Two Thirteen and Krispy Krème

Lewes, Delaware. That is pronounced Lewis, not Lou’s.

In Lewes, I stopped in to see a childhood, neighborhood friend, Gayle Parker. I had not seen her since I got married. So how many years ago was that? Gayle and I were in kindergarten together. I was not the most outgoing kid in class, but she was as shy as a sand crab. The little girl with curly blonde hair never said a word, volunteered an answer, spoke only when spoken too, did not read out loud and tried the patience of a teacher who did not know what to do for the terribly shy and withdrawn little girl except to shake her in the hallway and make her cry. Gayle’s mom happened to be in the school when that happened and the teacher nearly lost her job over the incident. After that, she left Gayle alone, but Gayle continued to zone out to the point that even when the recess bell rang and we all tumbled out the door, Gayle sat in her chair unaware that the bell had even rung.

Somehow, Gayle and I became friends. I suspect mostly because she did not live too far away (about a mile up the mountain towards Greenfield Center which was a lot closer than any other girls in my class. There were only five.), and because she had horses. I always wanted a horse and she had one named Pony Boy.

There was a field behind her house and we would go into the field and surrounding woods to play. We were both tomboys and enjoyed climbing rocks, trees and fallen logs. One day, I was crossing a huge fallen log that spanned a small gully. I fell and cracked my head wide open on a rock. I never started crying until I saw the blood running down my face. As bad as it bled, I could not have been too hurt, for I ran like hell down to her house. Panic-city. I got my first set of stitches at my hairline in the middle of my head.

We reminisced about our childhoods, our siblings and our families and caught up on what we had been doing for the last thirty years. She remembered details I could not such as the name of our second grade teacher—Mrs. Bright and the name of Robin Stroup’s first husband—Lindsey Waterhouse. Gayle was a big Elvis fan and I asked if she still was. Not really. Yeah, the music was good, and it lasts forever, but there was a place for it and it was in our past.

Gayle showed me around Lewes, Rehobath and Dewey. We popped in unannounced on three bookstores, (Browse-About Books told me they would consider ordering it if it was available through Barker and Taylor. It is.) to see if they might have interest carrying my book. It was a long shot, but one never knows until one asks. Did not have much luck.

It was good seeing her.

I have not bought gas since Jersey where it was as low as 1.95 at a crazy gas station named Wawa. I finally checked one out.

Great coffee, clean restrooms, and polite staff. As I headed south into Maryland gas price rose, but I suspected the price would be lower once I crossed over to Virginia. Yes, two-thirteen and I saw a Krispy Krème, which would be against the law to patronize if you were from the Boston area, where every 5000 people have their own Dunkin Donut.


First time to Virginia: another memory

I wish I could more, as the memories are so precious. We came to Chincoteague driving through the farmlands of Delaware where I remember a sign, “Corn so fresh their ears still wiggle.” It was late July and we came to see the pony round-up and swim.

Mom and dad took us to Virginia to camp at Tom’s Cove in tents. The vampire mosquitoes almost killed us. The heat almost fried us. The rain almost drowned us. But I remember we had a good time. We saw the ponies swim the channel from Assateague to Chincoteague. We went swimming in the ocean and Robin got stung by a jellyfish. We fished off the campground pier with slimy squid. We watched the movie, Misty. And we slept in our sleeping bags despite the heat because the mosquitoes were so vicious.

I wish could remember more. What did mom cook for dinner? What did she think of the pony swim? What did she tell me? What did she like about the trip? How did she feel about the weather? Did she have a good time?

As I sat on the beaches of Assateague Island on this warm mid-October afternoon, I thought of these things and missed her. What I could not do in New Jersey, or Connecticut, I did in Virginia. I let a sadness began to wrap its arms around me and hold me to until I gave in to the loss. I missed her.


Self portrait