Outliving the Queen

As we begin to navigate the budding Carolean era of King Charles III, I am not the first person to observe that, prior to his reign, when there was a reference to "the Queen," there was no question as to which queen in particular was meant. Clearly, unless one was in Denmark, no one would wonder whether this was a reference to Margrethe II. Certainly, no one would have believed that the reference was to any of the numerous Queen Consorts throughout the world, such as Rania of Jordan or Sylvia of Buganda. Even TSO would not think of moi when hearing a reference to the Queen because, to him, I am "Mi Reina." 

"The Queen," as we all know, was none other than Elizabeth Alexandra Mary Windsor a/k/a Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II. I still refer to her as such, despite her death some eight months ago.

"The Queen" was born in London on April 21, 1926. Eleven days earlier, across the pond, TSO's father, John Peter Illo, was born in the Bronx. Their lives were worlds apart, and, although their paths never intersected, they certainly ran parallel in many respects. Lilibet's and John's early childhoods coincided with the Great Depression. They served in the military during World War II. Together with their spouses, they had many children (she, 4; he, 6). They endured the pain of suffering the deaths of their spouses to whom they had been married for decades (she, 73 years; he, 68). They probably had many other things in common. Yet, for as long a life the Queen had lead before she died, John Peter Illo's was a bit longer. Another of the Greatest Generation has been lost to time.

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Often, after people die, those who are left behind tell stories of the little coincidences they had experienced either immediately before or immediately after a loved one's death -- experiences that take on special meaning when examined in the context of the loss. Below is a little essay by TSO on his experiences in recent days:

On Saturday morning, May 20, 2023, Kathryn and I were sitting in our beach house living room when, suddenly, she gasped upon seeing a red cardinal land on the back of a chair on our deck, not more than five feet from where I was sitting on the sofa. Cardinals are not an ordinary sight here on the beach. Kathryn told me of the meaning of red cardinals and wondered aloud whether my father had passed away. As the cardinal sat perched atop the chair, a female cardinal joined him. After a pause, they flitted about for a bit before flying up and away. I found the following online regarding the symbolism of a red cardinal:  "The red cardinal is a spiritual messenger from God. The red cardinal is representative of departed loved ones." 

 Yesterday afternoon, I was walking along East Sandwich Beach when I received a text from my brother Michael letting me know that Dad had passed away.  I immediately turned around and went back to our house to tell Kathryn.  A few hours later we drove to our church here in Sandwich, Corpus Christi, to light a candle and to say some prayers.  We parked next to an old red Ford F-150 pickup, and noticed a bit incongruously that the there was an older lady in the driver's seat. She looked like she could have been close to my Dad's age.   As we got out of our car, this sweet woman rolled down her window, said hello and introduced herself to us as Paula, and told us that she had just picked some Solomon's Seal and placed it in the adoration chapel, which was our destination.  Kathryn shared with our new friend that my father had just passed away a few hours ago, and Paula tearfully said that the flowers were for my father.  

Kathryn and I went into the church, lit a candle for Dad in front of the Infant of Prague, and went to the adoration chapel to pray.  There we saw Paula's Solomon's Seal on either side of the small altar.  

Solomon's Seal is not a plant that we were familiar with, and I was touched to realize that the flowers look like those of Lilly of the Valley, which was one of my Mom's favorite flowers. (My sister Camille has a story about Lilly of the Valley and Mom's near-fatal accident in 2007.)   Solomon's Seal is larger and more masculine than the more delicate and feminine Lilly of the Valley.  It was, again, an echo of the male and female cardinals, and I believe a sign of my Mom and Dad being re-united.

 We finished our prayers.  As we drove home, Kathryn looked up information about Solomon's Seal on her phone and let out another gasp.  "Solomon's seal is used to treat lung disorders, reduce swelling (inflammation)", read Kathryn.  My father passed away from Covid. He was blessed with a peaceful death.

Solomon's Seal to the Adoration Chapel

 altar at Corpus Christi Church, East Sandwich, MA  

Lilly of the Valley

East Sandwich Beach on the evening of May 21st

                                                                   

Divine Reprieve!

My yesterday afternoon was planned to the minute. I was going to leave the beach house at 1:30 to drive to a frame shop in Dennis, where I had left a something-or-other last fall and as to which they were going to try to figure out what it was. I never did hear from them, so I thought it would be a good idea to retrieve my mystery item before we leave the Cape on May 27th. From there, my itinerary called for me to stop by the Cape Abilities Farm to pick up our last "salad club" box. Finally, I had a medical appointment to attend. Bing! Bang! Boom! Schedule set.

As luck would have it, I could not find the frame shop. The first time I went there, I also was unable to find it without a lot of effort, and this time was more of the same. My GPS wasn't working, so I just decided to forget about it and go to the farm, which I did. That was sad, and, as I have with all places I've visited in these waning days, it brought on the tears. When I was finished there, I had some time to kill before my medical appointment. I decided to go home for about 30 minutes before leaving for the appointment.

When I pulled up to the beach house parking spot, I just happened to run into our landlord on the street. He and his wife live quite a distance away, but, every now and then, they travel here to check out their other house, which sits directly behind our beach house. I call that house the "street house" because it sits at the bottom of the dune on the street. Actually, the first floor of the street house is above the street, such that there are "peek a boo" views of the ocean from the second floor to the right and to the left of the beach house, which blocks the full view. Anyway, when I ran into the landlord, he and his wife were just checking in on the "street house." 

We stopped to chat, and I told the landlord of my love for Sandwich and East Sandwich and how much TSO and I have enjoyed our stay here and how very sad I am at the thought of leaving this all behind on May 27th. We parted, and I went into the beach house to tackle the laundry as I do every Wednesday.

About ten minutes later, there was a knock at the door. It was the landlord. He told me that his wife was inside the street house and asked whether I could stop by. "Sure," I said. A few minutes later, I went to the street house, figuring I could go from there to my car to my appointment. Surprise! Surprise! Mrs. Landlord told me that her husband had told her about our conversation, and then she announced: 

"For the first time ever, we have been unable to rent this house for the month of June. Also, the week of Memorial Day is available at the beach house. If you and Jim would like, you may stay at the beach house through June and then move into the street house and stay there until July 1st. We'll just need to decide on the rent, which I'm sure will not be a problem."

SERIOUSLY?? I couldn't believe it. Mrs. Landlord gave me a tour of the house, which, unlike the beach house, has two bathrooms. Praise the Lord!! It has two bedrooms, plus, a third room with two sets of trundle beds! It also has an upstairs and downstairs deck with views of the marsh. We can access the beach via the ramp. Most important of all, WE GET TO STAY ON THE CAPE FOR ANOTHER MONTH!!

via GIPHY

How is it that, in my moment of despair, when I thought this was all coming to an end, I just happened to be at the beach house, even though I wasn't supposed to be, at the same time Mr. and Mrs. Landlord happened to be at the street house, and Mr. Landlord was outside at the same time I was outside, and we were close enough in proximity to have a conversation rather than just wave to each other, and he told his wife everything I said, and they realized, hey, we were going to a hotel inland but they have a house in Sandwich? 

I'll tell you how it is. It is an answer to prayer!! Of course, it's only a partial answer, but I'LL TAKE IT!

Street House
(Beach House in Background)

The Sandwich Heresy

Spring Has Finally
Sprung in Sandwich

Two weeks from today, we leave our beach house by the sea. The waning of days is probably the best explanation for my silence over the past month, as I have been falling deeper and deeper into a profound sense of anticipated loss, knowing that, literally, my days are numbered here. In April, I was blessed to have multi-day visits from two different friends who traveled up to visit me and to experience what my life is like here in Sandwich. We packed a lot into those little visits, and I actually got to do some things that TSO and I had not gotten around to in the past seven months. For example, we visited the Sandwich Glass Museum, which was a great little museum. 

"Just enjoy the time you have left," TSO counsels. Sure. Not only are the number of days numbered, they have been interrupted by detours here and detours there such that said days are actually much fewer than the calendar reflects. It doesn't help that we have nowhere to go when our lease expires and, thus, will be moving into an extended stay hotel. I suppose that, if we were moving into a house we bought, things would be much different. However, that whole subject is an issue, which I'll eventually explain in House Hunters (Part 3[a])!

I was introduced to Sandwich in 2015 when we first vacationed on the Cape. I was smitten. I called it "the Haddonfield of Cape Cod," as it is the oldest town on the Cape, having been incorporated in 1639. When we signed the lease for our winter rental, I expected to enjoy my eight months here, and I certainly have. I've met some wonderful people, especially the ladies in the local D.A.R. chapter where I'm an associate member. I'm a "regular" at certain places, such as the Cape Abilities thrift store and farm, as well as Titcomb's Book Shop, an independent, family-owned bookstore that's about a mile away from our beach house. I have beautiful views every day, no matter the weather. Yet, although I expected to enjoy my time here, to even love my time here, I never, ever expected that I would fall in love with Sandwich, with the Cape, and never want to leave. Such is the state of things right now. I am in mourning.

So, what's the heresy? The heresy is this. I am convinced that I must have lived on the Cape in a previous life. From the start, I have felt a deep connection to this land, this other country as I call it. I belong here. It's a "fit" that is so primal, so indwelling, so preternatural, that it can be explained in no other way really. I don't believe I lived in Sandwich in that previous life, however. I feel like I lived in Yarmouth Port. I may have been a bar maid. I'm not sure. It certainly would be more romantic were I a sea captain's wife, waiting for the return of my love while pacing around the widow's watch atop our majestic house by the sea. Instead, I'm afraid I was more likely working in some local tavern serving beers while dressed in a corseted medieval-type dress with my buxom breasts heaving over the top of my bodice. (I think this may explain why I like the 1972 hit song "Brandy." Just what is the "raging glory" anyway? TSO has a theory, but I won't share it.) I just hope I had all my teeth--and my dignity, of course. 

So, on May 27th, we'll be moving off the Cape to the place called "inland." To be sure, we'll be close to Christina and Lou and the kids, but my views from our hovel will be of a parking lot, not the sea. Perhaps I can get a job as a bar maid at a Red Lobster somewhere and dream of what are now my two previous lives on the Cape.

The End of a Sunset in the End of my Days Here