Series II: Vol. 1– 3

Spring 2016 A Community Converses A Community Converses

ART AND ARTISTS AT LATHROP

Sunset Marsh

By Marjorie Tauer

The Lathrop Nor’Easter 2 Autumn 2015 The Lathrop Nor’Easter 2 Autumn 2015 The Lathrop Nor’Easter 2 Autumn 2015 The Lathrop Nor’Easter 2 Autumn 2015 The Lathrop Nor’Easter 2 Autumn 2015 The Lathrop Nor’Easter 2 Spring 2016

Yes, It Really Is About You

Contributing to The Nor’Easter

It’s about the poems you write, about the vignettes you’ve related for years but have

never recorded, about the foul ball you caught with your other hand (or maybe

dropped with the favored one), about a chance elevator ride with a celebrity du jour,

about that epiphanic moment when it all became clear, about the first sight of the

phantom of delight who changed your life, about that time in the Great Depression or

in the War of Your Choice, about your genealogy searches, about your travels, about

your work or profession—in short, about what interests you to write, and you know

better than we do what that is.

Send your contributions and questions to:

Noreaster@lathrop.kendal.org

We prefer contributions written in Word, PDF, or RTF format, but if you have sage-

ly avoided computers and email, get in touch with the Editorial Committee’s Coordi-

nator. As a Lathrop resident, you will know how.

The Lathrop Nor’Easter

Noreaster@lathrop.kendal.org

DAVID MORRISSEY, Editor, Spring 2016

EDITORIAL COMMITTEE

SARAH GAUGER, Production

LYN HOWE, Recorder

CAMILLA KNAPP

JOAN LAIRD, Film Reviewer

DAVID MORRISSEY, Film Reviewer

IRVING ROTHBERG

NANCY STEEPER, Coordinator

On the Cover: The Artist

Marjorie Tauer, Blueberry Lane,

Easthampton has made a special con-

tribution to the Easthampton Com-

munity as founder of the Lathrop Art

Gallery and head of the Art Commit-

tee for fourteen years.

During her tenure, The Lathrop

Gallery, with its monthly exhibitions

of the paintings of area artists, is an

important place “to show” for local

painters. The schedule for 2016 is al-

ready full! The lives of Lathrop resi-

dents are also enriched by the oppor-

tunity to meet the participating artists

at monthly receptions and to pur-

chase their works.

Marjorie had a long career as an

elementary school teacher. She al-

ways tried to find ways to incorporate

art into her lessons. Her first job was

teaching kindergarten, followed by

marriage and three children. When

she was ready to return to teaching,

teachers were being laid off, so she

accepted a position at the Amherst

Nursery School and kindergarten

and ended up as the director. She

taught kindergarten, first, second

and third grades in Southampton.

Her last position was as a reading

specialist.

For years, Marjorie only painted

on vacations or when taking a class.

When she retired in 2001, she was

finally able to give more time to

painting.

What a distinguished career she

has had! That career includes many

one-person shows in the local area:

at the Cooley Dickinson Galleries, at

Lathrop, Rockridge, the Northamp-

ton Courthouse Gallery, the Jones

and Forbes Libraries, and the Eluise

Gallery, in Easthampton. She has

been in juried exhibitions in

Amherst, Springfield and Easthamp-

ton.

Marjorie has taught classes in

watercolor here at Lathrop and at

the Loomis House in Holyoke. It is a

great pleasure for her to introduce

people to the joy of painting and the

fun of watercolor. She is currently

teaching a class in the new art studio

at the Easthampton Lathrop, Mondays

at 4:15.

Other joys in her life are traveling,

reading, family, and anything to do

with art. She loves going to art shows,

museums and photographing beauti-

ful scenes that she “might” paint

sometime.

In June 1997, Marjorie joined Gene

Sielski who had moved to Lathrop in

November 1996. They actually saved

the Inn from burning down before it

was completed. Marjorie spotted

some smoldering sawdust and called

the fire department. Bravo!

Sketch of Marjorie painting by Betty Shaffer, Easthampton

The Lathrop Nor’Easter 3 Spring 2016

Joan Cenedella and Fran Volkmann

We, Fran and Joan, moved to

Lathrop officially on October 1 and

spent the next four weeks vacating our

large house on Arlington Street in

Northampton, which Fran, her hus-

band (who died in 1990) and two sons

built 43 years ago. Joan and Fran were

introduced by mutual friends 22 years

ago, and Fran lured Joan from Man-

hattan to Northampton in 1995.

Fran’s sons live near and far: North-

ampton and Albuquerque. She has

four grandchildren, two from each

son. Joan has three brothers—in Port-

land, OR, Manhattan, and Maplewood

NJ, two nephews and a niece.

Moving, as you all know, is a diffi-

cult, even painful, process physically

and emotionally, but also, in looking

ahead, offers new and exciting pro-

spects. And now that we’re here, we’re

delighted: with the vibrant sense of

community and with our house, which

abuts the Fitzgerald Conservation area,

and with its convenient and intuitive

layout. And the services! Joan says it is

like living in a New York apartment:

Something goes wrong and you call

the super!

Fran attended Mount Holyoke Col-

lege and received a PhD from Brown

University in neuroscience. She taught

at Smith College for thirty-six years

and served as Dean of the Faculty

for eight. In 1990 Fran served as

Acting President during the Presi-

dent’s sabbatical.

Fran’s research was in the field of

vision and especially in eye move-

ments and the development of the

visual system. Later in her teaching

career, she became interested in or-

ganizational behavior and taught

courses in how organizations work.

Just before she retired from Smith,

Fran ran for the Northampton City

Council and subsequently served for

six years. During her involvement in

city government, Fran also served

on the Planning Board and chaired

the Community Preservation Com-

mittee, which provides grants to

projects in affordable housing, his-

toric preservation, and open space

and recreation. She is currently a

member of the Lathrop Board.

Joan is a graduate of City College

and Bank Street College of Educa-

tion and received an Ed.D in Histo-

ry and Philosophy of Education

from Teachers College, Columbia

University. Over her 26 years at

Bank Street College she taught ele-

mentary-age children at Bank

Street’s School for Children. A cur-

riculum specialist, she also taught

graduate students, and led staff de-

velopment workshops in public

schools. She served as Curriculum

Coordinator at the school, then as

Director and Dean of Children’s

Programs for ten years. During her

last five years, Joan served as Aca-

demic Vice President of the College.

Locally, Joan has served on boards

at the Northampton Community

Music Center, Friends of Forbes

Library, the Northampton Garden

Committee and as board Chair at the

Center for Responsive Schools. She

has returned to her early passion for

writing and joined a writing workshop

early on. In 2013, a collection of her

short stories, Nothing Brave Here, was

published she and is currently working

on a collection of essays.

Both Joan and Fran are long-time

members of Learning in Retirement

and have moderated seminars as well

as been participants. They are both

enthusiastic gardeners, Fran dedicated

more to vegetables, Joan to perenni-

als—interests they plan to continue at

Lathrop. They share cooking, and en-

joy entertaining. They spend eight win-

ter weeks on Sanibel Island and three

summer weeks on the northern coast

of Maine. They are both readers, Fran

mostly nonfiction, Joan fiction, and

enjoy concerts, travel, theater, and long

walks with their very energetic minia-

ture Australian Shepherd, Lucy, who

keeps them fit.

In the Souk

everything hangs

by a thread or by a hook

except the dates and olives,

which are piled into impossibly

and perfectly balanced stacks

waiting for the slightest rumor

to leak from the rows, files, bags,

boxes, cans or sacks

of kaftans, sashes, slippers,

caps, shirts or shoes

all arranged as delicate answers

to any question

that hangs by a thread

Wil Hastings

The Lathrop Nor’Easter 4 Spring 2016

Ms. G, the state groundhog of Massa-

chusetts, agreed with us that the spring-

like weather is here to stay! Ms. G did

not see her shadow! Our technically in-

formed weather gurus predicted an early

spring, and it was kind of Ms. G to agree

with them. We are not complaining!

A flock of handsome robins has gath-

ered on the thin ice of the pond. They

have found safe footing and small pools

of fresh water. Are they early or have

they been here all winter? We used to

gauge the coming of spring by the arrival

of the first robin. Perhaps that was only

in the UK where the arrival of the pert

little English robin and his distinctive

early song were heralded with joy .

February 5

Yesterday the birds were splashing and

washing in the pond. This morning the

world is white again! Three inches of

heavy snow has fallen since 5 a.m., coat-

ing every surface. The tall pine tree limbs

are laden, bending to the ground. There

is more than had been anticipated. The

snow plows came once, but retreated to

return later. Temperatures hover in the

low 30s. This storm is supposed to pass

by noon.

This is the kind of snow we used to col-

lect on a black cloth, then take a magni-

fying glass to look at the amazing crys-

tals and their endless variation. No two

alike, ever!!

February 7

The calm before the (next) storm. A

cool sunny day, clear sky, ground cov-

ered in snow. The broad-winged hawk is

perched high in the leafless trees, his

white breast puffed out for warmth,

gathering the sun’s rays. This rather retir-

ing buteo hunts small prey from the cov-

er of the woods.

The conditions are perfect. Anything

that moves or even twitches can be

seen by his sharp eyes against the bright

white canvas of sparkling snow.

February 10

The snows predicted were relentless,

almost as if they were determined to

undermine the weathermen’s predic-

tions. On top of the icy base fell seven

more inches of fluffy white stuff!

Northampton declared a snow emer-

gency again, reluctantly, as we watched

the snow cat try and deal with the sur-

prising quantities.

“Snow flurries” was what they called

the steady light fall the next morning!

Northampton Music School called off

its classes again. Temperatures stayed

below freezing. A coyote left a beautiful

straight line of footprints across the

white landscape; even, direct, deter-

mined, unhurried, knowing. Winter has

truly arrived again. Will our friends in

Florida be laughing at us?!

February 12

Clear skies and bright sunshine are cre-

ating stunning shadow patterns on the

white landscape. But it is the tempera-

tures that are noteworthy. Below zero

by several degrees and wind chill warn-

ings that flail the skin and bring tears to

the eyes. General advice is to stay in-

doors.

February 14 ~ Happy Valentine’s

Day!

Not only is the weather map largely

blue in the east, but our fingers and

toes and noses are blue. With a record-

breaking 13 degrees below zero, every-

thing is frozen still. Nothing moves but

the steam from the chimneys of the

houses rising straight up into the still

air, comforting proof that our neigh-

bors are safe and warm.

February 16

By the skin of our teeth we have been

released from the next Glacial Age!

Temperatures rose in the night into the

20s, snow turned to rain, making roads

hazardous. Temperatures continued to

rise into the 40s. The rain poured

down. The sound of the run-off was

magnificent. We have a veritable lake

behind the Meeting House.

February 17

A young lad was out by the ‘lake’ crack-

ing pieces of ice loose from the edge.

Then he threw them onto the lake,

watched them shatter into many shapes

and skid and dance over the surface. It

made a lovely sound. The lake became

an art canvas. We had a brief conversa-

tion, enjoying the serendipity of the oc-

casion.

Now we are dreaming of that early

spring which Ms. G forecast. Gratefully.

February 19

When I stepped out onto the porch to

collect the newspaper this morning I

was greeted with birdsong! So maybe I

am not dreaming after all.

February 21

Swathes of green are appearing in the

white cover on the ground. The defini-

tion of the land in the woods has van-

ished. Without the highlights of snow it

is just grey woods—no dips, no hills, no

shapes.

February 23

The second full moon of 2016 rose last

night. Seen first through the upper limbs

of tall trees and then a clear perfect

round ball hanging in the star-studded

sky. This moon is claimed by the lepre-

chauns and called the Celtic moon. I

listened hard but did not hear any Irish

singing. She was closely guarded by Ori-

Journal

By Patricia Van Pelt

The Lathrop Nor’Easter 5 Spring 2016

on’s belt and the myriad stars of the

Milky Way.

February 24

Northampton City issued a winter storm

watch yesterday afternoon and the Music

School cancelled afternoon classes. Had

one of those leprechauns hacked their

weather system? The sun was shining

and the air was mild. Then this morning

we woke to a white ice/snow event coat-

ing every surface with shining highlights.

Temperatures hovered at the freezing

mark as the rains came down. Lethal

beauty.

February 25

Thunder rolled in the night and this

morning all was green and wet, very wet.

The temperatures soared. I took my first

cup of coffee out on to the patio. Spring?

Probably not, not yet. But it is coming.

February 28

The vagaries of our New England weath-

er! From day to day there is no account-

ing for what the weather will do. But the

squirrels are fat and furry and bounding

about. The woodpeckers must be build-

ing a city judging by the noise of their

hammering in the woods. Some of my

bulbs are up - the garden faces west and

is fed by the afternoon sun. The maple

sugar farmers are already preparing to

tap the sugar maples, the earliest they

have done this in some years.

As it is a leap year we have an extra day

this month for the weather gods to de-

bate. “Is spring around the corner or are

we still in winter?”

March 1 -10

The erratic behavior of these first days of

March foretell the changing of the sea-

sons. Temperatures wander all over the

map. We see rain and sun and grey skies

and blue skies. The days are longer. We

approach the daylight saving change on

the 13th.

Robins, cardinals and blue jays color the

still-grey woods. Today a pair of mallards

took up residence in the holding pond

which is a rather fine lake at present.

Early gardeners are preparing their plots

in the communal garden. Spring bulbs

are up, promising early color in the

woods and garden beds.

March 12

The male mallard propositioned his

lady yesterday afternoon. This morning

he had an early morning bath by the

outflow of the pond. His beloved is

nowhere to be seen. Has she settled

down in our threatened woodlands to

lay her precious eggs? Then when the

little ones hatch she can walk them to

the pond and we will be putting up a

sign saying “Make Way for Ducklings!”,

Boston-style!

There is a red-bellied woodpecker in

our woods with such a bright clean red

head and such beautiful black and white

weaving marks on his back that he

looks like he just came out of the beau-

ty parlor. Fresh spring dressing!

March 14

Truly spring weather! Crocus are in

bloom as well as snowdrops, all smiling

in a brief winter storm. It was nothing

much here in the city, but up in the hill

towns it was measurable snow. Here a

little ice filled the ridges of our angled

roofs!

A handsome turkey buzzard walked

onto the lawn looking for his harem.

The ducks are still enjoying the pond.

March 15

Beware the Ides of March! It is still

raining and cool. Bands of snow crys-

tals have gathered on the surface of the

pond. Forsythia limbs are faintly yellow

as sap begins to run. The maple syrup

harvesters have already tapped their

trees, which is early. They fear the har-

vest may be small this year because of

the warm winter.

March 17

Happy St. Patrick’s Day!! The frogs in

the pond are singing an Irish love song

while they do an Irish jig across the sur-

face of the water. To our ears they all

sound the same, but no doubt each one

of them can tell the difference.

After a thunderstorm in the night, a

springtime sound, fog coated the land-

scape. As the sun made its way through

the grey air, it illuminated the myriad

crystal drops of water adorning every

twig of small, still-barren trees. The

woods sparkled.

March 19

On the eve of the first day of spring,

snow showers are forecast! Snow in late

March and early April is not unusual.

Like a fond farewell to cooler days, the

snow will blanket the purpled golden

lawns of crocuses. It will do no harm.

Warm weather will follow.

March 20

The first official day of spring is the

“vernal equinox.” The Latin word

“vernal” refers to spring and “equinox”

to the fact that the length of night and

day is equal. How do they judge that?

Where? Who knows? But it feels nice:

balanced, secure, at peace!

March 21

The silence woke me this morning. The

quiet was palpable. “Peace comes drop-

ping slow.”

A soft carpet of white covered the

ground and coated the trees. Our azalea

bush was in full bloom with bright white

flowers. By ten o’clock the sun was out,

cars on the clean wet roads.

I pricked myself to see if I had dreamt

the whole thing!

The Lathrop Nor’Easter 6 Spring 2016

It was a medical emergency. My

heart rate had fallen so low I couldn’t

stand. Now in the hospital, after failing

to a dangerous low, it had started to

climb. Atrial fibrillation, big time. It

was time to implant a pacemaker, with

no time to quibble over details like

what kind of general anesthesia would

be used.

I was on the table. The cardiologist

who would perform the procedure told

me that sometimes patients reacted to

the anesthesia. I put on my hero’s face

and said “Let’s go for it.” I remember

waking up in a recovery room with six

nurses, three on each side.

Everything went well, I was told.

Okay, so far so good. I woke up again

in my bedroom, thanking my stars that

it was all over and done with. You’re

home, Frank old boy. Thank God.

Onlv wait a minute —

Something isn’t right. This is Haw-

thorn Lane all right, my house, my bed,

my good wife Judy. But what are these

strange photographs on the wall in

front of me? Posters, especially one

marked Pain, and identifying levels of

pain by numbers and strange little fac-

es. Am I at St. Peter’s gate? If so, I’m

outa here. I rang for the nurse.

Two young nurses appeared and said

almost in unison, “How can we help

you?”

“You can help me by telling me why

you hung these awful things in my bed-

room without my permission!” I was

outraged. “I’m madder ‘n hell, I’ve

lived in my home for 15 years, and I

know what it looks like.”

“Sir, this isn’t your home; it isn’t your

bedroom. You’re in the hospital.”

“Hospital, my ass! This is my home,

and my wife didn’t give you permission

to make these changes. I want to

make a formal complaint.” I tried to

get up, yelling as I went.

“Sir, we’re going to call your wife.

Please get back in bed”.

“You get out of my way!”

“Sir,” one of them said, “If you lay

one finger on us we’ll bring you up

on charges.” And aside, one said

“Call Security, tell them we have a

problem.”

Security took its time about com-

ing, but finally they were there, and

two big guys kept me in my bed.

Meanwhile, my wife appeared from

somewhere, and spoke to me quietly

in a low tone. I guess I went to sleep

then because when I woke up again,

it was morning.

I remembered yelling at the two

nurses and trying to shove past them.

I felt a whole unpleasant package of

shame, remorse, and guilt. I said to

the senior nurse that I really needed

to apologize to both those nurses.

“Mr. Bruder,” she said, “there’s no

need. Our nurses are competent and

experienced, and they’ve seen and

heard everything connected with

patient problems.”

And then she told me the rest of the

story.

The minute the anesthesia went into

me on the operating table. I went nu-

clear. As the cardiologist was threading

the wires into me, I struggled to get off

the table, and had to be tackled to stay

still. Until I went completely under it

was touch and go what would happen.

The toxic reaction then went dormant

until I woke again in the hospital room,

when it returned with the incident I

was aware of, the yelling and scream-

ing.

Those who know me know this was

a complete personality change. I had

an awful time accepting that I reacted

that way, and kept wanting to apolo-

gize, no matter how many times the

nurses assured me that this was not an

uncommon result.

Little did I know that the toxic medi-

cation had created physical and psycho-

logical results in me that went way be-

yond yelling at two nurses. Those re-

sults would literally last for months. If

there’s a moral, it’s “You can’t believe

everything you hear and see”—- even if

you’re seeing and hearing yourself.

General Anesthesia as a Teaching Aid

by Frank Bruder, Northampton

Sunset Reflections By Marjorie Tauer

The Lathrop Nor’Easter 7 Spring 2016

Ida Ender

I am Ida Ender, a new resident of

the Inn at Lathrop. I have been here

more than three weeks, slowly unpack-

ing and getting used to my new home.

This is a long way from Poland, where

I was born.

I am a survivor of the Holocaust,

and a victim of the unspeakable hor-

rors of Hitler's Nazism. Pretty soon

after the invasion, when I was 15 years

old, we were shipped to concentration

camps where we were forced to do

slave labor in ammunition factories day

and night. Most of my family— both

parents and two brothers, one of

them only five—were murdered.

Memories of my perished family

are written with indelible ink on my

heart and mind. The atrocities, the

inexplicable horrors of the Holocaust

times, need a new dictionary to ex-

plain how and why it could have hap-

pened that so many millions were

murdered and burned.

Fate decided to keep me and my

sister alive. She currently resides in

New Jersey. I wound up in New

York, where I married my wonderful

husband. We were married for 54

years, and the good memories of my

marriage are with me always. I have

been a widow for 11 years and lived

in Flushing, NY for 46 years before

moving to the Lathrop Inn in Massa-

chusetts.

Thankfully, I have two daughters

who are very loving and supportive.

My younger daughter, Risa, is a chiro-

practor in upstate New York, at High

Falls. She has three kids, and they all

love hiking in the mountains. Benja-

min loves being outdoors and works in

sustainable agriculture, Marissa is a

math teacher and Sophie, the young-

est, is applying to grad school in social

work. Their little dog Abby goes on all

their outdoor adventures.

My older daughter Amelia, her hus-

band Tom, and my grandson Ruvi

were essential in my move to this love-

ly Lathrop Inn. They live in North-

ampton. Tom is a physical therapist,

Amelia is a chaplain at Mt. Holyoke

College, and Ruvi is a musician. They

are busy in their work but love my new

home and fortunately visit often. Ruvi

enjoys eating dinners with his grand-

ma. They taste good, he says.

I try to live by my motto:

"Yesterday is history: Tomorrow is a

mystery: Today is the present."

Camilla Knapp In early December,

Camilla Knapp moved into

22 Spiceberry Lane along

with her two large dogs, Fio-

na and Fred. Fiona is a lovely,

chestnut-colored golden-

retriever, and Fred's lineage is

half hound, which becomes

apparent when he feels

moved to make a comment

on the world. They were all

used to living on acres of land

in Cazenovia, NY, and neither dog had any experience walk-

ing on a leash before moving here. Camilla thanks her neigh-

bors for their kind understanding that the dogs' enthusiasm

for meeting people can sometimes overwhelm their manners.

One of the reasons Camilla decided to come to Lathrop

was because we are located more or less at the center of her

usual destinations of interest: New York, Boston, and

Cazenovia. She grew up in New York City, with all vacations

taken at the old family home in Cazenovia where her grand-

parents lived. She went to school at Milton, where she was

able to visit her Boston grandmother and her two brothers

then at Harvard.

After graduating from NYU with a major in Chinese and

Japanese art history, Camilla went on to grad school at

Berkeley where she concentrated in the same area. She

worked for a while in California before returning to the East,

and ended up in publishing, at the New York office of Cam-

bridge University Press. She was a production editor, and

explains that this is a position responsible for "putting the

jigsaw puzzle together" from manuscript to the final bound

book. She specialized in heavily illustrated art books.

When looking at retirement communities, Camilla was pri-

marily interested in Kendal because of the Quaker philoso-

phy and their interest in responsible care of the land. Lath-

rop's location and the campus townhouses offering immedi-

ate access to the outdoors seemed perfect. She has become

involved with the land committee because of her past experi-

ence managing family land, which made her somewhat famil-

iar with many of the questions and challenges that can arise.

She is delighted to find herself part of our community, and

looks forward to establishing roots here.

The Lathrop Nor’Easter 8 Spring 2016

Swimming the Bosphorus

By Janet Gillies

Do those of you who have been to Istanbul remember

the flocks of little birds that skim over the Bosphorus, the

body of water that forms the outlet of the Black Sea? I

doubt it, what with all the other magnificent and fascinating

sights to see. But I remember them well. We were told that

they had been given a letter by Joseph of Arimathea but had

dropped it by mistake and had been constantly searching for

it ever since. My mother and father and I and a few others

had decided to swim from Europe to Asia, so we saw these

birds as a serious distraction if not an actual threat.

Early one fine morning we were picked up from a dock

on the Asian side by a pair of heavy fishing rowboats and

taken to the opposite shore. The currents in this vital pas-

sage are very tricky but it was generally safer to swim from

Europe to Asia. Many fishing boats shared the water near

us and to our horror they seemed to be fishing for sword-

fish. I saw a huge, terrifying one being hauled up into a

boat right close to us. I seriously wondered if the rowboat

would take me back, but of course the rowers didn’t speak

English and thought my protesting was charming.

We were put ashore on the steps of an old palace. It was

only something like a third of a mile across the Bosphorus

here but we were told that currents were so strong that we

would be swept downstream. Maybe a half mile down

stream we could easily make out a white palace. Very seri-

ously we were warned that just beyond this white palace the

shore took a serious turn away from us and if we missed the

steps of the palace we would not be able to reach land. So,

we should not aim for the palace but aim well upstream.

And we should not stop swimming and rest even briefly be-

cause then we might get swept along and miss the palace

entirely. Why had I thought this would be fun? Birds above,

swordfish below and dangerous currents! But it was a beau-

tiful morning, the water wasn’t very polluted and was a pleas-

ant temperature. Also, I was told I would be able to brag

about it for the rest of my life, which in reality is something

that I have found difficult to drop into normal conversation.

So we started off, dodging birds, hoping to ward off the

swordfish and swimming as hard as we could. The two row-

boats generally accompanied the six of us. Mid-stream one

of the rowboats came right next to me. The rowers were

pantomiming that I should swim faster and harder. I was

already doing my best, for heaven’s sake. He was also point-

ing urgently upstream. I looked. Bearing down on me but

still a good way off was a huge ship. This “concentrated my

mind” wonderfully. I took off like the roadrunner cartoon.

When I got close to shore I saw that the hulking monster

was already where I had just been and that it was a Russian

warship.

We all did end up on the steps of the palace we couldn’t

aim for, although it had been our goal, and went off for

breakfast.

Maine Lighthouse

By Marjorie Tauer

The Lathrop Nor’Easter 9 Spring 2016

Another gourmet treat from the

Billy Wilder menu we’ve been sam-

pling, this time a 1957 film noir mys-

tery based on an Agatha Christie 1925

short story and loaded with the twists

and turns for which Christie was un-

paralleled. Oscar-nominated Charles

Laughton, fat, waddling, grumpy, alter-

nately comic and crafty, steals every

scene he is in—even when his competi-

tion includes the sultry Marlene Die-

trich, the beautiful (well, OK, hand-

some) Tyrone Power, and the dipsy

Elsa Lanchester, Laughton’s wife in

real time. This splendid cast is support-

ed by a number of famous character

actors we remember from many films

of the era.

Witness for the Prosecution has seen sev-

eral iterations as play and film. As in

the long-running Christie mystery, The

Mousetrap, audiences are warned not to

spoil the experiences of others by dis-

closing the denouement. The action

begins with Leonard Vole (Power)

about to be arrested for the stabbing

murder of an older woman he has

“befriended.” Vole is seeking the help

of the famous barrister, Sir Wilfrid

Robarts (Laughton), who is recovering

from a heart attack, who may keel over

any minute, and whose doctor has for-

bidden him to take on a stressful crimi-

nal case. We discover that the murder

victim had recently changed her will,

leaving her 80,000 pounds to Vole

(allegedly a huge surprise for him!) in-

stead of to her longtime housekeeper.

Vole’s seemingly solid alibi is provided

by his wife Christine (Dietrich). But,

the plot thickens when Christine, horri-

fying her husband and his barrister,

testifies for the prosecution.

Leonard Vole, serving in Germany

during WWII, met and wooed the

lovely German chanteuse, Christine.

But it turns out she was already mar-

ried when she married Vole--their

marriage thus a sham — and can tes-

tify against him. She is actually Chris-

tine Helm. Of course, she shreds his

alibi, but, just when you think you

might have figured out what happens

next, the plot twists again and again

and you are probably wrong.

This courtroom drama, the mys-

tery supplied mostly by the intriguing,

beguiling Dietrich, is leavened with a

constant, often hilarious, struggle

between Sir Wilfrid and his nurse,

Miss Plimsole, played by the fluttery,

nagging Lanchester. No dummy she,

she suspects Sir Wilfrid’s ever-present

thermos of hot cocoa is actually filled

with brandy. Comic relief paralleling

the legal drama, she is out to prove it

and he is dedicated to avoiding and

deceiving her.

Dietrich is Dietrich, an actress or a

phenomenon? She is at the top of her

game here. In one scene, we get to

see (one of) her famous legs and, in

another, to hear one of the sexy, lim-

Film Review:

Witness for the Prosecution

ited-range songs for which she was

famous. She must have invented

“cool.” This was the last completed

film for Tyrone Power, who died not

long after its release. Billy Wilder di-

rected and co-wrote the screenplay. In

addition to nominations for editing

and sound, Witness for the Prosecution was

nominated for Best Picture, Best Actor

in a Leading Role (Laughton) and Best

Actress in a Supporting Role

(Lanchester).

JL and DM

Note: Witness for the Prosecution will be screened at the Meeting House on the Northampton campus on April 17 at 2:00pm.

If you are lucky

a sweet moment may arise

unusual in its self-tenderness

when, sitting on a cold stone

and weeping graveside

for a childhood friend,

the tears would cease all at once

as a sign of your knowing

the salt and water in your eyes

were falling mostly for yourself

and the shame-cloud trailing that knowing

like the smoke from a campfire

would drift skyward

and gently out of sight.

Wil Hastings

The Lathrop Nor’Easter 10 Spring 2016

I am at Riverside Cemetery in Hancock, Maine, taking

pictures of graves that I find particularly beautiful or have

names that I know.

I have always loved spending time in rural cemeteries. My

rambles through them began in Wilton, Connecticut at the

Hillside Cemetery. Like most country graveyards, Hillside has

the quiet beauty and random design of early burial grounds

before cemeteries evolved into more public places, memorial

parks, with hundreds and more of headstones in regimental

lines. Originally a family plot, Hillside developed over time into

a graveyard for the small community of Wilton and, especially,

for the local soldiers who perished in various American wars. It

was a place of peace and tranquility, of gentle hills and hundred

-year-old shade trees, its gravestones just as old and older scat-

tered throughout, up, down, and over the rolling terrain. I

knew it as the “Civil War” cemetery because that’s what every-

one called it, although it also honored Wilton’s veterans from

the Revolutionary War, World War I, and now, undoubtedly,

later wars. I used to wander through it as a child, lie in the grass

and look up at the sky. And I marched there, proudly, as a

Brownie and Girl Scout on Memorial days.

Originally a family plot called Joe’s Hill, Riverside Cemetery

expanded over time into a community burial ground and later

was deeded to the Congregational Church. Here are buried

some of the oldest and best known of Wilton’s families, their

names engraved on gray slate and rough granite headstones,

some leaning, some fallen down. Names everyone knew: Mid-

dlebrook, Olmstead and Gilbert, names still everywhere in

town as the names of roads and farms and businesses. We lived

on Olmstead Road, and way down that road was the Olmstead

family and the Olmstead Farm, a huge place with a great hill

where they let us kids ski in winter. The Gilberts lived next to

us. Mr. Gilbert was a farmer who allowed us to pick in his gar-

den, which ran alongside the stone wall between our proper-

ties. Mr. Middlebrook lived on Belden Hill Road in a huge,

gracious white house built above a large spread of perfect grass

and shrubs. I knew all these people and learned along the way

the differences between the wealthy aristocrats and the more

modest old families: farmers, teachers, storekeepers. But here

in Hillside Cemetery, there was no distinction between them,

not even in the sizes of the gravestones.

It was not far from our house, and I often wandered there

for peace and quiet, for solitude—no sister, mother, brother or

father, no friends. I ambled through, reading the names, the

dates, and family information engraved on the stones, some

faded, others clean and sharp. I lay in the grass, listening to

birds and gazed up into the sky until it seemed like a blue

dome. I thought about people who used to be alive and were

now long dead. I wondered if they would be there if you dug

them up, as bodies you could recognize.

My first graveyard, though, was the Cenedella plot in Saint

Mary’s Cemetery in Milford, Massachusetts. I came here only

with the grownups while they placed flowers next to graves or

prayed. I pranced around between the gravestones, waiting for

them to be finished with their solemn doings. The stones were

arranged by families with occasional towers rising up, anchoring

everything. Here in the center of a polished black tower, were

the ancestral Cenedellas: Giacomo Cenedella (1846-1908), his

wife Maria (died 1900), Giuseppe Cenedella (1821-1901) and

Paola Cenedella (1820-1903) and below, squared rough-edged

granite stones embedded in the ground: my grandfather Philip

Cenedella (1872-1936) and grandmother Louise Gardetto

(1880—), her death date (1970) long since filled in. I found it

uncomfortable, wrong somehow, to put on a gravestone the

name of someone before they had died.

I loved, too, the small, old burial grounds in Cummington,

Massachusetts, on Potash Road, on a hill overlooking the wind-

ing country road below. This is where I used to write when I

was attending Cummington School of the Arts, summers of

1958 and 1959—and where I sometimes slept, with a couple of

friends, in our sleeping bags. The headstones were all old and

more scattered than orderly, with overgrown grasses at their

bases. In particular, I remember a small stone just outside the

cemetery boundary, very worn away, engraved with the words

“Baby Louise, Earth’s bud, Heaven’s flower”, with no date.

Baby Louise was not buried, we learned, in consecrated ground

because she hadn’t been baptized. We, the young writers, art-

ists, and musicians of Cummington School were outraged at

this discrimination and talked—but talked only—of making a

protest and insisting that she be included within the bounds of

the cemetery.

All this came back to me today at Riverside Cemetery in

Hancock, Maine. What a beautiful place! Rolling green, shady

trees, and grassy paths that organize the space. Patterns of light

and shade falling across the landscape, and the stones of gran-

ite, rough and smooth, light and dark gray, black and shiny,

pink throughout the green spaces. My partner Fran and I walk

here to throw the ball for our eager dog, Lucy. We worry that

what we are doing might appear disrespectful if anyone were

there, and when someone does drive up, we hook Lucy up to

her leash and walk, leisurely, along the paths until the car leaves.

Today, however, I am alone, taking pictures of the graves

Riverside Cemetery, Hancock, Maine

By Joan Cenedella

The Lathrop Nor’Easter 11 Spring 2016

that I find particularly beautiful or that have names that I

know, for I have known people with the old names that appear

here, as in Wilton, over and over again.

A big name in this area is Crabtree. A Mr. Crabtree used to

take us out in his whaler to Russ’s Island when we arrived for a

summer vacation. I was 3 and 4 and 5. And I always tried to get

out of the boat saying “I want to walk.” I am reminded of this

as I look up at an enormous granite stone, a tall, chunky square,

with the name “CRABTREE” engraved on two sides. Individ-

ual stones, for family members, set in the earth, arranged

around it.

The Perrins and the Perkins, owners with Russ of the island,

and some of their children, my generation, have stones here.

Peter Perrin, who was my age, died last year. He and I played as

children and used to pull each other’s pants down. His mother

was scandalized. My mother was not. She was amused but also

told me to stop. His stone lies to the right of larger ones for

each of his parents. These were people I knew, flesh and blood,

living out their summers on the beautiful island, hoisting water

up from a spring and cooking over open fires. Looking at their

memorials makes them come alive.

As I walk through the graveyard today, shooting monuments

and views, I come across one strangely beautiful stone, faded

with weather and time and covered with an orange fungus and I

think, standing before it, we are all gradually erased from this

earth. Slowly, very slowly with time’s passing. We are held in

the memories of people who knew us, then in the stories hand-

ed on to those who didn’t, and finally we’re covered over with

time, faded and gone. We may leave behind our works, but our

works are not who we are.

Is this a gloomy perspective? It doesn’t feel that way to me. I

look at this gravestone, evidence of someone once here. I can’t

make out the name or dates, just fragments, but I think whoev-

er it is, has faded into the earth, has given up all individualness

and joined the earth, the universe, the stars. And that seems

satisfying.

Cynthia Stanton The poet John Masefield

wrote “The days that make us

happy make us wise.” I am hap-

pily living on Goldenchain Lane,

taking in wisdom as I can. I

moved to Lathrop in August

2015.

As I compose this autobiog-

raphy, I see that I have much to

be modest about.

Brought up in the Back Bay

of Boston, I enjoyed having my extended family nearby. My

Aunt Iris (my favorite) lived next door, my grandmother lived

on Marlborough Street and my great uncle Teddy lived on Bea-

con Street, all within walking distance for me. When I think of

home my heart goes back to this place.

When my parents divorced, my mom moved my two broth-

ers, my sister and myself to the Jamaica Plain section of Bos-

ton. As I was the oldest, I had many responsibilities but also

many opportunities. I loved being in the country, especially

Jamaica Pond and the Arnold Arboretum.

I had the good fortune to attend Suffolk University on

scholarship, which included a summer term in Oxford, Eng-

land. While studying for my Master’s degree at Simmons Col-

lege, I married Craig Zaehring in 1977. I had to write a paper

on Conrad’s Heart of Darkness on my honeymoon. I am proud

to say the paper was graded a “C”.

Craig and I have three daughters, all grown women now and

happily making their their way in the world. I am so lucky to

have them in my life as I would have gladly chosen them as

friends.

Work for me has been following paths of interest, while also

paying the bills. My favorite jobs have been working for my

local newspaper and at a technical institute. My volunteer life

began in seventh grade. I have held leadership positions, most-

ly because no one else would take those roles. There were

perks though. For example, as Sunday School Superintendent,

I studied Church School Education at the Black Theological

Institute at Harvard’s Episcopal Divinity School. And I look

forward to finding opportunities here in Northampton.

Social justice came to me like breathing air. While in high

school, I worked for racial civil rights and an end to the war in

Viet Nam. Many of my high school classmates were drafted

and then killed in that war. Agony. I am proud of the work I

did in advancing women’s rights and amazed at the changes

now taken for granted. On April 1-3 I will be attending the

Labor Notes “Troublemakers” conference in Chicago. If I’m

not back, someone please check to see if I need bail!

Craig and I sold our Lexington, MA home in July 2015. Af-

ter 38 years of marriage Craig and I decided to live separately.

This worked so well that we are in the process of divorce. He

bought a house here in Northampton, the better for us to con-

tinue as a parental unit. I am grateful for the kindness given to

me here in Lathrop, where I am living on my own now.

Friends make life sweet. Many of my friendships are decades

long and some are very recent. So, I am looking forward to

learning new things, sharing with new friends, going to new

places with old friends, enjoying happy days and encouraging

needed wisdom to come sooner rather than later.

The Lathrop Nor’Easter 100 Basset Brook Drive Easthampton, MA 01027

Caribbean Shack By Marjorie Tauer