Love this…laughing all the way as you poke fun at yourself! Simple everyday tasks; noisy firecrackers/fireworks…amplified by aloneness. No one to ooh abd aaah with. That’s how I feel, I heard them, I went outside in pjs to see a few scattering twinkling colors falling down…but not so much enjoyment. Your strike outs on Fitzgerald are brilliant… sleazy Zelda 😅and how he saw inside people/read the room. I get it!
We don’t always know where we’re going when musing along as we write…that’s why your essays are superb, delicious, must reads! Love you, love your writing my friend! Simply the best! 🤗🥰🫶😍♥️👏👍🎉
Oh, Joanie, welcome back! And thank you for this. I love learning about Fitzgerald’s past and his love/hate relationship with the city of his boyhood. (It went both ways, sad to say.) We don’t know how much of his story is true, but I think it’s okay to tease just a little, as long as there’s respect. Thanks for being my cheerleader. I desperately needed one today. Love you. Let’s catch up soon.💕❤️🫶
I used to like fireworks until I turned fifty and got a dog. Now the week before when they start, I'm annoyed every evening until they stop the day after. Painting my toenails and not bringing sandals sounds like something I would do. Somehow Mary, you magically make this entire essay work, just like you always do. xo
Oh, Mary. I’ve always loved Fitzgerald, Gatsby in particular. That last sentence is a touchstone that I appreciate more each time I read it.
I’m so sorry to hear about the friends who could not accept your pain. “Defining”: yes. Only a few weeks ago, a friend of 17 years cut me off because, among other reasons, I was not being “mindful” of the fact that others had not had the kind of loving relationship that I had with my husband. And that you had with your son. It’s unspeakably cruel.
I treasure the friends who stayed, and the new ones I’ve found through Substack and in my community. “Defining”: yes. You have my heart.
Thank you, as always, for your generous words. Xoxo
Mary, I have been spotty on my Substack engagement. It is your writing that I have missed. The humor blended smoothly with intellect, craft, insight and poignancy. Thank you for the Minnesota references to Fitzgerald and the reminder to revisit The Novel. Your description of death cleaning brings your grief to the fore where we can live it with you. I am twelve all over again in your recollection of the windbreaker. I truly wish we would have known each other then. I spent a lot of time alone despite living with six siblings. I much preferred books to what you aptly called the fraught aspects of friendship. I’m on vacation in the Outer Banks of North Carolina responding on a new iPad that I don’t know how to operate correctly, thus the lack of paragraphs. I consider you to be a close friend and I’m eager to schedule our next lunch get together. I’m happy you got to see your former neighbors. It warms my heart. Thank you for sharing this essay with me and all of your fans. Best of luck in working on your friendship essays. I know how much effort and work you put into all of your pieces and those relationships affected you deeply. Know you are loved and write whatever your heart leads you to express. I get back next week and will be in touch. Great work on this. ~CBD
Oh, Colleen. You get it! I was hesitant to publish this, it felt like more of a pastiche than an essay. But then I realized just how true it is to what I’ve been experiencing over the last couple of weeks. I have much to say about that. Do you mind if I email you? I’ll wait until you get back, of course. Your vacation sounds lovely. I don’t have bad things to report, just some aha! moments I’ve learned a lot from.
I understand the issues with the iPad. I don’t even try to write with mine. I even tried a typing board with no success. It’s not you, it’s Apple.
Looking forward to seeing you. You are a great friend and a wonderful person. Thank you for your kind comments about my work. Your support means the world to me.
I love new tech and I usually have few issues with my Apple products but that thing kicked my ass. It took many tries to load messages and calendars but I finally got it right. I look forward to hearing from you soon. I just witnessed the most beautiful sunset over the ocean. Hoping you’re getting some good sleep and I will check in later.
Oh, Mary. How deeply I felt your words. I’m so looking forward to reading your stories about friendships. A few of mine are in the process of ending painfully, by which I mean silently. The opposite of fireworks, perhaps? Disenfranchised grief is so very real. Grateful to feel held by your words. Thank you. 🩵
Dog ownership and fireworks 🎆 are problematic. Love how you weave so many strands together to create what is birthed on the page.
Friendships and loss. Oh, yes, I get that. To the ones who remained, like a constant low pilot light, our forever gratitude. Child loss felt ‘contagious.’ A place few could try to ‘imagine’ yet we are called to. Called… so that we might extend our hearts and hands.🙌🏼
I knew Joanie and you must have met. I sense such a kinship there.
Gratitude for your lens, perspectives, and ways in which you create at your loom of the heart. 💜🪶
Joanie, thank you. As humans we have a certain amount of understanding of the reasons behind the sounds, and a means to cope. Young children and animals do not.
Thank you for your kind words about the writing. I had three thoughts in mind: what lasts, what is ephemeral, and how difficult it can be to find the difference. Sometimes my thoughts get ahead of themselves and feel incoherent. I’m glad to hear this was not your experience.
Joan and I started together on Substack and found each other right away. She’s been a great friend and a positive force in my life. As for being “called”: yes, I strongly believe this.
My profound condolences on your loss. How awful that you were treated so cruelly. My heart goes out to you. Sending blessings and love.💕
In gratitude, Mary. Truthfully, those who fell away, most likely would have, yet this gave them their "out."
It's okay, I understand that companioning another in loss is not for everyone. The crazy thing about it, is that we will each be faced with it in time. I found an immensely loving community of bereaved mothers, many I'm still in contact with. We speak the same language and what a gift that is. Just as long as everyone knows that they don't have to grieve in isolation.
When we are ready, a loving. hand is there. I will never forget my first hand holders. Our grip might have gotten sweaty along the way, yet here we are.
Reading Joanie and you helps me with one of my dearest pals who lost her beloved husband a year and a half ago. Still so fresh and raw. We talk about him all the time, just as if he's in the next room, which is where I believe they are. Hand in hand, Heart to heart with love and many blessings right back to you, Mary. 💜
Oh, Mary, I held every word of this to my heart. Moving through our grief, and sometimes standing still within it, then to move again in slow motion and wonder if we are moving at all, or wondering if we even want to. Oh, the experience of remembering and clearing out.....yet, to hold tight, because there should be no such thing as letting go.
The fireworks, The Great Gatsby, the salad dressings, the windbreaker, the dearest friends...they all speak. A valuable essay for all who are traveling the long road of grief; there is a familiarity of all that we encounter on the journey. Biggest hugs to you and gratitude for this precious sharing.
Hello. I am touched by your stories and maybe even more by your steadfast efforts to respond to your commenters. What a relief from my usual Substack fare.
tThank you, Connie. I respond to all comments. It’s an important part of being in a community. And I love it when people take the time to respond! It means the world to me.
Beautiful, Mary. I love to wander through your essays, picking up jewels along the way. I especially appreciate your inordinate talent when it comes to the use of strikethroughs! xo
Oh, thanks Nan. This one was kind of a pastiche but at least I got it out. I think I get carried away with the strikethrough but it’s sometimes irresistible. Love you. xoxo
About time someone asked when the serviceable sandwich became a "handheld." Your wit makes me happy. Seriously (very seriously), I'm one of many readers who will welcome your reflections on friendship. Women have endorsed a lyrical stereotype of friendship that compounds the pain when a friend turns her back or proves not to be the loyal confidante of your imaginings. Just yesterday, a friend was recalling, with great sorrow, the rupture of a friendship more than 25 years ago. We need stories that dispel the isolation and shame of those mourning a lost friendship.
Thank you, Rona. Women can do enormous damage to each other. It goes far beyond the mean girl stereotype. And there’s the immense pressure to make nice, to forgive the unforgivable. Otherwise, you’re “carrying a grudge,” or “playing the victim.” I just went through another friend breakup about six weeks ago, with someone I’d been close to for seventeen years. The sadness is real, but this time I see how much better off I am without her. It’s a true relief. Thank you for the validation, Rona.
The late Angela Carter wrote wonderfully about firewoks too, "Above our heads, the fireworks hung dissolving earrings on the night." ('A Souvenir of Japan') , in her case about one of the many summer fireworks festival here in Japan.
I love how you capture their somethingness and nothingness, like the fragility of new friendships.
Hug that wraps tightly and lingers in thought. For the first time in years I went to see the fireworks with friends.
From the back of a very large truck that is used to hauling horses we parked in the dirt on the side of a narrow road that led to a very small rural town. Bundled in coats and old wool Pendleton shirts we sat quietly and waited.
We were rewarded with the feeling of a child’s total awe upon experiencing fireworks for the first time. The quiet rise as the sparks and patterns rained down followed by gasps and proclamations about this being the best display ever.
Families gathered as they eagerly awaited the next round of sounds and sights while crying babies were comforted and snacks were shared.
A small town provided a beautiful moment of shared happiness and agreement that we had all witnessed a magical experience. Something that our world doesn’t see much of today.
As we drove back to our cabins I was reminded of years past with dear friends, family and beloved dogs sharing in the beauty of sitting in the dark and experiencing this annual ritual.
I’ve already made a promise to watch the fireworks next year.
Apologize for the two-part response… aging wrists and hands that don’t do what they are told!
And I eagerly await your words on disenfranchised grief as it is a hard thing to understand and graciously accept (tolerate?).
No problem at all with the 2-parters. I fess up to many of them.
Thank you for sharing these delightful memories. I’ve had many good ones myself. But the grief that hits when you realize that you’re alone after many decades, is tough. It ambushes. And our world is obsessed with the show and spectacle. My best to you.
Reading glasses with a herding instinct. A smile among the ordinary life and the grief. Thank you.
Thank you, Chris.
Your musings are gorgeous and your themes are the central ones, Mary. Hope to see you soon.
Thank you, Mary. It’s been way too long.❤️
Love this…laughing all the way as you poke fun at yourself! Simple everyday tasks; noisy firecrackers/fireworks…amplified by aloneness. No one to ooh abd aaah with. That’s how I feel, I heard them, I went outside in pjs to see a few scattering twinkling colors falling down…but not so much enjoyment. Your strike outs on Fitzgerald are brilliant… sleazy Zelda 😅and how he saw inside people/read the room. I get it!
We don’t always know where we’re going when musing along as we write…that’s why your essays are superb, delicious, must reads! Love you, love your writing my friend! Simply the best! 🤗🥰🫶😍♥️👏👍🎉
Oh, Joanie, welcome back! And thank you for this. I love learning about Fitzgerald’s past and his love/hate relationship with the city of his boyhood. (It went both ways, sad to say.) We don’t know how much of his story is true, but I think it’s okay to tease just a little, as long as there’s respect. Thanks for being my cheerleader. I desperately needed one today. Love you. Let’s catch up soon.💕❤️🫶
I used to like fireworks until I turned fifty and got a dog. Now the week before when they start, I'm annoyed every evening until they stop the day after. Painting my toenails and not bringing sandals sounds like something I would do. Somehow Mary, you magically make this entire essay work, just like you always do. xo
Mary, I too think the last sentence of The Great Gatsby is gorgeous and sums up Fitzgerald's genius.
I too have lost close friends who could not deal with my grief when my son died. Defining. And there are friends who stayed and helped. Defining.
The way this essay loops around defines your genius!
Fireworks, indeed, for you!
Oh, Mary. I’ve always loved Fitzgerald, Gatsby in particular. That last sentence is a touchstone that I appreciate more each time I read it.
I’m so sorry to hear about the friends who could not accept your pain. “Defining”: yes. Only a few weeks ago, a friend of 17 years cut me off because, among other reasons, I was not being “mindful” of the fact that others had not had the kind of loving relationship that I had with my husband. And that you had with your son. It’s unspeakably cruel.
I treasure the friends who stayed, and the new ones I’ve found through Substack and in my community. “Defining”: yes. You have my heart.
Thank you, as always, for your generous words. Xoxo
Mary, I have been spotty on my Substack engagement. It is your writing that I have missed. The humor blended smoothly with intellect, craft, insight and poignancy. Thank you for the Minnesota references to Fitzgerald and the reminder to revisit The Novel. Your description of death cleaning brings your grief to the fore where we can live it with you. I am twelve all over again in your recollection of the windbreaker. I truly wish we would have known each other then. I spent a lot of time alone despite living with six siblings. I much preferred books to what you aptly called the fraught aspects of friendship. I’m on vacation in the Outer Banks of North Carolina responding on a new iPad that I don’t know how to operate correctly, thus the lack of paragraphs. I consider you to be a close friend and I’m eager to schedule our next lunch get together. I’m happy you got to see your former neighbors. It warms my heart. Thank you for sharing this essay with me and all of your fans. Best of luck in working on your friendship essays. I know how much effort and work you put into all of your pieces and those relationships affected you deeply. Know you are loved and write whatever your heart leads you to express. I get back next week and will be in touch. Great work on this. ~CBD
Oh, Colleen. You get it! I was hesitant to publish this, it felt like more of a pastiche than an essay. But then I realized just how true it is to what I’ve been experiencing over the last couple of weeks. I have much to say about that. Do you mind if I email you? I’ll wait until you get back, of course. Your vacation sounds lovely. I don’t have bad things to report, just some aha! moments I’ve learned a lot from.
I understand the issues with the iPad. I don’t even try to write with mine. I even tried a typing board with no success. It’s not you, it’s Apple.
Looking forward to seeing you. You are a great friend and a wonderful person. Thank you for your kind comments about my work. Your support means the world to me.
I love new tech and I usually have few issues with my Apple products but that thing kicked my ass. It took many tries to load messages and calendars but I finally got it right. I look forward to hearing from you soon. I just witnessed the most beautiful sunset over the ocean. Hoping you’re getting some good sleep and I will check in later.
Just beautiful, Mary. I was with you for every breath. Thank you for sharing ❤️
Thank you, Kate. You’re very kind.❤️
Not at all. It’s very true ❤️
Oh, Mary. How deeply I felt your words. I’m so looking forward to reading your stories about friendships. A few of mine are in the process of ending painfully, by which I mean silently. The opposite of fireworks, perhaps? Disenfranchised grief is so very real. Grateful to feel held by your words. Thank you. 🩵
Mik, thank you. I’m so sorry to hear about the pain of ending friendships. It never gets easier. I appreciate your kind words. Sending love.
Dog ownership and fireworks 🎆 are problematic. Love how you weave so many strands together to create what is birthed on the page.
Friendships and loss. Oh, yes, I get that. To the ones who remained, like a constant low pilot light, our forever gratitude. Child loss felt ‘contagious.’ A place few could try to ‘imagine’ yet we are called to. Called… so that we might extend our hearts and hands.🙌🏼
I knew Joanie and you must have met. I sense such a kinship there.
Gratitude for your lens, perspectives, and ways in which you create at your loom of the heart. 💜🪶
Joanie, thank you. As humans we have a certain amount of understanding of the reasons behind the sounds, and a means to cope. Young children and animals do not.
Thank you for your kind words about the writing. I had three thoughts in mind: what lasts, what is ephemeral, and how difficult it can be to find the difference. Sometimes my thoughts get ahead of themselves and feel incoherent. I’m glad to hear this was not your experience.
Joan and I started together on Substack and found each other right away. She’s been a great friend and a positive force in my life. As for being “called”: yes, I strongly believe this.
My profound condolences on your loss. How awful that you were treated so cruelly. My heart goes out to you. Sending blessings and love.💕
In gratitude, Mary. Truthfully, those who fell away, most likely would have, yet this gave them their "out."
It's okay, I understand that companioning another in loss is not for everyone. The crazy thing about it, is that we will each be faced with it in time. I found an immensely loving community of bereaved mothers, many I'm still in contact with. We speak the same language and what a gift that is. Just as long as everyone knows that they don't have to grieve in isolation.
When we are ready, a loving. hand is there. I will never forget my first hand holders. Our grip might have gotten sweaty along the way, yet here we are.
Reading Joanie and you helps me with one of my dearest pals who lost her beloved husband a year and a half ago. Still so fresh and raw. We talk about him all the time, just as if he's in the next room, which is where I believe they are. Hand in hand, Heart to heart with love and many blessings right back to you, Mary. 💜
Love you. Looking forward to our next meet-up.
Love you so much, Jeannie! Can’t wait to see you.💕
Oh, Mary, I held every word of this to my heart. Moving through our grief, and sometimes standing still within it, then to move again in slow motion and wonder if we are moving at all, or wondering if we even want to. Oh, the experience of remembering and clearing out.....yet, to hold tight, because there should be no such thing as letting go.
The fireworks, The Great Gatsby, the salad dressings, the windbreaker, the dearest friends...they all speak. A valuable essay for all who are traveling the long road of grief; there is a familiarity of all that we encounter on the journey. Biggest hugs to you and gratitude for this precious sharing.
Many blessings and MUCH LOVE,
~Wendy💜
Thank you, Wendy. I’m so glad this piece spoke to you.
Hello. I am touched by your stories and maybe even more by your steadfast efforts to respond to your commenters. What a relief from my usual Substack fare.
tThank you, Connie. I respond to all comments. It’s an important part of being in a community. And I love it when people take the time to respond! It means the world to me.
Beautiful, Mary. I love to wander through your essays, picking up jewels along the way. I especially appreciate your inordinate talent when it comes to the use of strikethroughs! xo
Oh, thanks Nan. This one was kind of a pastiche but at least I got it out. I think I get carried away with the strikethrough but it’s sometimes irresistible. Love you. xoxo
But you do it so well, please don't resist. In fact, I'd love a lesson or two. You are most deft with that particular tool. xo
About time someone asked when the serviceable sandwich became a "handheld." Your wit makes me happy. Seriously (very seriously), I'm one of many readers who will welcome your reflections on friendship. Women have endorsed a lyrical stereotype of friendship that compounds the pain when a friend turns her back or proves not to be the loyal confidante of your imaginings. Just yesterday, a friend was recalling, with great sorrow, the rupture of a friendship more than 25 years ago. We need stories that dispel the isolation and shame of those mourning a lost friendship.
Thank you, Rona. Women can do enormous damage to each other. It goes far beyond the mean girl stereotype. And there’s the immense pressure to make nice, to forgive the unforgivable. Otherwise, you’re “carrying a grudge,” or “playing the victim.” I just went through another friend breakup about six weeks ago, with someone I’d been close to for seventeen years. The sadness is real, but this time I see how much better off I am without her. It’s a true relief. Thank you for the validation, Rona.
The late Angela Carter wrote wonderfully about firewoks too, "Above our heads, the fireworks hung dissolving earrings on the night." ('A Souvenir of Japan') , in her case about one of the many summer fireworks festival here in Japan.
I love how you capture their somethingness and nothingness, like the fragility of new friendships.
Thank you, Jeffrey! I will have to look her up.
Mary, your words have a way of sticking to me like a warm
Hug that wraps tightly and lingers in thought. For the first time in years I went to see the fireworks with friends.
From the back of a very large truck that is used to hauling horses we parked in the dirt on the side of a narrow road that led to a very small rural town. Bundled in coats and old wool Pendleton shirts we sat quietly and waited.
We were rewarded with the feeling of a child’s total awe upon experiencing fireworks for the first time. The quiet rise as the sparks and patterns rained down followed by gasps and proclamations about this being the best display ever.
Families gathered as they eagerly awaited the next round of sounds and sights while crying babies were comforted and snacks were shared.
A small town provided a beautiful moment of shared happiness and agreement that we had all witnessed a magical experience. Something that our world doesn’t see much of today.
As we drove back to our cabins I was reminded of years past with dear friends, family and beloved dogs sharing in the beauty of sitting in the dark and experiencing this annual ritual.
I’ve already made a promise to watch the fireworks next year.
Apologize for the two-part response… aging wrists and hands that don’t do what they are told!
And I eagerly await your words on disenfranchised grief as it is a hard thing to understand and graciously accept (tolerate?).
No problem at all with the 2-parters. I fess up to many of them.
Thank you for sharing these delightful memories. I’ve had many good ones myself. But the grief that hits when you realize that you’re alone after many decades, is tough. It ambushes. And our world is obsessed with the show and spectacle. My best to you.