The Wonder Years

“Well, Gin, are these the Wonder Years?”
“Ah yes, Chris, I think of something and then I wonder what it was.”

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This beautiful view is the backyard of the ‘Old House’ on the Wolfson property in South Wellfleet, MA. And we are talking old. The house is centuries old. However its magnificent charm is really the yard.

It is dutifully maintained by actor/painter/sculptor/bus, taxi and Wonder Bread truck driver/husband/father/Marshall inventory manager/teacher/licensed to carry arms/friend Thomas Wolfson (www.thomaswolfson.com). The man is either amazing or victim of a career attention disorder or has disguised one with the other.

Here he is in action:

Can you believe this man just turned 60? Such vitality, such joi de vivre, such John Deere!

We were fortunate to be there last weekend when many friends and family celebrated the occasion. Wellfleet oysters, fresh bass and martinis. Tom, being of pure spirit, is clean and sober. He graciously allowed our consumption to go unnoticed until he Tourrettingly let “you’ll burn in hell from demon alcohol” casually escape his lips.

Besides celebrating our friendship with Tom the reason for the thematic inclusion has to do with retirement choices.

Many of us have worked long and hard to create a comfortable environment; taking advantage of serendipitous opportunities blended with strategy and goal setting. In the case of Tom and Michele their lot has been affected by a decision by Tom’s father around the start of the Big Depression to buy this land for a few hundred dollars (over 25 acres). Victor, Tom’s father, was also an artist and there has been an infusion of artifact with flora and fauna:





In the case of Gini and myself we have been fortunate to resurrect a chicken coop among the grandeur of the region around Newfound Lake:



There are many such examples of residential accomplishment among us.

The existential struggle to make one’s way through life with career and family becomes attuned to this home environment. What requires great energy is fed by a sympathy and empathy with the surroundings. So the energy, at times, knows no bounds in its harmony and reinforcement. Children remain in a virtual womb of a construct whose nature they do not, at first, understand. Adolescent haze crystallizes into fond memories of Home.

Friends, perhaps temporarily out of sync with their own milieu, drive great distances to share your hearth (or in our case, a Russian fireplace). Upon such a visit, Peace is possible, digesting seems inevitable.

Then comes retirement. The winter seems harsher. The wood is getting heavier. There are too many rooms – too much Stuff. Downsizing becomes a theme (though I don’t take it personally). Somehow feng shui intends departure and not domestic nirvana.

I love our home. It breathes us and we breathe it. When it comes time to say goodbye I will be sad. However, do not weep for me Von D’LucciLand – the Karma Express is still movin’ along – I just don’t really have a clue as to the next stop!