Champagne and

I remember many things but I cannot recall when I read the story (or was it a book?) about “Seeing Windham First.”

It was undoubtedly during one of the several summers of my discontent which endured throughout the early years of adolescence.

After spending a magical summer on a quiet countryside in northern New Jersey, I was extremely reluctant to return to the crowded streets of Hells Kitchen. I desperately wanted a bedroom with windows and a view of grass and trees. I wanted to hear the song from birds rather than the horns in traffic.

That was not to be. I inflicted my disdain on my family and sought refuge in twice weekly trips to the library and the sanctuary of stories. Sometime during that self absorbed period of time, I recall reading “Seeing Windham First,” set in a teenaged heroine’s hometown.

I probably read the book or story so often I had it memorized, but it taught me a needed lesson. Before too much time had passed, I began to look for the beauty that living in midtown NYC provided.

I relived that period of time this week when I joined in a celebration for the Tenth anniversary of the Senior residence where I now abide.

A video was shown as we sat sipping flutes of both alcoholic and non alcoholic beverages. The presentation was not done commercially, but I doubt if the esteemed Martin Scorsese could have achieved a better result.

It was powerful as well as poignant evoking both tears and chuckles that immediately washed any unexpected moisture away.

The video quickly revived a long dormant memory of appreciation for fellow travelers whose paths have crossed mine. It resurrected an immense gratitude for both the pain and pleasures of the long lifetime that I have been allowed.

When the video captured those who have departed in the past ten years, it also invited their memories and inspiration to enhance our celebration.

Lorraine is seen singing “This Little Light of Mine,” as she stands erect and tall holding the mike. It was recorded when the 98 year old lady still walked a mile a day and merely several months before she boarded the ferry.

Vida is laughing as she always did despite pain. Her wry but contagious sense of humor returned as I watched my departed friend, and found myself giggling with her once again.

Then the camera briefly captured Will and I sitting at the pub during the early years of my relocation.

Without his gentle confidence and youthful energy, I doubt if I could have survived the trauma of loss that enshrouded me when I said goodbye to another life.

My amazing grandson instinctively knew how to “take care” of his emotionally fragile Grandmother. He did so with gentle kindness and instinctive ability despite being on the spectrum.

When the video ended the deeply submerged memory of a long forgotten adolescent trauma briefly returned.

And I knew I had been taught another lesson reminding me once again of God’s generosity in both life and love.