New Wine

New Wine

Patricia and Hashem stood before a roaring fire in Tahoe to recite vows before family and friends as a well- worn pair, clear in intent and happy. They eagerly clasped hands in unrehearsed enthusiasm. Patty was elegant in her silky cocktail gown and furry short jacket. Hashem, the epitome of sprezzatura- wore a dark, wool suit enhanced with an elegant white silk scarf. As flames raced against the stones, guests sipped wine with hummus, cheese, olives and artisan bread. Michael, son of Patti’s beloved Aunt Grace, spoke the words which joined them together, telling a story about how they came together through caring for others and by sharing a deep pleasure in the natural world. For the benefit of Patti's parents, he used a Biblical analogy about not putting "new wine" in old wineskins" to highlight the positivity of personal change. He ended the unusual ceremony with words, a challenge for the newlyweds from the mystic poet, Rumi, in deference to the family of Hashem, "Unfold your own myth."

In truth, if not for the suitcase and gifts to Patti in her nonage, they might not be here at all in Tahoe. The events that shaped the transitions of their lives raced through her heart. Patti ‘s eyes grew soft remembering the loggia attached to the parsonage, and the plan that redeemed her when all seemed lost. The suitcases, gifts from Aunt Grace at each stage of accomplishment, were always stocked with special things for a trip she might take some day; recently she had dreamed, her honeymoon with Chuck. Instead, they had been enough to carry her into a new world, only three hours away.

Tucson was comparatively cosmopolitan to the small, farming towns of the high desert. Bright chilie ristras adorned humble casitas. Caballeros strummed gui'tar. Others had homes with Betty Crocker, stereo systems, red gingham and a new thing called tupperware. Most stayed in their own groups when they married. But everyone was changed together through the Viet Nam War, and something else hard to describe. Bell bottoms and folk music transcended race and class as humanity strained against confines of the past.

Patti cried sitting under the loggia with Mrs. Thompson, her pastor's wife. Mrs Thompson asked if a doctor was needed- knowing the behavior of some boys in their small town, which also transcended race and class. Patti said that she didn’t think so. And she was glad she had started her pills. Patti had a degree in accounting and a suitcase ready to go- it just went to Tucson instead of on a honeymoon, because no one puts new wine into old wine skins. There was a nice apartment with air and a pool for someone who would go to work with the Interfaith Conference.

“Oh Patti! I think you will love it – there is always more work than can be done and everyone there is quite broadminded. You will have your very own place. And Cosette has left some nice things behind as she has hurridly returned to France."

Mrs. Thompson put Patti on a bus for Tucson with a thermos of coffee and a Binet. Patti’s parents were on a short trip and she only left a note- explaining she realized what a commitment marriage is and that Chuck was not the guy to make her happy. She left the phone number of the parsonage on the kitchen table, the only one they used. Mrs. Thompson returned Patti’s wedding deposit. They even stopped to get Patti a new office dress as they drove to the terminal.

Naomi Thompson arranged for Brother Ignatius to pick her up and explain the philosophy of the Conference- they had all come together and decided that the parishioner’s money could be better spent helping people than each having their own office- so many new things like this were happening in 1969. It made Patti wonder if her mattress would be on the floor.

Patti’s bed was a wonderful antique with a mission bedside table. The apartment was not far from a store that sold strawberry rolling papers, and she was also glad to see the Shoney’s. Brother Ignatius bragged that the coffee was good there, " but likely," he said, "Cosette has left a French Press pot in the kitchen along with some heavy cream" because of priests sneaking over for a cuppa.

He escorted her to the door and gave her the two keys. She alone entered a lovely space with cove, plaster ceilings painted the color of eggshells and curtains like desert sunsets. Clean, lemonly scent mingled with the smell of older woodwork and linoleum wafted through the rooms.

After a bit she hoisted up the prized Samsonite gifts from Aunt Grace, who always wore earrings, and lipstick- unlike her sacrificing mom, who always wore keds- Aunt Grace had lotion in the bathrooms and served cocktails on the patio. Patti put most of her clothes and toiletries away and saw the French soap in the tub, hesitating when she got to the pills, her secret. The white cotton nighty had been for the wedding night; but she could just wear it. Years later she would learn that people knew Chuck had been having regular sex with Tammy – who “already liked it a lot" according to everyone, so, according to everyone- Patty did well to leave.

Her dinner made her feel like she was on vacation- This apartment was really hers after a quick bath with French soap. She slept comfortably in sweats and a tee. The next morning, refreshed, she lay on the bed thinking about how to use a “French Press” then the phone rang. As Patti grabbed the phone by the twisted cord, Mrs. Thompson exclaimed, “So you made it! Great apartment isn’t it? We have stayed in the cottage several times, and it is private for when you entertain.” Not something she had really considered on the fast track of the big changes- No more boys making sex jokes and slapping each other’s backs, girls using the community can of “Adorn Hairspray” which lived on top of the Kotex machine at the Clifton Three Way. Just as she became sure that she had experinced what the magazine termed” the feminine release” and was longing to experience it with her husband- to- be- it was then she endured a process very brutal, then the slow unwinding of her dreams, the dying spin of a dreidel, as they drove down and around the mountain, past the spot where Chuck secretly parked with Tammy, the girl he enjoyed but was ashamed to marry, the girl who had told her to loosen up for Chuck’s sake-a girl who had been “started “, sexually used by her uncle… no, she had never seen any of them coming to her apartment to hear “Simon and Garfunkel“; or, eat her salads with sunflower seeds.

Naomi said, “ Patti, you will meet Mrs. Birch, on Monday and she will show you the ropes- we work for the Baptists, the Buddhists, and Mary’s Chapel of Perpetual Adoration. "But have you found Cosettes’s carnet? She felt she should leave for the next assistant." She found it right then and as she opened it, a hundred dollars fells out. Patti asked if she meant the little black notebook.

“Yes! Could we interest you in doing the turnover checklist this weekend?” Patti couldn’t imagine what needed to be done on the apartment for that much money. Naomi continued, “It is very old and special.”. Patti fingered the soft, buttery cover of fine grained leather. “The neighborhood is safe but always lock your doors, and there is a washing machine which the priests usually use on Tuesday and oh I am getting too complicated- Just ask anybody for anything while you save for a car.”

After breakfast she opened more Samsonite- the middle one- and retrieved her little record player and set it up to play her favorite, “I know There’ll Never Be Another You”- by Judith Durham and sang along, realizing that Chuck had never even heard the song. When Chuck visited with her father and talked about his family auto shop it had seemed real enough, though now she barely recalled the attraction for his muscular arms and sandy hair.

She started the checklist and dressed for the day in jeans and put on her tiny gold chain, brushed out her teased up little bob and decided to grow it long. In just a few years, her long, swingy bronze hair became her trademark with big, gold hoops. At a visit to the corner store, she purchased her first bottle of Mateus, paper cups, cheese and water crackers like her family never bought- “Oh Patti- we don’t need those”, and SpaghettiOs- to start. She also wanted some Patchouli. Going now the other direction to the thrift store, she met her first real friend of her new life, not associated for any reason but for the pleasure of her company. And another night passed, peacefully.

Would she get a little notebook too? She had never seen anything quite like this black book in a dime store. She drank the wine slowly reading the French- she had two semesters in high school- imagining the young soldier, the French hens and their eggs, the woman who deeply grieved the war and her lost baby and the man who in a market, hurriedly pens words of his own poem written about the loss of his own daughter.

She quickly adapted to the new office and loved the feel of everyone mingling different ideas and histories. She liked the Zen Garden, the smell of incense that came from the rectory, and bustling Indian restaurant on the corner. It was kind of a dream job- not like a girl could get in Morenci- a job that let new ideas and foreign places make a home in your mind. Here were koi fish and a laughing Buddha.

Her best friend Sakti’s family owned the thrift store connected to their Family Indian Restaurant. Sakti, had permission to come over from her traditional family on a Friday night here and there and drink some wine as long as her Father could pick her up by midnight. She explained that he was both tolerant and protective. They even found her a TV. Eventually Patti had her parents come up from Clifton and she paid for them to stay in a motel- which she could easily afford- and they made trips to visit Aunt Grace in Modesto once more.

One night after she had settled in, she watched a story about Earnest Hemingway and his carnet- the “notebook that owned him”, that he carried with him everywhere to capture new ideas. So many of the nice things left behind in her little place had been seeded by Cossette. Sakti’s father’s family in India was quite well to do- and helped Cossette sell the antiques she had retrieved from France. Sometimes she and Sakti listened to Ravi Shankar while they drank wine and one night Sakti told her about Cosette's mother and how the black notebook had been hidden and survived all the bombings. Sakti’s hands moved in a special way when she made gestures of importance. Her three golden bracelets would glisten in the light as if she was making mudras in conversation. She looked right into Patti eyes and said- “take care of it and come to us before you sell it.”. But Patti had never thought of selling it - the notes and drawings being personal. With each reading of the carnet, she came to value hope more than money.

Patti dated a lot; but often enjoyed the friendship of the carnet, the intimate pictures of the war and the life of Madeline. Finally, realizing it's true worth, she contacted the museum. Before taking the very special notebook to the curator at the University, Patti read it aloud one last time in high school French, translating in her mind - “Demain dès l'aube. “Tomorrow as soon as there is light… and finally:

I will not see the gold of the evening falling,

nor the sails in the distance going down toward Harfleur,

and when I arrive, I will lay on your tomb

a bouquet of green holly and of heather in bloom.

To my dearest friend in grief, Madeline Cosette- You will have another and you must give her your name, as I gave my Leopoldine the name of her brother also lost to myself. V. Hugo September 18--

The remarkable Cosette, left a gift beyond what she might harbor for herself. Patti gave it to everyone. Known to many sources for her philanthropy, Patti never again gave her heart; but, eventually she became bonded to another generous soul.

A parishioner? Maybe it was Aunt Grace? That night, just before Patti and Hashem entered their suite, someone quietly laid $ 20,000 between the pillow of bride and groom, support for their lives. And so of course by noon, the very next day, a very generous Patti and Hashem created an agency, " The Friendship Center", a place for women to unfold a new myth.