was ready to roll. Ron drove us to safety in Athens, Georgia in his luxurious Lexus sedan with mom in the back with her newspaper and coffee looking like a queen. I think she may have thought Ron was dating her, she was so smitten with him. He even brought a portable putting game so they could compete each night in our hotel suite with cocktails!
Shortly after the second hurricane evacuation, Ron and I went to the historic Town Hall in Fernandina Beach and married. I was still keeping an eye on mom, but did move some of my things to Ron's house: one of my suitcases. He and his wife had built the house in 1989 and it was beautifully furnished and full of the sort of stuff that accumulates over fifty-seven years of marriage. His wife had died of lung cancer six months earlier. Ron told me he had "turned the page" and was startled, but pleased when our trainer introduced us one morning at the gym. After two years of dating, we took the plunge.
We had a wonderful life together traveling, cheering the Yankees and even quarantining during COVID. Ron played golf three times a week and we went to the gym together and swam the other days. Then July 12th 2022 Ron was diagnosed with a terminal cancer and I lost him ten weeks later. It was terrible.
My daughter and her husband came to Amelia Island from their small farm in Alabama to help me sell and empty the house. Again, I packed up my suitcases to be welcomed into my daughter's
guest room until I could figure out what would be the next chapter. After four months, I flew to Granada, Spain to stay on my son's couch in the small apartment he, his wife and my two granddaughters shared. After another four months, I traveled back to Alabama, this time with just a carry-on suitcase. Thus, I began the backing-and-forthing that has become my life.
Now I am careful not to accumulate too much, since I am living out of a suitcase for the most part. But I still feel blessed that my children have generously offered me their homes and I want to spend part of the year with each of them. No question. I have shed and lost much over the years, but being attached to people rather than things has served me well.
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