Reconnecting with myself
The divorce is final. After 22 years. We communicate amiably, care about, and want the best for each other. There was no problem dividing up assets and furniture. She got the teakettle and food processor; I got the coffeemaker and toaster. But we couldn’t reconcile our personal styles.
Separation’s acute pain morphed into occasional longing for the unattainable fantasy. Anxious uncertainty evolved into lingering curiosity over how I’m going to shape my future. It was time to revisit places that played significant roles in my adult life to experience the feelings and thoughts they evoke and contemplate how we’ve changed.
I spent a week alone at the Lake Michigan cottage where we’ve vacationed for years. The familiar sights, sounds, and solitude assured me I was doing the right thing. I ventured away from my cocoon to play with the Scottville Clown Band in the historic hamlet of Arcadia, and to play in Pentwater’s Civic Band.
The next week I expanded a return trip to the area for a daughter’s wedding into what I call aimless wandering. I ambled the streets of Pentwater, undergoing gentrification with romantic out-of-towners buying, fixing up and enlarging older homes. There may be more boats in the new marinas than year round village residents.
I planned being there on a summer Thursday so I could play in the band on the Village Green that evening. In its 65th year, the event hasn’t changed: same music, adults sitting on lawn chairs and blankets and greeting each other with handshakes and hugs, kids rolling down the hill and dancing to the music, dogs, popcorn and ice cream. Pentwater has gracefully changed while maintaining its traditional charm. It’s Americana at its finest.
Ludington and I have outwardly changed a great deal since I left over 25 years ago. I’ve slowed down, look aged, and developed a painless, unexplained hitch in my get along. The city has transformed its waterfront with parks, condos and marinas. Wandering the streets felt like being home, though I didn’t know anybody. Having a leisurely dinner with an old friend seemed like I hadn’t left.
The hospital, newly opened when I moved there in 1967, is much larger and more sophisticated today. And the hospice I helped develop is a major resource for the area.
My daughter’s wedding, beside the river at picturesque Barothy Lodge, was a glorious celebration. My kids and grand kids, nieces and nephews and even an ex brother-in-law I haven’t seen for 40 years were there.
Making a last minute change, I decided to stay in Big Rapids rather than risk driving home in weekend traffic. Passing through Baldwin, I noticed that Regional Health Care (RHC), a system I helped design, develop and stabilize in the early 70s, is still operating. Before the War on Poverty and RHC, health and dental care services in Lake County were sketchy at best. Seeing the modern building, hearing about the services delivered there, and thinking about those tumultuous times brought a smile to my face and a warm feeling in my heart.
I was disappointed as I meandered around Big Rapids. There were 500 students when I entered Ferris 65 years ago. Quonset huts and the Alumni Building were the only structures. The President, Deans, faculty and students regularly hung out together in the Coffee Cup across the street. We knew some by their first names; names that now grace buildings. Students lived in rented rooms in private homes or in homes converted into apartments.
After driving around town a bit, and sitting a spell on a bench on the new river walk, I realized there’s nothing in Big Rapids for me to identify and reconnect with now. Ferris and I both realized our dreams. It wanted to grow and expand; there are 15,000 students now and the campus sprawls across the highway. I wanted to go beyond pharmacy and become a physician.
So I left there for the room I’d reserved eight miles, a ten minute drive, and a world apart from the ticky-tacky chains, big boxes and franchise strip malls clinging to Ferris’ skirts. I found a pleasant surprise in the Inn at the Rustic Gate. Two sisters, one a nurse and the other in financial services, and a friend bought an extinct dairy farm and converted it into a B&B and pastoral retreat.
There was one other guest, a friend of theirs. I was invited to join them for an elegant dinner of fresh Greek salad made with fresh garden vegetables, house-made dressing, iced tea and home-made cookies. With several hours of casual, satisfying conversation, I knew I was at the right place.
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