Autumn begins on the equinox which falls on Sunday, September 22 this year. The word equinox comes from the Latin equi (meaning equal) and nox (meaning night), marking the time when day and night are of equal length. We notice that the nights become longer than the days at the autumn equinox, until this is reversed at the spring equinox.

We typically think of the word, “fall” as the North American version of the word ‘autumn’, but it was in widespread usage in England. Originally the phrase ‘fall of the leaf’ was used for the season until the 17th century in England. The word autumn comes from the French automne and became popular in English in the 18th century.

The fall season is symbolic of change. In ancient civilizations, life changed with the seasons. In winter, farmers would rest, in spring they would prepare the land and plant seeds. In summer, farmers would protect their crops. In the fall, they would harvest the land. This cycle would repeat year after year. Fall represents a change of direction. Less planting, more harvest. Less daylight, more darkness. Our way of being must change to adapt to our biological needs.

Unlike the outward growth and flourishing we witness in spring, autumn is often associated with a more introspective and contemplative journey. Fall has become the time of year that symbolizes the process of turning inward and engaging in activities that nourish the soul. Like the trees that gracefully shed their leaves, autumn signifies a season of letting go. Fall beckons us to take stock of our lives and release what no longer serves us in our relationships and habits. As the world outside begins to slow down and become quiet, we turn inward and create spaces of refuge and renewal.

Fall is the season that invites us to reconnect with the earth to approach the coming days with a renewed sense of balance and purpose. According to Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, autumn is the season where warmth and shelter become important.

This autumn the third floor of my house will be experiencing a renewal. My granddaughters have expressed an interest in decorating the bedrooms on that floor for sleepovers. They are gathering decorative items from all over the house to personalize their rooms. Our third floor is basically a storage dump for my four children’s childhood belongings and other stuff that we can’t bring ourselves to send to the dump. We all spent a couple of hours there this weekend going through trunks and boxes. It was like a treasure hunt for the children, they found it very entertaining. We introduced them to our method of getting things from the third floor to the first floor, simply drop it over the banister. They loved it. I’m glad that my husband and I have kept this six bedroom house, it has always been my dream to have my grandchildren love it as much as we do.

Walking down the grocery aisles the other day was an explosion of pumpkin flavored products, everything from cereal to coffee to cookies, and muffins.

The Pumpkin Spice Latte’ was invented by Starbucks at the headquarters in Seattle in early spring of 2003. Members of the team were searching for a new flavored coffee for the fall. A forkful of pumpkin pie was followed by a sip of hot espresso, the goal was to find which flavors of the pie best complemented the coffee. The team refined the recipe, handcrafted with espresso, pumpkin pie sauce, steamed milk and a dash of pumpkin pie topping on the whipped cream. In the fall of 2003, the pumpkin spice latte’ was tested in Washington D.C. and Vancouver, Canada. It was an instant winner. Dunkin Donuts introduced its pumpkin flavor swirl for coffee in 2007.

With pumpkins linked to everything fall, there is a psychological theory called “reactance” that affects us. Reactance Theory is the strong inclination to act on limited time offers like seasonal pumpkin spice flavors. Waiting until fall for the pumpkin spice latte season is like waiting for an award. Industries have profited from this growing psychological enticement and have made pumpkin spice flavors a social and nostalgic situation for us. Unfortunately, due to its seasonal shelf life, none of the pumpkin spice flavoring is freshly made and companies have to rely on factory made artificial flavors.

With the demand for pumpkins growing, the smell of pumpkin spice can trigger you to imagine fall leaves, warm blankets, and positive memories fluttering through your mind. Pumpkin flavoring is associated with popular fall activities like football games and trick or treating. We’re savoring the essence of autumn itself.

According to WebMd, eating pumpkins in the fall is beneficial to our health. As we head indoors on the increasingly cooler days, we tend to attract some pesky germs. Pumpkins are rich in vitamin C, A, and E, omega-3 fatty acids, zinc, selenium, iron, magnesium, and beta-carotene. Consuming pumpkin may help manage immune related diseases, reduce how often you fall sick, and help you recover faster from infections.

Pumpkin seeds are a natural source of tryptophan, an amino acid that promotes sleep. The nutrients in pumpkin seeds can also positively affect stress, anxiety, sleep duration, and quality.

After Thanksgiving every year I give some of our pumpkins to our chickens to enjoy, the others are thrown in the garden. The seeds from the decomposing pumpkins from last year produced several very healthy vines this summer with beautiful heirloom varieties. On the morning I had chosen to harvest my pumpkins, I found vines strewn around violently with my pumpkins in pieces. It was obvious that the neighborhood raccoon family had been partying with my crop. My chickens eagerly accepted the leftovers.

Regardless of whether you love it or you hate it, there is no ignoring pumpkin spice season when it comes around. With the cooler weather and the start of the NFL season, I plan to add a little pumpkin spice to my coffee in the mornings, homemade of course.

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Contributor Kate Emery General is a retired chef/restaurant owner who was born and raised in Casper, Wyoming. Kate loves her grandchildren, knitting and watercolor painting. Kate and her husband, Matt, are longtime residents of Cambridge’s West End, where they enjoy swimming and bicycling.

Studies by Psychology Today have shown that writing by hand instead of typing deepens content processing and supports emotional health. The exclusive use of computers and the lack of handwriting practice do our brains a disservice by decreasing the areas which are part of the neural networks that control motor, sensory, cognitive, and behavioral functions. While slower than digital, writing by hand has been shown to help fight cognitive decline. Regularly practicing handwriting may improve brain structure and function.

There’s lots of empirical evidence that handwriting has psychological benefits, writing or journaling helps people process life’s emotional ups and downs. Amazon lists thousands of journaling notebooks for just such activities.

Research remains early, but findings so far argue that we shouldn’t abandon old-school pen and paper as obsolete technologies. Writing remains foundational for mental development across our lifespans, from formative early years through preserving cognitive fitness in late adulthood.

Penmanship began in first grade when I was a child. We were given chunky pencils and a green paperback book called “Miss Kettle’s Penmanship” with pages of letters to trace. For years, I had a callous on my finger from pressing so hard as I copied the letters in those books. There was a lot of pressure from the teacher to form the letters perfectly. We studied cursive in third grade and were expected to write all work in cursive after that. In ninth grade, typing class was a requirement, and typed reports were then the norm. Typing class in college involved a “mag-card” computer, which was huge but quick.

In junior high, I experimented with a combination of cursive and printing, getting creative with certain letters. I continued to do well on my handwritten papers and school work, so I adopted the cursive/printing technique as my own. I chose a fountain pen as a tool to perfect my new script. My granddaughter, Freyja, aged five, explains that she dots all of her i’s and j’s with a heart because she loves to write and is an artist.

My dad was an attorney whose penmanship was perfectly gorgeous. On his desk, he had stacks of legal pads with the notes that he wrote on a daily basis. I asked him one day why he made his letters so big in his name and he told me that how you sign your name says a lot about you, your persona. He said that if your signature is tiny, what does that say about you?

This year, as a kindergarten teacher, I’m teaching lowercase and high frequency letters first. Studies have shown that a higher percentage of children succeed using this method. After Common Core educational standards dropped cursive in 2010, some classrooms have returned to the methods used in the sixties and seventies of tracing the letters in a book. Handwriting practice has an incredible influence on cognitive development, stimulating different brain parts associated with language processing, memory retention, and creative expression. Handwriting is essential in developing fine motor skills necessary for performing delicate and precise movements of the hands and fingers. Handwriting activities can increase focus and concentration and is a fun way to express oneself.

I have boxes full of letters from beloved family members, these letters are a part of my history, a look into my past. I would grab this box of letters if my house was on fire because they are priceless to me. My favorites are the letters from my Mom and Dad. The summer when I was nine, my sister and I spent a month traveling with our grandmother. I received separate letters from my parents telling of a colossal rainstorm that flooded my hometown. Each account was totally different and reflected the letter writer’s personality. Dad’s letter was written as an adventure, telling of his rowing a boat to get to his office. Mom wrote about her garden and drew pictures of her droopy flowers in the flood water.

In this box of letters are the daily love notes written by my husband of thirty years. His cheerful little memos wish me a great day or reflect on wonderful days past. His signature always includes a drawing of himself and our little French Bulldog. These notes are the best part of my morning, better than the texts we send throughout the day.

By adding handwriting to our list of activities to promote healthy aging, we enhance our ability to communicate and enrich our lives in many ways.

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Kate Emery General is a retired chef/restaurant owner who was born and raised in Casper, Wyoming. Kate loves her grandchildren, knitting, and watercolor painting. Kate and her husband, Matt are longtime residents of Cambridge’s West End where they enjoy swimming and bicycling. 

Did you know that “knocking on wood” actually comes from the belief that every tree is inhabited by a spirit known as Hamadryad or Dryad. The action of knocking was practiced by ancient priests in order to ward off evil or fulfill a wish. So the next time you knock on wood, remember you are actually summoning the spirits of a tree.

Some people believe that every tree has a spirit that lives in its roots, trunk, and bark. They may also believe that these spirits are the essence of the tree and are magical beings and do no harm. Trees are powerful symbols in many faiths and mythologies, and have been used to express spirituality and religious beliefs in various ways.

The tree is one of humankind’s most powerful symbols. It is the embodiment of life in all its realms: the point between heaven, earth, and water. In most mythology and ancient religious imagery, the tree was believed to have an abundance of divine creative energy.

Trees have an extraordinary capacity to absorb negative energy. When we hug a tree, we can release pent up emotions, finding comfort and support in the tree’s stoic presence. Tree hugging offers a sanctuary of tranquility, allowing us to disconnect from the chaos of modern living and rediscover our inner peace.

Hugging trees is not only a means of personal healing but also a powerful reminder of our interconnectedness with nature. Tree hugging encourages us to view trees not merely as resources to be exploited but as living beings that sustain life on this earth. It fosters a deep sense of responsibility for the environment and inspires us to take actions that protect and preserve our natural world.

A large parcel of land in Louisiana was part of my inheritance when my Mom passed away. My grandmother had purchased the land with the intention of building a family “camp” there upon my grandfather’s retirement. The land is in a beautiful spot but is heavily wooded with hickory trees and squirrels. My Mom had actually sold the trees forty years ago to a lumber broker. The broker promised my Mom that clearing the land was like a good haircut and he was correct, a recent drone photo shows our parcel of land as a very healthy, dense forest. We pay eight dollars in taxes yearly to support these trees and squirrels, it’s the least we can do for these magical trees.

The focal point of my front yard is a giant Magnolia tree. It is the bane of my existence in the spring and fall when it drops its waxy leaves, so much work. However, I love this tree very much. I had read about the benefits of magnolia trees, and my granddaughter, Freyja, has always been drawn to them. She makes bouquets out of the leaves and flowers. She mixes “potions” with them and makes beds for fairies with the leaves. We always add the leaves to our yearly Christmas wreaths.

As it turns out, more than two hundred and fifty ingredients can be found from the bark, flowers, and leaves of the Magnolia tree. Two of the main compounds are used in anti-cancer and anti-inflammation supplements. The extract of the bark of Magnolia trees has been used for over a thousand years in Chinese medicine for the treatment of maladies ranging from asthma, depression, muscle pain, and headaches.

Trees have helped me become more aware of my connection to something larger; I try to be compassionate and mindful of my surroundings, especially while raking.

The last weekend in August is a global celebration of Bats. Bats are iconic Halloween creatures but are often misunderstood regarding their threat to humans. This celebration serves to remind us of the important role bats play in daily life. Bats are key to the health of woodlands and forests, they pollinate many plants, including crops like bananas, mangoes and agave. They also disperse seeds and control harmful insect populations, bats eat up to 1,000 mosquitoes in an hour.

International Bat Night is observed by thirty countries around the world to bring light to the necessity of preserving this nocturnal species. It informs the public about the needs and benefits of bats in nature. Long associated with all things dark and creepy, bats are in fact a friend to man. Even the feared Vampire Bat of South America has proved to be beneficial. Doctors have studied the anticoagulant qualities of their bites and have used that knowledge in developing medications for heart disease and stroke patients.

The expression “blind as a bat” comes from the assumption that a bat’s eyesight isn’t very good. Bats’ vision is actually better than that of humans; they can see incredibly well both day and night. Bats also have a kind of sonar (echolocation) that helps bats pinpoint the exact location of insects such as mosquitoes.

There are over 1,400 species of bats across the world, the Eastern Shore of Maryland has ten. Most of the bats native to the Eastern Shore are listed as ‘species of greatest conservation needs.” Some, such as the Eastern Small-footed bat are ranked as highly endangered and rare due to their habitat disturbance. The Little Brown Bat, also a “species of greatest conservation needs” and “highly rare” is vulnerable to predators during hibernation so they often roost in attics. Attics offer warmth, humidity, and shelter necessary for rearing young pups.

Due to human intervention, bats have been forced out of their preferred habitat, trees, while also being killed by pesticides. Bats have responded to habitat loss by adapting to other available habitats, including barns, attics, and churches.

My daughter, Cece, was pregnant with her first child in 2017 and bought a darling house on her favorite street in Easton. Despite a thorough home inspection, Cece learned that there was a maternity ward of bats in her attic. The Maryland Department advised Cece of Natural Resources to speak to a professional company that properly “excludes” bats. Our family loves bats so we absolutely wanted the bat family’s eviction to be safe for everyone involved. We learned that her bat tenants were one of the endangered species and needed to be protected. Great care was taken to help the bats during their removal, thankfully everyone was healthy, no bats were injured.

After the bat incident, I wrote a little story about Cece’s beloved house and the bats for her babies.

The little house on August Street was cheerful on the outside with its bright yellow paint but sad and lonely on the inside. She shared her life with a bat family that slept all day and kept her awake at night. Her friend, the grey house across the street would remind the little yellow house that she was old and should be glad that her life was quiet, but little yellow house missed the joys of a boisterous family filling up her rooms.

One day, a young couple with two dogs moved into the little yellow house. They played records all day long while cooking the most delicious food. The little yellow house was so proud of its freshly painted rooms. The dogs ran gleefully up and down the stairs and barked at the Bat family. The little yellow house was the happiest it had ever been.

The young couple came home in the spring with a beautiful baby girl. The little yellow house felt very warm and happy inside. The baby girl grew quickly; she loved her little yellow house and spent hours in the garden singing and playing. She would wave to the newborn bat pups in the attic.

The next winter, a new baby girl joined the family, and the little yellow house was brimming with joy. The two little girls decorated the house’s walls with beautiful drawings of their family, their dogs, rainbows, fairies, the bat family, and their beloved house. The girls, excited to go on an adventure every morning, burst out the front door, singing and laughing. Upon their return, the girls at the front door quietly whispered, “I love you,” to the little house. By the soft glow of candlelight, the evenings were filled with music, kitchen dinners, baths, and stories before bedtime.

Everyone, including the little yellow house slept soundly, the bat family had moved away.

One morning in the fall, the little yellow house once again heard the cries of a new baby, a boy. The little house felt warmer and happier than ever.

The big grey house across the street told the little yellow house that she looked her most beautiful now that she had her precious little family, and the little yellow house agreed.

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Kate Emery General is a retired chef/restaurant owner who was born and raised in Casper, Wyoming. Kate loves her grandchildren, knitting, and watercolor painting. Kate and her husband, Matt are longtime residents of Cambridge’s West End where they enjoy swimming and bicycling. 

National Women’s Day is celebrated on August 9. It’s tucked in with National Rice Pudding Day, National Hand Holding Day, and National Book Lovers Day. National Women’s Day is a South African public holiday that commemorates the 1956 march of 20,000 women to the Union Buildings in Pretoria to petition against apartheid pass laws for black women.

South Africa declared its first National Women’s Day in 1995, almost forty years after the March. National Women’s Day draws attention to significant issues that African women still face, such as parenting, domestic violence, sexual harassment in the workplace, unequal pay, and schooling for girls.

Although there is a long way to go, women’s rights have generally improved worldwide in the last fifty years as gender disparity has mostly decreased. From politics to sports, women have shattered the glass ceiling in many fields, and continue to pave the way for equality and representation.

My husband and I watched and really enjoyed a movie called, “Young Woman and the Sea” this past week. It is very timely with the 2024 Olympics’ conclusion, as the story depicts a girl, Gertrude Ederle, fighting for her right to learn how to swim. At the 1924 Olympics in Paris, Ederle won a gold medal as a member of the first place U.S. team in the 4X100 meter freestyle relay. Individually, Gertrude, received bronze medals for the 100-meter freestyle and the women’s 400-meter freestyle races. With the support of her sister and trainers, Ederle overcame adversity and the animosity of a patriarchal society to rise through the ranks of the Olympic swimming team and complete the staggering achievement of swimming the twenty one miles from France to England.

In 1910’s America, a revolution in swimming was underway. By custom and in some cases, by law, women weren’t allowed in the water without covering their bodies in a heavy “bathing costume“ made of wool, flannel, or canvas that weighed them down. Competing in swim races in public was frowned upon. There were private swimming clubs for women at the turn of the twentieth century. Many women wanted to swim unencumbered, and even to race. At the time, swimming meant fighting for new freedom for women’s bodies.

Female swimming pioneers are called “swimming suffragettes,” since their presence in the pool was analogous to their presence at the polls. Women’s fight for access to the water was itself a type of implicit political action.

From 1920 -1935, cities across America open thousands of public swimming pools and permit men and women to swim together. The federal government mandates racial segregation of pools in Washington D.C.

As a swimmer and a woman, I am grateful for the women who have “paved the way” for equal rights. To be denied access to swimming or any sport because of my gender seems crazy to me. There wasn’t any hint of gender inequality in my family at all. My mother was lucky to be completely self sufficient financially and definitely was respected by my father as his equal partner in their marriage. Both parents were swimmers and so learning to swim was a priority in my family. I have many photos and home movies of my parents on beaches and at pools as children and young adults. Most of our family vacations included a beach or a pool.

Equality can only be achieved if the diversity, differences, and qualities of women are truly valued. Respect for others is an important part in forging gender equality. Having a day, such as South Africa’s Women’s Day, to commemorate history and the fights that women have fought is a great way to remember and ensure progress in the future. Women have had a lot of obstacles to go through, the freedom to swim for one, and movies like “Young Woman and the Sea,” can raise awareness on just how far we’ve come.

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Kate Emery General is a retired chef/restaurant owner who was born and raised in Casper, Wyoming. Kate loves her grandchildren, knitting, and watercolor painting. Kate and her husband, Matt are longtime residents of Cambridge’s West End where they enjoy swimming and bicycling. 

It has been a treat that my seven and five-year-old granddaughters have been spending several days a week at my house this summer. We begin the day with a writing prompt, usually current events (they found a frog in their paddling pool) or the weather (too hot to go to the playground). They copy the sentence and then draw a picture in their summer journals. We make a de-tox smoothie with bananas, wild blueberries, mangoes, kale, and dulse (seaweed). While we drink our smoothies we discuss our plans for our day. We then do an art project, watercolor painting with pastel crayon resist is always a favorite. We have really enjoyed air dry clay, also.

Reading is always a priority, we have loved reading a series of chapter books about a very brave mouse named Mona who is a maid at the grandest hotel in Fernwood Forest. Mona is a very compelling character, she is an orphan and her only possession is a suitcase with a heart carved on it. Mona saves the hotel guests in some very precarious and dangerous situations. We have become huge Mona fans, we love a good “girl power” book. I bought a mouse sewing pattern and the three of us are now stitching our own mice. We are knitters so a sweater or scarf might be a great addition to Mona’s wardrobe.

The girls love my garden, they visit our two cats, check the chicken coop for eggs, and pick a bouquet of flowers for our kitchen table. They count the number of bees and dragonflies everyday and they help with watering the plants on our deck.

The bedrooms in our house still have a few of my children’s belongings in them, which are fascinating to the girls. They love to hear stories about their Mom and her siblings as children. They have spent a lot of time in the bedrooms on the second floor but due to the heat and the lack of air conditioning, the third floor will remain big mystery until fall.

One of seven year old, Winnie’s favorite things is the collection of tiny porcelain trinket boxes that belonged to my grandmother. The box shaped like an old fashioned pink “pocket book” or purse that has “pin money” written in gold cursive on the front has always been special. Last week, Winnie asked what “pin money” meant. I explained that many years ago, husbands gave their wives a small allowance for nonessential minor expenditures, they called it “pin money.” This explanation led to a lengthy women’s lib discussion about their Mommy earning her own money to buy groceries, clothes, shoes, and toys.

At swimming lessons that day, Winnie explained to a table of Moms about “pin money.” Only one woman knew what “pin money” was but all were delighted by Winnie’s dramatic description.

Winnie was motivated to fill the “pin money” box with coins so after searching in drawers, she counted out $4.61 in change. Winnie decided that she could buy a chocolate bar or a hair bow which she would happily share with her sister, Freddie.

My grandmother, Ida, whose box Winnie has found, spoke of “pin money” whenever we visited. She would tell us that she had saved her “pin money” for a day at our favorite amusement park or for a shopping trip to The Denver Dry Goods Department store. The shopping trip always included a hot fudge sundae.

Like Winnie, I would spend hours with my Grandmother, Ida, going through her jewelry boxes and special drawers. I found brooches and rings containing a tiny lock of braided hair of dead family members, a funeral tradition popular during the Civil War. The inscription on the gold jewelry told the name and the date of the deceased, which I found to be fascinating and creepy. Hat pins and gloves were also in abundance, representing women of different eras.

My grandparents’ enjoyed their many travels to the Orient and their home decor reflected that. It was definitely a “look but don’t touch” home. However, the pedal that opened the copper-colored refrigerator was a joyful and satisfying way to be helpful in the kitchen. The chair in the basement that could spin so fast, the brick grill in the backyard was great for climbing, and at the end of the day, the multicolored scented oil beads for a bath. All were all fun things for active children to do.

Winnie and Freddie learned that a doll-sized silver tea service that they play with belonged to their great-grandmother, Yvonne. I showed them a picture of Yvonne and her sister, Rosemary, as little girls. I also showed them a picture of their great-great-grandfather, Big Harris, whose hobby was collecting antique silver when he traveled. Big Harris bought the tiny silver tea service for my Mom, Yvonne, on a trip to Mexico. Full circle.

Grandparents pass down family memories and traditions through storytelling, which can help grandchildren connect with their family roots and culture.

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Kate Emery General is a retired chef/restaurant owner who was born and raised in Casper, Wyoming. Kate loves her grandchildren, knitting, and watercolor painting. Kate and her husband, Matt are longtime residents of Cambridge’s West End where they enjoy swimming and bicycling. 

Stories were a big part of my father-in-law’s life; I wish that I had recorded them. The first story that John General told me was that he and Mick Jagger had been born on the very same day, July 26,1943, in the U.K., Mick in England and John in Scotland. John was born to an American G.I. and a Scottish nurse, who met at the Audley Pub in London while WWll raged on around them. After his birth, John and his mother moved to Detroit, Michigan to wait out the remainder of WWll in safety. The move was tough for John’s Mom, Peggy, living with strangers in a foreign country. John’s grandfather was a wealthy politician of Polish descent – Mayor of Detroit who was less than happy about an immigrant living in his home.

John’s childhood stories were tough. After the war the family settled in New Jersey and welcomed two more boys to the family. Dad’s (Leonard) job in hospital maintenance barely covered the family’s expenses. The budget had room for one pair of shoes per year for John and his two brothers, by year’s end, the shoes were covered in holes and painful to growing feet. The boys ate a lot of hot dogs while choice strips of meat were saved for Leonard. Leonard ruled the “roost”; children were to be seen and not heard.

Peggy was diagnosed with a serious heart condition and fell so ill that she required open heart surgery. John became the cook and housekeeper during the months of his mother’s convalescence. He was adept at creating entire meals with a box of BisQuick. As the boys headed off for school in the morning, Peggy, from her hospital bed, would caution the boys that “she might be dead when they got home from school.” A heavy burden for a child to carry all day. Peggy didn’t die but her heart surgery was a big part of her story. She was treated like a princess by her sons, who continued to do all of the cooking and cleaning.

John excelled at school in academics and sports and was awarded a full academic scholarship to Columbia University. He had many wonderful stories of visiting a relative at The Hotel Chelsea while in New York City, with its eccentric residents and the pet ocelot.

Despite his high grades at Columbia, John knew that he needed to made a more sustainable change. He accepted a commission to The United States Naval Academy. Swimming was a requirement skimmed over on his application, he hadn’t had a proper swimming lesson in his life. A natural, accomplished athlete, John had a “blind faith” that he was up to any task put before him and he could master swimming. He did go on to pass the swimming portion of the curriculum but never enjoyed recreational swimming, it was just a survival exercise.

John fell in love during his junior year. They married in December of his Senior year, despite the rule that Midshipmen must live in the dorms and not have dependents. The stated reason is that attendance at The Naval Academy is a full-time occupation, Midshipmen have full time military duties in addition to their class work. John and his wife, Susan rented an apartment within walking distance of the Academy. They formally married in the spring, with all of the splendid traditions and pomp at the Chapel.

After graduating with the Class of 1965, John was sent to Aviation School in Pensacola, Florida where Susan and John’s first son was born. Due to his height (6’5”) John chose to fly P3’s not jets. He attended Survival School (SERE) in San Diego for a grueling nineteen days developing a love of Abolone, his main food source. He joined a squadron in Texas for his final training. John served our country during the Vietnam War. After his lengthy tour of duty in Vietnam was complete, John was sent to the Naval Post Graduate School in Monterey, California. John and Susan’s second son, Matt was born at The Station Hospital in Fort Ord, California. After receiving his master’s degree, John received orders to Barber’s Point, Hawaii. The family thrived in Hawaii, it was a happy time.

John resigned his active duty commission but remained a member of the Naval Reserves. The family relocated to Palo Alto, California when John accepted a job with Stanford Research Institute. He eventually started his own company, Delfin Systems where he developed a non-lethal warfare program. His company expanded to the Washington D.C. area in the early 1990’s.

John bought the deconsecrated Episcopal Church, All Saints, with a full graveyard on Longwoods Road in Easton. It was the perfect place for entertaining, with its Belfry and massive great room. The four foot long black snake in the basement was a respected guest, the church mouse population was nil. John loved being a resident in Maryland, he had fond memories of his time in Annapolis.

John had a keen business sense and knew that the Avalon Theater could be the cultural focal point of Easton. Despite many naysayers, John and his wife, Ellen signed a lease with the Town of Easton and formed the Avalon Foundation. The Avalon quickly grew as a center for the performing arts and community events. John and Ellen took great pride in entertaining the artists who performed at the theater. It was exciting to meet Mickey Rooney, Arlo Guthrie, and Richie Havens. John’s weekly television talk show from the studio of the Avalon basement was one of his favorite hobbies. John and his cohost would discuss current events and have local personalities on as guests.

John, always in search of a new project, reconnected with his old high school chum, Artie Kornfield, who was a music industry producer and was one of the organizers of Woodstock. John was instrumental in the publishing of Artie’s memoir. Artie was a bit of a “head-case” and required alot of patience and attention, but John was satisfied with the end result. A beautiful book with an enclosed CD.

John’s business acuity served him well in his choice of new investments. His favorite part of the day was “happy hour” and his son, Matt was his favorite bartender. It was synchronicity when a small restaurant on Goldsborough Street became available for purchase. General Tanuki’s was John’s pet project for twelve years. He was a born host and was very proud of this accomplishment. Gone were the days of BisQuick, John indulged in his favorite sushi, curry, calamari, fish taco, poke bowl, and burger in rotation. Matt’s hand picked wine list and Mai Tai’s were perfect compliment to the meal at the end of a long workday. John and Matt were perfect business partners, love and respect were key in their easy going relationship. John was the silent partner, Matt had the experience and knowledge of running a restaurant.

John’s health began to decline and in 2018 he suffered a stroke after a surgical procedure. He died peacefully at our home in June of 2019. Matt and I felt robbed as John had promised that he would live to be eighty six years old and we believed him, he was seventy five. John was so knowledgeable and usually right about current affairs that I wonder what he would say about the world today.

Happy Birthday, John.

 

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Kate Emery General is a retired chef and restaurant owner who was born and raised in Casper, Wyoming. She loves her grandchildren, knitting, and watercolor painting. Kate and her husband, Matt, are longtime residents of Cambridge’s West End, where they enjoy swimming and bicycling. 

The fiftieth state (Hawaii) had become my family’s home in the four years that we lived there. I felt like Kama’aina (person of the land), I had made many Navy and non Navy friends and my children were healthy and happy. Our days were long, peaceful, and full of Aloha (living in harmony).

Most weekdays, we swam at the quiet Makalapa Crater Officer’s Club pool after school. After dinner, we’d ride our bikes down the bike path to Pearl Harbor. We’d pass the old electric plant, Taro fields, and the Harbor full of battleships, some “mothballed.”

On weekends we’d take the ferry and bike around the mostly deserted Ford Island. The National Historic Landmark was a strategic center for operations for the U.S. Navy. Ford Island was attacked on December 7, 1941 and is considered to be haunted by the servicemen killed on that day. Visiting the airstrip, one definitely feels a sense of urgency and eeriness.

We’d spend all day at our favorite beach in Kailua with its tide pools. The beach is located at the end of Kailua Bay and has calm surf, very few people, shade, and white sand beaches. Kaneohe Yacht Club’s beautiful pool was a favorite after a day of sailing. The Sandbar was our sailing destination for a picnic lunch, perfect for a lazy day of floating around.

We respected the history of this beautiful state. Whenever family or friends visited, Iolani Palace, The Bishop Museum, and Chinatown were high on our list. We could understand and speak a little “pidgin” and pronounce Hawaiian words correctly. We still love the music of Aloha, especially The Brothers Cazimero.

The U.S. Navy had one last move in mind – 4,826 miles away, Washington D.C.

With a broken heart, I dragged my suitcase through the Honolulu airport while my tears fell on my baby’s head, asleep in her cozy carrier. All week I had been saying goodbyes to my friends, my favorite beaches, swimming pools, sushi bars, and restaurants. I rode down the bike path to Pearl Harbor one last time. We walked around Waikiki and had rainbow shave ice. Dinner at The Crouching Lion. Brunch at the Royal Hawaiian, Gyros fresh off the “spit” at the Waikiki Shopping Plaza. Drinks at the Monkey Bar and Macadamia Nut Pie in Pearl City. Saimen for breakfast, plate lunch in Kailua for lunch, Shabu Shabu for dinner and steamed pork buns and almond cookies for a late night snack.

There was a somber vibe on the plane, tourists at the end of their vacation dreading their return to reality. I felt their loss times a thousand, my dread was that of the unknown, a permanent transition from paradise to “back East.” Landing at San Francisco International Airport I immediately felt a change in the air. Despite it being “laidback” California, there was a prevailing hurriedness that was completely lacking in Hawaii. After a quick layover, we flew to Denver then a tiny plane to Cheyenne, Wyoming. My children’s cat and two guinea pigs were safe and happy for their freedom at my sister’s house. The open spaces and dry, fresh air filled with memories was our host, it had been a very long day – the first day of the rest of my life. The visit with my family in Wyoming was peaceful and quiet, days spent outside breathing in the beauty of the landscape, exactly what we needed before our new life in “the East.”

Our flight from Denver touched down at Dulles just at “rush hour.” The sense of urgency of the throng of travelers was palpable, my knuckles were white clinging to my children as we were swept out of the plane. We retrieved our luggage and pets, got the keys for our rental car, and headed to Old Town Alexandria and the Holiday Inn. Simple, right? Wrong… we were like “Charlie on the MTA,” we couldn’t find our exit or get off the Beltway. The ferocity of this pack of highway drivers was new to me. In Hawaii, you simply wave your hand out of your window, asking to change a lane. On 495, my blinker stayed on for what seemed like hours, I lacked the nerve to force my way into the next lane of bumper to bumper traffic. My newborn baby’s frantic cries became my own so with desperation I pulled off the highway somewhere in Virginia. My children and I were not going to be defeated, we could find a Holiday Inn. Map in lap, I took the backroads and arrived in Alexandria three and a half hours after landing. It was my first moment of questioning if I belonged here or if I needed to go home.

Alexandria was historic and beautiful, our house was in a cul de sac, perfect for children. The weird thing was, every morning our neighborhood emptied, cars backed down their driveways, returning at seven o’clock each night. With my three older children at school, my baby, our guinea pigs, my cat, and I were all alone, it felt a little apocalyptic. I pushed my baby in her stroller around our neighborhood several times a day in search of a beautiful tree, vista, or another human being. I looked forward to the sound of the Mail Carrier on my front porch. I volunteered at my children’s school, I took needlepoint classes, my baby and I went to Gymboree and La Leche League meetings to keep busy. I didn’t meet any real friends. The best part of my day was my children coming home. They were acclimating much better than I. This role of suburban housewife was new to me. I looked the part in my wool pants, turtleneck sweater, and “Papagallo” flats, the barefooted island girl was slowly being erased. The first family ride down the Mt. Vernon Bike Trail was a happy day for me, I found my open breathing space. My baby in a trailer behind my bike and my children riding with abandon, we all felt better, it was the perfect day.

The changing of the seasons was glorious, carving pumpkins in chilly weather then our first snow. Christmas was beautiful, we visited Mount Vernon and experienced the reenactment of Martha and George’s Christmas so many years before. Walking around Old Town Alexandria’s shops decorated so beautifully was a delightful treat. My Mom came for a visit, she had gotten tickets for the Christmas tour of The White House. Nancy Reagan’s theme was, “Old Fashioned Turn of the Century Christmas.” We shopped in Georgetown, with its festive Christmas decorations. FAO Schwartz was a year round favorite.

I had survived five months in “the East” and I felt optimistic that 1986 was going to be a great year. To be continued….

Music has always been an indispensable backdrop to my life. According to Corinthians, music is intentional, designed by God to move both spirit and mind

Glen Campbell’s, The Wichita Lineman album and a record player were treasured gifts from Santa when I was nine. It was my first foray into choosing my own music. Listening to Wichita Lineman can still stimulate memories that wrap themselves around me. Every penny of my allowance went to the local music store buying 45’s. My taste in music included, These Boots are Made for Walking by Nancy Sinatra, The Ballad of the Green Berets by Barry Sadler, Daydream by The Lovin’ Spoonful, Winchester Cathedral by The New Vaudeville Band, I Am a Rock and Homeward Bound by Simon and Garfunkel, and Charlie on the M.T.A. by the Kingston Trio.

The Monkees television show became my pre-teen obsession. I forced my poor family to sit through the group’s insipid antics every week. The series centered on the adventures of four members of a struggling rock band from Los Angeles. Micky, (my favorite), Davy, Michael, and Peter would have surreal encounters while searching for their big break. Each episode would include at least one musical “romp” that might have nothing to do with the storyline. My family was very patient and indulged my devotion. My aunt and uncle bought tickets for us, my younger brother and me, to The Monkees concert at The Boston Garden. I wore my new mini dress with epaulets and the matching shoulder bag. The four of us sat very politely listening to the music.

In my ninth-grade year, I was a huge fan of Gordon Lightfoot. I still know every word to most of his songs. His ballads resonated with the angst that I felt at that point in my life. If You Could Read, My Mind can still evoke memories of my fourteen-year-old self, trying to find my path in the world. I was lucky enough to attend his concert at The University of Wyoming Field House – where rodeos and basketball events were held. Gordon sounded great live and enlightened the audience with explanations of his songs.

In high school, my favorite albums were John Denver, James Taylor, Carole King, Paul McCartney, Three Dog Night, Jethro Tull, The Bee Gees, Elton John and Neil Diamond. I inherited my parent’s RCA stereo console, the sound was first rate. My Dad’s new Pontiac Le Mans convertible came with an 8 Track tape player. His taste in car music was Neil Diamond and Tom Jones, my Mom loved The Carpenter’s.

In college, I added Willy Nelson, Linda Ronstadt, Journey, Michael Jackson, The Police, and anything Disco. Cassettes were my method of listening to music, mainly in my car. I was able to record my favorite songs on one tape to play over and over again.

In the early 1980’s, Lionel Ritchie, Kenny Rogers’s, Dolly Parton, Genesis, Tina Turner, and Cindy Lauper were included in my music rotation. I would crank up the volume in the stereo while cleaning my house. My Walkman was the most important accessory during my running career, the music prompted me to keep going despite wanting to give up.

In 1985, music videos on MTV and VH1 were all the rage. On Saturday I’d tune in to the weekly Top 20 Video Countdown. The Highwaymen with Kris Kristoffersen, Johnny Cash, Willie Nelson, and Waylon Jennings was one of my favorites.

By the 1990’s, we graduated to CD players in our home and car. Our five disc CD player was replaced with a 100 CD “Jukebox” that would shuffle the CD’s. My children began to have opinions about music and would make requests for specific driving songs: Nirvana, R.E.M., U2, The Grateful Dead, Sarah McLachlan, Pearl Jam, Jewel, Fiona Apple, Prince, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Macy Gray, Hootie and the Blowfish, The Wallflowers, Don Henley, and The Spice Girls. My husband introduced us to UB40, Bob Marley, Jimmy Cliff, Ziggy Marley, Talking Heads, Squeeze, AC/DC, Annie Lennox, Elvis Costello, and Soundgarden.

With my husband’s purchase of our first iPod in 2005, I began a daily routine of loading CD’s into our iMac, then importing the songs to the iPod. In a few short months, these mornings changed our listening life from CD’s and LP’s to completely digital. Binders full of hundreds of CD’s were reduced to a tiny handheld music library. We moved the stereo out of its place of honor and were grateful for the many free corners in our house that once housed large speakers.

We still have the iMac that is the keeper of all of our precious music, our history. Our original iPod sits on a breadbox sized speaker in our kitchen, a tribute to the days when Apple made quality products. We tap the Genres menu several times a day to play a group of songs from the massive queue that I loaded so many years ago.

In September of 2022, Apple declared its most popular gadget obsolete: goodbye iPod.

I have Pandora on my phone, but most mornings, driving to work, I listen to the local radio station. A random song can trigger powerful memories, taking me back to who and where I was when that particular song was so important in my life. I see my life in terms of music: joining my Dad at the Symphony, the Broadway plays with my family, the kitchen dance parties, the rock concerts, and the family dinners.

According to the Washington Post, music can take you back in time and act like a jolt of electricity that can fire up your brain and get it going. Music is suitable for your memory. In nursing homes, they started using musical therapy to let the elderly remember things of their past that they couldn’t remember without listening to music.