Biking with the dead

My sympathies for the mob – there is no easy way to discretely get rid of a body. Wanting to respect his wishes, but not be charged with felonious disposal of human remains, I rented a bike and took Uncle Ford for a trip all over the island looking or just the right spot. What a cool little place. More art than you can shake a stick at, if that’s what you like to do with art, and an amazing Portuguese bakery. Not having any luck finding an attractive but deserted spot, I called a friend of his who lived on the island and she said he loved Beech Forest and Race Point on the far end of the island, so off I went.

They have beautiful bike trails there. Ponds and trees, then dunes and high downhill-velocity hills. But no good spots with an ocean view. I was sure that just around the corner would be a good location, no, maybe the next one. Optimism can be curse sometimes. An hour and a bit later, I get to the end point of the Cape, climb the huge dune…and the beach is packed with people. Arg. Can’t cross the dunes either as it is a restricted area. But there was a little boardwalk that deadended at the old lifesaving station behind the dunes. Protected, pretty, discreet…I set to saying my final goodbyes. Well, mostly goodbye. Got him all over my hands and you don’t just wash your uncle down the sink, so I went to the ocean and finished with a sort’ve burial at sea.

It’s a pretty place and I know he loved it – I think he would be happy. And happy that I got a chance to see a place he loved.

Got back to the harbor just in time to catch the ferry back to Boston. Got a little fresh air and settled in to read.

Found a good book in the airport, Two Years Before the Mast., the journal of a Harvard student who left school in 1833, to sail around Cape Horn. There are all these great novels I never read as a kid because, based on the books selected by my English teachers, all great works of literature had to be mind-numbingly depressing.

Joseph Conrad – excellent writer, but did the man never go to his happy place?

Why are there no required reading list that involve sunshine and butterflies? Sure, you need a little conflict, a few epiphanies, some person growth, but let a character have the reward of happy ending for all that work, fer crissakes. More kids would read if the definition of classic involved something other than making you want to open a vein.

If someone is actually reading this and knows an exception to this rule, great! Post the title – maybe we create a new course offering,” Great Literature Without Prozac,” or something like that.

Okay, in the spirit of full disclosure, while I am an enthusiastic science teacher who loves her subject, I do also have certification to teach middle grades English, and did it one year. I taught Shakespeare to 50 eleven year olds, half of whom were on Ritalin and one was as sociopath who tried to kill his father that year. We staged the scenes they didn’t understand. You haven’t seen funny until you’ve seen Hamlet acted out by a bunch of ADHD preadolescents. Actually, it was one of my funniest years teaching, other than the death threats, of course.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, er, ferry…

The gentleman across from me noticed what I was reading asked if I had seen the movie made of it with Stuart Granger. This started a wonderful conversation with him and his wife, who it turns out were Cuban. They were as delightful a couple as you could ever meet. They had come to Boston from Miami to spend some time with their recently engaged daughter and future son-in-law.We talked and laughed about politics, religion, education, children, retirement programs, all kinds of things. We only spent an hour and half together and likely we’ll never see each other again, but something about connecting with strangers just makes you feel better about people in general. Like you may be surrounded by strangers, but behind the otherness is a lot of sameness.

Made my connection to the bus to take me up to Portsmouth to meet family I never knew I had before Uncle Ford died.