Florence was 80 years old, when she decided to seek counseling to help her with her loneliness and her inability to stay asleep at night. A year before she had moved to New Jersey to a retirement apartment building. Although she realized she was old when stared into the mirror in her bathroom, she didn’t feel old. What she did feel was lonely and unrested every day.
Florence had been married for more than 30 years, many of which happily in Albuquerque, New Mexico. They had their children, a son and a daughter, when early married and living in New York. They had a retail and mail order antique map business and made a good living. Larry was an expert at antique finding. He read classifieds and attended antique shows, flea markets, and auctions. He located quality maps and frames to fill their inventory. Before purchasing for the store, Florence, an expert in maps would determine the proper acquisition price for the greatest resale profitability. They were a most effective pair for their business.
After a number of years living in Brooklyn, they tired of the New York intensity and crowded lifestyle. An opportunity appeared to buy a successful map and artifact store in New Mexico. And so the four urbanites uprooted everything and shipped home and business to the far Southwest. Forty happy and successful years later Bill took sick with cancer and died quickly. By this time both of the children had grown and moved back to the East Coast, to New Jersey.
Florence, alone and in her late seventies became concerned about her age and distance from family. Although she had many friends in Albuquerque, she felt the need to be close to her children in case she became ill. They encouraged her to move close, and she sold her home and business again to return to where she started. Thus she found herself in South Jersey. Unfortunately, her son and daughter had busy lives and families. Although they tried their best to visit, soon Florence was more alone than in New Mexico. There she had close friends, and felt most at home.
Florence started her therapy sessions with her description of her problems, loneliness, and sleeplessness, and followed with her life history.
Born and educated in Manhattan, I was an only child of Jewish parents, New Yorkers for many generations. In college I had majored in anthropology and cartography. A particular interest of mine was antique maps, especially of locations within the western United States. I started to collect maps from book stores and antique stores. I decorated my bedroom with printed and hand-colored maps. At 22 I had no marriage plans and no boyfriend prospects. I was a home-body who after classes or work, read in my room. I was not a socialite and my parents feared I would be an “old maid” who would live with them forever.
Oh!
She interrupted her history.
I’ll tell you how I met my husband. You’ll love this story.
One evening as I lay in my bedroom reading, my father stepped in and closed the door. I looked up from my book as my father stood before me very uncomfortable with his arms folded.
Yes Dad? What’s on your mind?
You and your future. Do you ever intend to marry, or at least move out on your own?
Are you asking me to pack up and leave?
No, of course not, but Mom and I look forward to your marriage and hopefully grandchildren.
I put my book down and sat up.
Are you afraid I’ll grow old and grey living with you in this apartment?
Well…you’re an attractive young woman who never goes out on dates. Do you ever meet any men? If you don’t maybe you will be with us forever.
I laughed.
I’ll meet somebody someday. I’m just not interested right now. I do have friends though, male and female. I do go out sometimes after work.
I don’t see that. You always seem to be here in your room.
So…what would you like me to do?
Well Mom and I saw an ad in the paper about social events in New York. You and I used to go fishing off the pier at Coney Island when you were little. You always enjoyed that and sometimes we even caught a fish. My old fishing rod and reel were in the locker downstairs and I brought all the fishing stuff up.
Are you and I going fishing at the pier Dad?
Florence was amused.
No…I’m not going. You are.
There’s a party fishing boat that’s sailing this Sunday off Coney Island. I signed you up.
What?
We want you to get out of this apartment and go be with people, preferably with other young people…boys. We’re not going to stop pestering you until you agree to go fishing Sunday.
Mom’s voice chimed in from outside the door. I am insisting too.
Alright, Alright…I’ll go.
Dad handed her the cut-out ad with the information.
7:00 AM on Sunday…Boy you really want to get rid of me. OK, I’ll go fishing…and meet boys.
Good…go back to your reading…for now.
Sunday morning, I, the compliant daughter dressed in comfortable “fishing” clothes and was ready to leave by 6:00. I softly closed the front door and walked down the hallway stairs to the front door and to the street. This early in the morning the outside was foggy and cloudy. I boarded the trolley car and then walked the rest of the way to the pier at Coney Island. By 6:45 as I approached the fishing boat the air had cleared and the sun had broken through the clouds.
Most of the Sunday “anglers” had boarded and had found their places at the rail on deck. I climbed the gangplank and found a space for myself and my fishing rod and toolbox. Everyone else had rented equipment from the boat, but Dad wanted me to be totally prepared and ready to drop in my line.
I was proud to be a gutsy woman, unafraid to venture alone. My father had assumed that this was a singles cruise. I scanned the deck for people who looked single. I saw couples, groups of women together and groups of older men with tattoos. I prepared myself for a day of meditative fishing…alone.
After I set up my equipment and the boat left the dock, I dropped my line into the water just to drag along until we stopped at the “anchor spot”.
I avoided contact, verbal or eye with any other customers, but furtively glanced around at those who were closest. Next to me were three young men, two close to my age and one 15-year-old with a brownie camera. The 15-year-old broke the silence with a question.
Hi lady. Are you a teacher? You look like one.
How do I look like a teacher?
I don’t know. You just do. You’re very serious.
No I’m not. I’m just here to fish, that’s all.
I just got this camera for my birthday. These are my two older brothers. They’re here to fish too. I’m here to take pictures. Can I take your picture?
Yes, and I’ll try not to look like a teacher.
I smiled and tapped his shoulder. I looked up at his brothers and all four of us smiled at each other. Then the boat stopped and everyone got down to the business of baiting hooks and dropping lines into the water.
Meanwhile the 15-year-old was getting tired of snapping pictures.
I was preoccupied with my “biteless” fishing, almost losing consciousness. I paid no attention to the boys close-by.
The two older brothers were planning something with the 11-year-old. They whispered to him and pointed to the other side of the boat. He looked in that direction and smiled shaking his head. He then walked away toward the other side of the deck. The two older brothers and I continued to fish quietly paying no attention to each other.
The young photographer started a conversation with a man who was fishing across the boat. The man looked in the direction of our side of the deck and nodded his head with a smile. The two older brothers had created a scheme that would involve the new man, the 11-year- old and me. But I had no idea of the plan.
This was the plan.
The little brother with the camera was asking another young man to take a look at the women fishing near his brothers. Did he find her good looking? He nodded. Would he be willing to walk over to the other side of the boat, grab her in his arms and kiss her romantically on the lips. Again he nodded. The two of them walked around to the other side of the boat to his brothers and me.
I was dazed, nearly asleep, when this new young man put his arms around me affectionately and kissed me full on the lips. And the 11-year-old snapped photo after photo.
I was shocked, surprised, and laughing with the rest of the people on our side of the deck. I was not angry. I didn’t feel violated. It was a happy surprise.
The five of us spent the rest of the day together. We went out to dinner together and the new young man and I spent the next 30 years happily together.
I, the therapist responded to her story with surprise and enjoyment.
Wow! What a great romantic beginning. Did your parents like him?
They loved him from the start, as I did. My father insisted that this was the most historically successful fishing adventure ever. What a catch.
Before you continue your story, I must ask about the photographs. What a pity you don’t have the evidence to complete the story.
Florence smiled , took out her wallet and pulled out two old pieces of paper.
Of course I have them. They make this story the best story. She handed them to me.
A half century evidence of successful fishing.
