BRINGING HOME THE SALMON

There are secrets that go to the grave, I found. One of these surfaced last week, about a year after my husband's death. Since he died suddenly, in the middle of the night, perhaps he had meant to tell me about it at some time in the future he found appropriate. Then again, maybe he got a kick out of my not knowing about the salmon.

It all started after we retired to Sonoma County in California. For those of you who don't know this little piece of paradise, Sonoma County is home to all kinds of wonderful food - there is no limit to what is grown there. You can eat your way from one end of the county to another and never miss an ingredient for a gourmet meal. Oysters, Pacific fish, cheeses, fruit, pate de fois gras, turkeys, champagne, wines --all call Sonoma home. I was thrilled with all this bounty.

One fine day my husband and one of the sons started out for Bodega Bay to play golf. On the way they would pass miles of Gravenstein apple orchards, a cheese factory where they make Camembert, oyster beds, and end up at the wharf at Bodega, where the salmon season was in full sway. He promised to brong me a salmon from one of the places where the fishermen unload their catch, or bring anything else he saw along the way. Hours later the men returned, with a large salmon. I praised them, and went into a little fit of enthuiasm about this wonderful place we lived in, etc, etc.

Now, years later. the son has finally come clean about the salmon. I guess he felt guilty. The whole thing was a con, expertly carried out in a tissue of fibs and I fell for it. They had forgotten to buy the salmon. On the way home, it dawned on them that they were going to catch a lot of grief. "Should we go back?" My husband said, no, he could handle this. They stopped in Sebastopol at a Lucky market, where he bought a large salmon. He got the butcher to unwrap the plastic shrinkwrap on the fish, take it out of its cardboard tray, and re-wrap it in butcher paper just like the wrap on the wharf at Bodega Bay. Removing the Lucky price tag, he was ready to go with this deception. The worst part was that they were able to talk about it with a straight face afterward, both of them. Finally the truth has come out.

I wonder how many more secrets there are that went to the grave? I know that I have one myself, and I'm holding on to it.

A SILENT WEEKEND

For some unknown reason, I decided to go to a silent retreat. I had noticed this retreat house for years. It is in a particularly beautiful spot, surroounded by iron gates and majestic trees which I must confess was part of the attraction for me. You stay from Friday noon until Sunday after dinner and I wonderered if I could go that long without talking. B ut I thought it would do me good, sort of like going on a diet or a period of self-denial.

I was on my own at the retreat, since it is usually for groups. There were about fifteen women there from an Episcopal church up the coast but since we didn't speak we never got acquainted. At first I heard them chattering and laughing and I didn't think it was going to work out. But then what they call "The Great Silence" began. From that point on I didn't hear a sound.

The silence was so deep. There was not a murmur, not the sound of a car, a radio, a telephone, not even a dog barking. It was like being blanketed in cotton, or the silence of a great snowfall in the night. Very peaceful and soothing. I had a plain little room with a crucifix over the bed, all in white and just as you would imagine it should be. I had a little chair to read in and spent a wonderful afternoon, it was like heaven.

The only talking was in the church services in the chapel - four and five a day. The form was that of Gregorian plainsong - alternate chanting or song by different sides of the chapel. I felt I was back in the sixteenth century. It was hard to follow the breviary, but once you get into the swing of it, it is very satisfying. I had no idea Episcopalians were still doing this - it must date back to the early Christian church. The last service, Compline, was to end the day and you do sleep even if you are an insomniac like me.

The food at the retreat leaves much to be desired, but I suppose that is in keeping with the idea of a retreat. There were odd cuts of meat, modest portions, and a thin grey gruel-like soup in the evening. I don't know what was in that soup and I'll never find out because the Rule of Silence was in full force at meals. The women sat at a long table, and one of the Sisters read aloud from a religious book while we were eating. I will tell you one thing, eating was meant to be a convivial episode as far as I am concerned. It seems very awkward to eat without any conversation when there are many persons around to converse with.

I didn't stay for the last dinner, because my son came to pick me up. Forgive me, but we went ight away to In-and-Out Burger. Then we drove to San Francisco and I ate my way through orth Beach, I'm sorry about this.

All in all, it was a very fine retreat and I feel very refreshed. I admire the Sisters' way of life and their calmness and beauty of spirit. You should go, if you can, Silence is beautiful.

NO MORE MR. NICEGUY

Another little hiatus while I went on a Superbowl weekend with friends. First, I have to tell you about my friends, Jean and Crystal. We have been best friends for 35 years, ever since the first year of law school. What is really weird is that our husbands even have a good time together.. We patted ourselves on the back because the husbands all had good hair and were reasonably handsome, and could survive with practicing lawyer wives who had opinions about everything. Now my husband is gone, and I thought this might alter our good weekend times but it really didn't. Because a friend from law school is a friend forever. And they do not hesitate to tell you what they think.

Jean started out by saying that she had been reading this blog and said it was too nicey-nice. She said it didn't sound a bit like me-- all that sweetness and light. " Write about something you don't like" she said. "Let it all hang out". So I will, but I don't think Jean will like it because she doesn't see "Lolita" in the same way I did.

In law school we were only seven women in a class of 125 and we thought we were real pioneers. Getting a clerking job was a real problem because no Phoenix law firm had ever hired a woman. The firms would come to interview at the law school and try to act as if it were serious, but everyone knew nothing would come of it. That's not true now but it was then. ( For example, when Sandra Day O'Connor graduated from Stanford Law near the head of her class, the only job she was offered was that of a secretary putting pocket parts in the back of a firm's library. ) This situation was about to change, however ,and we were hopeful.

The Law School professor in charge of employment opportunities was a sort of wimpy guy that I don't think the school knew what to do with - this job was a place to park him. And in our little band of seven woman was a young girl with very short skirts and a modicum of underwear whom I will call "Lolita". The combination of these two was deadly. It wasn't long before everyone knew that Lolita and the professor were sleeping together . The employment opportunity office came to a virtual halt. No woman got a hint of a clerkship job that year, nor the year afterward. Lolita was just the epitome of what everyone had said about the failure of women to be real lawyers , I thought. I was bitter.

35 years later we three friends talked about it. Jean still sees Lolita and she was very calm about it. It wasn't Lolita's fault , Jean said, Lolita was just young. Crystal said I was wrong to blame Lolita for her skirts and lack of underwear, the fault lay with the wimpy professor -- he should have overcome the temptation and done his work. I said I didn't care, it still makes me mad because it was so hard for us to find our initial job and make our way.

"But we did it" Crystal said and we three did. It just was damn hard.