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Message The Things We CarrySENIORS MEET SENIORSSpring Semester2025

Who We AreThe Things We Carry 06SENIORS MEET SENIORSThe Seniors Meet Seniors Community self-describes as a very upbeatand energetic class who loves games and talking with each other. We area small, yet determined class, that has powerful discussions with youngerand older students from The Duxbury Senior Center. The best part of ourdaily routine is to play Wordle and Connections. We have built strongconnections with each other while competing and solving these problemstogether. When we meet with all together with the experienced students, wediscuss far off economies and geographic trivia, we talk about past tripstaken by our seniors and ourselves, we divulge information about oneanother’s plans for the future. We are never short of conversation. Thissemester we read Tim O’Brien’s The Things They Carried. This bookcatalogues our takeaways from that text via vignettes about what wecarry. We are looking forward to continuing to meet with our lovely seniors,and discussing and dissecting the deeper meanings of books we read,finishing our year with the literary phenomenon Hunger Games, andbuilding long lasting friendships.

The Things We Carry 02The Things They Carried TIM O’BRIENFirst Lieutenant Jimmy Cross carried letters from a girl named Martha, a junior atMount Sebastian College in New Jersey. They were not love letters, but LieutenantCross was hoping, so he kept them folded in plastic at the bottom of his rucksack...The letters weighed 10 ounces. They were signed Love, Martha, but Lieutenant Crossunderstood that Love was only a way of signing and did not mean what he sometimespretended it meant. At dusk, he would carefully return the letters to his rucksack. The things they carried were largely determined by necessity. Among the necessities ornear-necessities were P-38 can openers, pocket knives, heat tabs, wristwatches, dogtags, mosquito repellent, chewing gum, candy, cigarettes, salt tablets, packets of Kool-Aid, lighters, matches, sewing kits, Military Payment Certificates, C rations, and two orthree canteens of water. Together, these items weighed between 15 and 20 pounds,depending upon a man's habits or rate of metabolism. Henry Dobbins, who was a bigman, carried extra rations; he was especially fond of canned peaches in heavy syrupover pound cake. Dave Jensen, who practiced field hygiene, carried a toothbrush,dental floss, and several hotel-sized bars of soap he'd stolen on R&R in Sydney,Australia. Ted Lavender, who was scared, carried tranquilizers until he was shot in thehead outside the village of Than Khe in mid-April. By necessity, and because it wasSOP, they all carried steel helmets that weighed 5 pounds including the liner andcamouflage cover. They carried the standard fatigue jackets and trousers. Very fewcarried underwear. On their feet they carried jungle boots—2.1 pounds—and DaveJensen carried three pairs of socks and a can of Dr. Scholl's foot powder as aprecaution against trench foot.To carry something was to hump it, as when Lieutenant Jimmy Cross humped his lovefor Martha up the hills and through the swamps. In its intransitive form, to humpmeant to walk, or to march, but it implied burdens far beyond the intransitive. Almosteveryone humped photographs. In his wallet, Lieutenant Cross carried twophotographs of Martha. The first was a Kodacolor snapshot signed Love, though heknew better.On the morning after Ted Lavender died, First Lieutenant JimmyCross crouched at the bottom of his foxhole and burned Martha'sletters. Then he burned the two photographs. There was a steadyrain falling, which made it difficult, but he used heat tabs andSterno to build a small fire, screening it with his body, holding thephotographs over the tight blue flame with the tips of his fingers.He realized it was only a gesture. Stupid, he thought. Sentimental,too, but mostly just stupid. Lavender was dead. You couldn't burnthe blame.They carried all the emotional baggage of men who might die. Grief, terror, love,longing—these were intangibles, but the intangibles had their own mass and specificgravity, they had tangible weight. They carried shameful memories. They carried thecommon secret of cowardice barely restrained, the instinct to run or freeze or hide,and in many respects this was the heaviest burden of all, for it could never be putdown, it required perfect balance and perfect posture. They carried their reputations.They carried the soldier's greatest fear, which was the fear of blushing.

The Things We CarryThe UnrelentingQuestionBELLA CHAVES? “Always ask questions, even if you annoy everyone else around you,”my aunt said. My aunt would watch me while my mom and dad went out for dinner. Wewere watching Spongebob and getting cozy under our shared blanket. Myheart was always full when I was with her; she would tell me about her lifein New York, how she rode a motorcycle, how she started working as abartender, and her art shows. I wanted to be just like her. These nightswhen she would care for me were so special. I was relentless; when I got ananswer to a question, I would nitpick and ask even more questions. WhileSpongebob flipped krabby patties, I wondered when my parents werecoming home, I wondered what tomorrow’s school lunch would consist of,and I wondered how long the drive to New York was. My parents wouldoften get annoyed at this part of me. One day, I told my aunt about thisproblem. I expected the same response I always got, that we all must learnnot to bother others, but she took me by surprise when she gave me heranswer. I was confused, I let her response sink in. I was always taught to berespectful, to be quiet, and to not bother others. But I learned somethingthat day. You can be kind and still speak up for yourself. Searching forknowledge should not be restricted by the bounds of shyness or a fear ofannoyance. Hearing something so empowering from a woman that I lookedup to so much was more impactful than she would ever know. After ourtalk, I remember asking her all sorts of questions, mostly stupid ones, butlooking back, I realize how important it was for me to ask these questions. Ibecame fearless in my curiosity, and this fearlessness has shaped me intothe person I am. Now, I put my curiosity in front of my fear of others’reactions. In my English classes, when we would have Socratic seminars, Iwas not afraid to speak up and question other people's takes on the topic.Not to be mean, but to further understand where they were coming from. Iam not afraid to ask people for help, which is a common struggle amongyoung adults. Asking questions has allowed me to navigate the world as Igrow. This lesson has stuck with me, and my Aunt’s words have lived in theback of my mind since that day.

Years after getting this beloved necklace, I found myself worryingthe night before my first-ever varsity match. I was so nervous that Iwouldn’t live up to the expectations I had set for myself. In a last-ditcheffort to calm my nerves the night before, I found myself hoping to find away I could remind myself throughout my match that it was going to beokay. Then it hit me, the small yet sentimental necklace my grandmothergave me. Then it was match day, and eventually, my first ever match. Ispun my necklace between points, feeling the small and delicate ridges onone side, remembering each of the small details of the day I got it. The next day, standing at the end of the tennis court, facing the firstmatch of my high school career. My anticipation and nerves rose withevery second, bringing my mind out of body in a surreal moment that Inever imagined myself in the year before. Every additional moment builtup the pressure of success in my head, and the one thing I found myselfdoing was flipping my necklace between my fingers. The rhythmic andintricate movement calmed my nerves, reminding me of the years of low-stakes playing with my cousins over the summer.Jordan Fiorentino In a dimly lit, frozen-in-the-70s living room, I saton my grandparents' couch as my grandmother placed asmall white box in my hand. My grandmother said thatshe had gotten this gift for her 16th birthday almost 60years prior. I gently pried open the box, which quicklyflung open. Inside was a small golden cross, situated on agolden chain, both of which belonged to my great-grandmother. My grandmother told me that it was a giftfor her birthday and confirmation, and almost 60 yearslater, my grandmother passed it to me. I was so excitedabout getting it. Within my family, we all knew mygrandmother as a sentimental person, gifting all threeof her granddaughters matching gifts. I have always beenextremely close with my grandmother, yet being heryoungest granddaughter by nearly a decade, being giftedone of her most treasured pieces of jewelry, I was beyond Hanging on My Heartsurprised. This necklace wasn’t just a necklace, it was a constant reminderof my grandmother that I can keep on me at all times. Now, I find myselflooking towards my necklace for any big events. It brings me comfort onhard days and extra motivation on good days. When I wear my necklace, itsits just over my heart and serves as a constant reminder of my family’ssupport and unconditional love.

The Things We Carry02The Thing Paul CarriesWhen I was 14, I left my home in Ukraine. I had to saygoodbye to the friends I grew up with. I still have a picture ofus. Every time I look at it, I remember the good times we had—just hanging out and having fun. It reminds me of a part ofmy life I can never go back to. I miss the feeling of being closeto everyone, the comfort of knowing that I was surrounded bypeople who understood me. Now, everything feels a bitdifferent. I still carry that sense of belonging with me, eventhough I'm far from home. It's a feeling that's always with me,no matter where I go.

I like to keep my water bottle by my side when I row so that I canhave it whenever. Thank god I had it, I thought to myself. Sweat waspouring down my face as I reached for my green Gatorade waterbottle, which I always keep to the right of my erg. My heart began tosink as I grasped air and realized that I didn't have my bottle. Piecesin rowing are workouts, and these pieces can either be timed drillsor meter drills. This workout was a pair of 3-minute drills to simulatea race. As the final seconds ticked down, I realized how badly Ineeded water. My head was pounding as I ran out of the room and itfelt like there was a fierce battle going on. It seemed like the bubblerwas across the world, but in reality, it was just 20 feet away. Themoment I took a sip off of the bubbler, life rushed back into my bodyand a clear picture of my surroundings replaced my hazy sight. Thislittle bit of water, although a small amount, would get me throughthe next piece. As I came back into the erg room, the coxswains wentfrom erg to erg, recording the total meters of the piece.“1 down,” someone said, “We still have 1 more!”“We are not done yet, boys,” one of our coxswains said.“The first part of the boat race is over,” Our coach said, “Now keepit steady until our sprint” We had a short break between the pieces in which we could stretchand recover. I looked around and saw that everyone had a waterbottle. I realized that I hadn’t drunk any water since lunch. I’m neverforgetting my water bottle again. Of all the days I could forget it, Idid so on the day that was arguably the worst. If only I had my waterbottle I could be hydrated. Being hydrated and having water isessential for staying healthy.05Rowing RefreshmentsPatrick Brown

I walked over to the water fountain and took the bright orange cap off mygreen water bottle. I filled it up with clear liquid that looked like it had justbeen fresh from a glacier. I place it down for a minute while I stretch. My coachyells “Kyle Hurry up and get in the boat” I ran onto the docks and got into myboat. I could feel the heat beating down on me. Rowing along the beach I cansee cars driving along the bridge. With water surrounding my boat. The sunbeating down on me harder as I fly along the water. I lead the seven otherrowers behind me. Pressing my legs off of the board in front of me and pullingmy arms in. Each stroke feels harder to do than the last one. Trying to stay inperfect time while I can feel the weight of the other seven rowers moving theboat behind me. I can hear the waves crashing down on the nearby beach , andthe noise of the other rowers' water bottles rolling through the hull of the boat.We finish the 20 minute piece and take a two minute rest before our next one.My throat feels dry like sandpaper. I wipe the sweat off my face and look in thehull of the boat. It was empty and I left my water on the dock. I sigh but push itoff , it's time to start another piece. We have three pieces left, each one harderthan the last. Before the last piece I look down panting trying to catch mybreath. I look down and see my legs salt stained by the water shining in thesun. The salt dried on my body. The coxswain in front of me was talking to me,their voice fading in and out. “Pick up the pace” they say, “Huh, oh yeah yeah I will” I say exhaustedBy the end of it I could barely think and my mouth was dry. All I could thinkabout was that cold clear water at the docks. We finished the piece and startedslowly rowing back to the docks. Each stroke I thought of that crystal clearcold water just laying on the dock. We made it back after an hour and a halfout on the water , climbed out of the boat onto the dock. I layed on it and feltmy skin heating up and burning from the dock. I reached for my water,chugging it. I was ready for the cold water but was disappointed when thewater was hot from baking in the sun. The hot water going through my bodywasn’t as refreshing as the cold water it once was , but I didn’t care. The waterrevived me.H2O no!by Kyle Campbell

An Unknowing Companion I carry my wallet, something almost as constant as gravity. It sits on the sameside every day, sits on the same corner of my dresser every day, and sits in thesame part of my center console every day. My wallet is a second heart, two yearsold now. It was purchased at Nathan Benderson Park, a man-made lake inSarasota, Florida. I was there to row, at our nationals, a sport that has now lost itssplendor and dedication it was once serendaded with. Me along with the otherguys in the boat, decided to go out and look at the little pop-up shops. All of usgravitated towards these sleek-looking carbon fiber wallets, with the black steelmoney clip. My Captain Brian King chirped up in suggestion, pushing all of us topurchase it. All eight of those surrounding me agreed, nodding their heads, andpurchasing them all. Mine is the only one still remaining out of the nine totalbought that day, the only one not buried in a closet or strewn into many piecesthrown across a landfill somewhere. Those carbon fiber wallets carry many things, mine chipped now, with a fewscrews missing, and the paint fading along the metal money clip. Each one of thesewallets held, or still holds memories. Each card is a memento of a challenge facedat some point in the past. My SCUBA diving certification, my drivers license, butone most important to me, my FID. The hardest challenge so far, with the safetycourses, the hunting certification that counts for gun safety, the months waitingfor my fingerprinting and photo, and the months more waiting for me to get myphysical card. I do not waste space in this rectangular contraption with businesscards, gift cards, or other wastes of space. It strictly holds the things I need. This wallet has been jostling in my pocket deep in the woods of Western Massas I make a way to a treestand. This wallet has been locked away deep in the chestpocket of my Grundens as I fished from Duxbury Bay, to the dark, cold, and deepwaters of Stellwagen Bank. This convenient little thing has joined me every hour ofthe day since I got it, and I plan to have it join me for countless more. This sleekthing has been a companion in a journey it cannot appreciate. Unfortunately, thiswallet cannot talk with me, it can not think, it doesn’thave emotions. Even though this wallet lacks thosehumanizing characteristics it has personality, it hasmemories. It has been a quiet observer to my journeythese past two years, holding my challenges andstoring them in thin plastic form, for me to look backat and remember. This tiny rectangle, this tinyfriend, has seen highs and lows; it has seenme searching for it in my car to show a copmy license (after said wallet fell out of mypocket, a mistake never again repeated).No one could have thought that a walletwould become a prized possession,but it certainly is one of mine. 07By Jack Hillary

There it was, the deep blue pool seemed to get larger the longer I stared.Was I ready for this? I thought to myself as hundreds of possibilities ranthrough my mind. I’m walking towards the starting block, sweating bullets,when I heard a voice yell “Swim Fast!” It was my mom. Seeing her in the stands full of energy, I step up to theblocks with new-found courage, feeling untouchable. I had heard the stories ofmy mom back in the day, winning every race she stepped up for, breakingrecords left and right, that’s what I wanted to be. My mom was my role model,she’s the person I have always looked to be like. The official calls the start “Take your mark.” Seconds later, the buzzer goes off, and I dive into the pool. I could feel theenergy of the crowd around me, the loud cheering and clapping, but there wasone sound I could make out from the rest: it was my mom's whistle. Everybreath I would take I’d hear her whistle and I would go faster. It felt as if I hadblinked and the race was over, and when I finally looked around me I had won,and there my mom was waiting for me right at the end of my lane. Climbing out of the water, Mom hugged me tight, her voice shaky but proud.The crowd roared, but her whistle still buzzed in my ears—sharp, urgent,exactly how I remembered it from her old races. Her faded team jacket, slungover my shoulders, soaked up pool water as I glanced at the record board. Hername glared back, bold and weathered. All those brutal practices, the sacrifices—they’ve led here. The People Around MeAidan H08

My waterbottle is always with me, dangling off a finger, sitting in my cupholder as I drive, or on my bedside table ready to be grabbed whenever.Five years ago, I got the stomach bug. It passes quickly, within24 hours, but the next day the symptoms returned. The Things We Carry 10ABI DIPALMAThe Things I CarryBut one day turned into two, and two into a week, andsoon enough it a month had passed. Every day wasthe same. I would wake up, try to go back to sleepwith no success. Eventually, I would be forced to getup and make my way to the kitchen, where I wouldnibble on some saltines if it were a good day beforereturning to the safety of my bed or the couch.Around midday, my mom would come in, coaxing meup and outside for some fresh air. I remember theway my muscles ached and every step felt like amountain. I remember the way my bones protrudedand how every day felt like an eternity, where all Icould do was sit and wait, praying the feeling wouldgo away. The thing about getting sick like this is thateverything else gets put on hold, and the only thingyou can do is try to get better. For six months, I facedconstant nausea, leaving me bedridden for much ofthat time. I went to doctor after doctor, but nobodycould figure out what it was. I couldn't eat or move; Iremember sitting in bed, eyes locked on a blankstretch of the wall in front of me, taking small sips ofwater in an attempt to ease the nausea whenever Icould. I lost 20 pounds and missed a lot of school, butI eventually got better. And though I am back to mynormal life, my water bottle stays by my side, at theready for when that feeling comes back and I need asip of water, and as a reminder that things get better.Over the years, it has collected stickers and dents,each telling its own story, and it has become a visualcollection of my memories and passions. So for those reasons, I carry my water bottle, the anxiety of getting sick,and the confidence that things will get better.

We stood in a circle at the edge of the trail, a group of strangers about tospend four days hiking together through the Inca Trail. “Hi, I’m Noelle, I’m17, and I’m from Massachusetts,” I said. Around the circle came the rest ofthe introductions: Yao, a nurse from Singapore; Ting, her best friend andhiking partner; Shirley—who my Dad and I quickly nicknamed “SquirrelyShirley” for her hyper energy—followed by Pauline, Matthieu, my Dad, andfinally our tour guide, Angel, who’s hiked Machu Picchu more than 50times. This trip had been years in the making. When I turned thirteen, my Dadgave my twin sister and me the chance to choose any destination in theworld. While she hesitated, unsure of where to start, I knew. Since a sixth-grade slideshow flashed an image of Machu Picchu on the screen, I knew Iwanted to go to Peru. Now, in the summer of 2023, I was finally here. My dad and I had signed upfor a 26-mile trek on the Inca Trail. 26 Miles, 3 Nights, and 4 Days. Itsounded thrilling in theory, but I was nervous. I had zero hiking experience,and I couldn’t stop thinking about how much I hated just walking up thestairs at school. Day one threw me in the deep end. The air was heavy withheat—85 degrees and rising—and mosquitoes were attacking me. Therewere no easy, flat sections and no opportunities to catch my breath. I wassweating, my knees ached, and the backpack I was carrying, which seemedmanageable at the start, now felt like I was carrying multiple bowling balls.I remember thinking, If this is the easiest day, how will I survive the next 3days?The Things We Carry 10Rhythms of the Ruins Noelle Sanmarco

As it turned out, day two was “Dead Woman’s Pass,” the highest point onthe trail, reaching around 14,000 feet. The name alone was daunting, andthis was allegedly the hardest day. Six hours of hiking, half uphill, halfdownhill. I started the day dragging my feet, complaining loudly, andseriously considering faking an ankle injury so I could stop. But then,during our lunch break, I reached into my bag looking for an orange andinstead found my AirPods, hidden under my fleece. I hadn’t evenremembered packing them. There was no signal, no WiFi, but I still hadone thing—my downloaded Taylor Swift albums. Every. Single. One.I put them in. Pressed play. Tim McGraw started (the first song onTaylor’s Debut Album), and suddenly the rhythm of my steps began tosync with the music. The hours didn’t disappear, but they passed bymuch quicker. Taylor’s lyrics, full of memory and melody, distracted mefrom the burn in my legs and the thinning air. It was as if she were hikingwith me, narrating the climb with her stories, metaphors, and motivatingbridges. From that moment on, something had changed. The rest of the hike wasenjoyable, and I started soaking in everything around me: the birdschirping in the background, the ancient ruins along the way, and the chit-chat of the people in my tour group, who had come from all around theworld to experience this once-in-a-lifetime experience. I began to feelstronger and more motivated—not because the hike got easier, butbecause I started believing I could do it. By the time we reached the Sun Gate and looked at the ruins below, itwas not just the view that made this experience surreal—it was the factthat I did it. The miles had not gotten any shorter, and the trail did notget flatter. But between the sweat, the music in my ears, and the rhythmof my steps, I stopped doubting that I could do this. In hindsight, thehardest part was not the trail itself, but believing I could do it. The Things We Carry 10

I carry my water bottle with me everywhere I go. It has been part of more journeys than any of mybelongings. It comes with me to school every day to cure me when my throat gets dry, wakes me up with acold refreshing sip when classes drone on. My water bottle comes with me to hang out with my friends,stays next to me when I am sick, and goes with me on every adventure when I travel. Most importantly mywater bottle comes with me to every game, and practice, meet, and competition. Whether it’s field hockey,lacrosse, rowing, soccer, dance, track, or swim team my water is the only thing I need. My water bottle isalways there, dependable and unchanging. While I can not control how well everyone plays, how good theother team is, how the weather is, or what calls the refs make; I can control having my water. Offering meone of the most dependable cures known to man; water. I call it “my emotional support water bottle”, Idont always even drink from it but I always like to know it's there. Whether it’s a practice or a game, mywater bottle is there for it all. Win or lose I need my water bottle. My white and green field hockey uniform sits nicely on my skin as I finish braiding my ponytail. I takeone final sip of the calming liquid before I toss my most dependable belongings to the ground. Our teamstarts our warmup laps and stretches before the second game of my senior field hockey season. I run tothe side to get another sip from my water bottle as I peer over at Cohasset’s bench, evaluating thecompetition. As we stand in the huddle and discuss the game plan to beat a team we’ve never playedbefore I fidget with the lid as I listen. My water bottle was there with me in the brutal game against them inlacrosse but we have never faced them in field hockey before. We knew how important this game was toset the tone of the season and how talented the team we faced was. We place our hands in together,united as a team as we scream “DUXBURY ON 3!” and one “1…2…3” it all begins. I take one more final sip before we take the field and the chaos begins. The battle on the field startsand neither team wants to face defeat. I came off the field after the first quarter, the air felt thin, each gaspwas a desperate fight to fill my lungs. The early September weather still felt like mid-August heat. Sweatdripped down my face as my chest constricted, each breath still a painful struggle. A sip from my waterhelped tone down my huffing and puffing and I was able to listen to Coach Martin adjusting our plan ofattack on the field. We knew that Cohasset would be good but we were not expecting them to be this good.However, we were playing up to their level if not above it. I took one more sip of my water to get the luckand energy it provided before I returned to the field. While the score was still 0-0 we were playing the best we’ve ever played. It was only the second gameof the season but we moved so swiftly and in sync with each other you would have thought that we hadbeen playing for months. The time ticked down on the clock and our exhaustion increased but so did ourdetermination. A swift pass across the net and “BANG” Kate Mcgoldrick knocked the ball straight into theback of their net. The team lept into the air in sync and shouted with joy. We all hugged each other andfinally getting a goal changed the whole tone of the game. It fully recharged our batteries and we no longerfelt any exhaustion, we were ready to score again! The game continued and our team was playing even better. Our team had possession of the ball with afierce determination as we made our way towards their goal. Suddenly a pass crossed the net and landedright in front of my stick and I hit it right past the goalie's pads and into the net. The team was on a highafter another goal and the energy on the field was like no other. We snuck one more goal in before thefinal buzzer went off and we beat one of the top-ranked teams in the state 3-0. We all ran to ourgoalie hugging and yelling with joy, congratulating each other on a job well done. As I jogged off the field I went straight to where my water bottle was sitting watching thisexciting match. I took a quick sip, realizing how thirsty I was after the adrenaline started to weardown. We said good game and shook hands with the other team before we brought it in for onelast huddle. I sat with my water bottle between my hands as I listened to Coach Martin go over thehighs and lows of the game and how we can build off this win in the future. I wasn’t sure how thenext game would go, but I did know my water bottle would be there.13The Item I Need Cate Nagle

The Thing(s) that Carries Me June O’Neil To name one item I find necessary to have on board is difficult: water(obviously), my wedding ring to keep the wolves away (oh Yeah!), my I-watch and phone in case I fall "and can't get up" and my transportsystem. But I guess out of all of these, the transport system (walker, andcane (ugh) are necessary for both embarrassment and survival!!!! Afterall, if I am on the ground, others around would either walk by, cluckingtheir teeth or lend a hand helping to solve my problem (getting backup!!). The hardest part of all of this is admitting I need these transport itemseven though I know I need them - my feet and legs are not mineanymore!!! They have an independent nature of their own and will go outfrom under at the worse times!!! Any there I land - trying hard to laughbut really being angry at the position I am in!!! I do not recommendanyone trying any of this - stay upright and keep on rockin". As for intangible items running along with me - my family values of truth,kindness and frugality are all in me (though sometimes I might losesight). My Mom used to say to me: "Oh June, the Road to hell is pavewith good intentions and yours is well paved" and I know she is stillright. So I continue down this long path to somewhere with laughter andhope as my guides, Any Oh! how I love my people and animals Kindnessis all around us, just have to keep your eyes open and give of yourself.

I wear them every day, the silver dangling earrings which my husband broughtback from Mexico many years ago. I have lots of other earrings to choosefrom, but I love the look of these ones, and I really appreciate the sacrificethey represent. When we were first married, Jack was a lawyer on active duty in the Army. Welived in Hawai’i, where our first child was born. Later, when we returned toMassachusetts, now with three kids, he joined the Army Reserves while heworked full-time in a Boston law firm. He was stationed at various reservecenters in New England and twice in Staten Island over the decades. Hemissed so many important family moments and celebrations while he was onreserve duty. Of the ten proms our kids went to, he was able to witness justone. Over 31 years in the Army, he was deployed many times, often to someof the most dangerous places in the world. In fact, when he was in Mexico, his role was to train local judges and lawyers about upholding civil and humanrights during trials. He had been escorted everywhere by armed guards in hisvehicle, with a lead car and a trailing car. Of course, he told me nothing aboutany of this until long after he returned. One day toward the end of his staythere, he headed out alone by foot to explore some small shops and roadsidevendors who sold silver jewelry, a local specialty. When he saw the earrings,hand crafted and unique, he knew he found something I’d like, and heimmediately bought them. After each trip, Jack unpacked the treasures he had picked up along his travels.He’s brought masks and carved animals for our kids, and clothing and artitems for me. This time he brought back something I enjoy every day, and I’mextremely grateful he comes home every night to see me wearing them. Silver Earrings by Chris Coakley

I wear a ring everyday – both because I think it is beautiful and because it capturestreasured memories – old and new. Several years ago, after my husband died, I started looking for a jeweler to create aring that captured my vision. I wanted a ring that was appropriate for me to wear everyday and merged my own wedding and engagement rings with Ronald’s, my late husband’s,wedding ring. I could imagine this beautiful new ring. After frustrating discussions with multiple jewelers, I wandered into a small jewelrystore among the shops at Four Corners in the charming town of Tiverton, Rhode Island.Peter, the owner/jeweler, was immediately interested. He showed me pictures of rings hehad made and seemed to share my vision. I raced home, took a picture of the three rings Iwanted to include, and sent it to him. Within hours, I received a drawing. I was thrilled.Peter had perfectly captured my vision. The ring he created was perfect. My new ring includes 3 gold bands, one from each of the three rings I wanted toinclude. It features the sapphire Ronald purchased in 1994 for my engagement ring – heknew I wanted a sapphire and had asked a longtime jeweler friend in California to makemy engagement ring. On each side of the ring are 4 diamonds, each with its own story. Thetwo larger diamonds are from my engagement ring. One of them was previously the focusof my mom’s engagement ring. In addition to being special because it was Mom’s, thediamond reminds me of a favorite memory. My mother died only months before Ronaldand I became engaged. When we decided to be married, I asked Dad if Ronald could haveMom’s diamond for the engagement ring he was having made. I expected an enthusiasticresponse – but Dad didn’t give me an answer. I couldn’t imagine what was wrong andwondered whether I had been too bold. Fortunately, I didn’t need to worry for long. Dadcalled to say he’d polled my brother and sister and all three of them loved the idea that Iwould wear my mom’s stone in my ring. Ronald’s jeweler matched Mom’s diamond toinclude one on each side of the sapphire in my engagement ring. The two smaller diamonds included in my special ring also have a back story. WhenRonald and I discussed wedding rings, my Californian future husband wanted his weddingring to have diamonds in it. I strongly objected, insisting that diamonds in a man’s ringmight be appropriate in Las Vegas – but he was about to be a New Englander and shouldhave a great, plain gold band. Ronald was adamant. Our compromise was a wedding ringfor him that included 3 small diamonds. The third diamond is now part of a necklace. I treasure my ring, and wear it every day. Our Wedding Rings By Lynne Devnew

The Lost Flip Phone by Fred Boericke I moved to New Hampshire in 1995 as part of a job restructuring. As part of my new job, I acquired a flip phone, so I could communicate with co-workers and they with me. It was a real novelty to be able to communicatewherever I was, and I treated the phone as a means to call someone else,and hardly expected someone to call me. It was mainly for outgoing calls,not incoming ones. I soon got used to having it. I soon changed jobs to a small company in Milford, New Hampshire five miles from home. I enjoyed working at this company, designing depth sounders. This job entailed going on “boat trips” in the company boat to test out new designs, either on Lake Winnipesauki, or the Piscataqua river by Portsmouth. It was very helpful to have the phone to communicate with coworkers back in Milford. On one such trip to the Lakes District in Early May, we were on the company boat testing a new depth sounder. I had my flip phone in my shirt pocket. We were in shallow water, and I leaned over the side of the boat to peer at the bottom, and my cell phone fell out. I was ready to write it off, but my coworker, Andy, was determined to retrieve it. I could see the phone sitting on the bottom, and figured it was kaput, but Andy thought if we retrieved it and carefully dried it out, it would still work. He seemed much more concerned about the phone than I did. There were three of us on the boat, two engineers, Andy and I, and the technician responsible for driving the boat. Right then and there, he stripped down to his undershorts, and went over the side and got my cell phone back. This was early May, and the water temperature was probably in the 40’s and we weren’t equipped for swimming – no towels to dry off. He came out shivering, and took about twenty minutes to get warm again. The sad part is that the cell phone didn’t recover from being submerged, but you can imagine the laughs everyone got when we got back to the office. I’m only sorry I didn’t have a camera.

One of the things I carry is an idea. I do carry basic physical things likekeys, wallet and cheater eyeglasses everywhere I go. One unusual thing Icarry is my dog tags. I’ve used them as my keychain for the past forty-some-odd years. But it is the idea I carry that I want to write about. The idea I carry is thataction speaks louder than words. I’ve had the experience of being aroundpeople that show different sides of themselves depending on who theywere with. An example would be a person at work would be super helpfulwhen the boss or a senior co-worker is around but not so much to asubordinate worker. Another example would be how someone treatswaitstaff or janitors. I started thinking about this idea when I was playingteam sports. I played for various teams and sports over the years and as Imet new players some would talk about their playing years and their skills.I found they did not always match what I would observe on the fields orcourts. I found the more solid players would let their play on the field dothe talking for them. And it wasn’t always the most skillful players whowould be the most impressive. To me the players that had the skills andworked together as a team were the most impressive.I like to observe people in different environments to see their true colors.This idea I carry is a simple rule. To judge people by their actions not theirwords.Dogtags and a Beliefby Patti Mullee

It’s time to get ready for my high school reunion. A good number of years havepassed since that time in my life but the comparisons and judgements I’m sure willstill be waiting there. I am back in my childhood home and will be going alone.Everyone I know is either married or in a good term relationship that’s heading tothe altar. Everyone, except me. Then I say to myself-- it is the 70s-- we’re hopefully in a new era. Womensupposedly can do things on their own now. That kind of thinking though is stillpretty radical. Stereotypes were still strong and roles for women were limited. I stillcouldn’t even get a credit card without my father signing onto it. As I make my way downstairs, me nerve starts to waver. It’s just really hard to dothings on your own. I pass through the dining room to say good night to myparents. My mother sits there, her walker by her side, her white turban on her headhiding her bare scalp from all the chemo. Her blouse hangs loose over her chest,where her breasts used to be and still her beauty remains intact. You look beautiful she tells me. I tell her that I am nervous heading into this socialfray on my own. She gives me a long look with those piercing blue eyes that missnothing. She has always been able to see through to my heart. “I have something Ihave been meaning to give you,” she says. She hands me her wedding ring, the one she bought herself after marching intoTiffany’s while my father was still at war. “I want you to have this when the timecomes,” she continues, “and I want you to know that you don’t have to find ahusband to find your happiness. I know that you can do that yourself.”It’s now been over forty years since my mother passed away. Her ring has been onmy finger everyday since. The Ringby Casey Seaman

A Photo in my Walletby Thomas Baechle

Temperature Regulationby Ian Dargin

The Things I Carryby a Hawaiian TurtleJohn MacLaren

As usual I wake up early and have a wholesome breakfast of oatmeal,a handful of blueberries and a slice of wheat toast. After I brush myteeth and splash some cold water on my face I am ready to start theday. Even though I have been retired for 13 years I am busier thanever, but doing things I like to do. On my way out the door I stop at thecloset for my jacket and scan the hats on the top shelf. There is agreen and white Celtics cap, a red and blue Red Sox cap and a blueand white Patriots cap. But I choose none of them. My go to cap, that Idon't leave home without, is a black cap with a symbol of a blackhorse on a red and white shield rearing its front legs. Above it in whitelettering are the words 11th Armored Cavalry Regiment and below itare the words Vietnam Veteran.I've been wearing this type of hat for the past 13 years. Prior to myretirement I never wore a hat let alone anything that drew attention tothe fact that I was a Vietnam Veteran. At the time, veterans in generaland Vietnam veterans specifically were not afforded a welcomingattitude in many communities. Once I got involved with theadministration of the Duxbury American Legion I felt it was myresponsibility to promote veterans and what they still contribute to thecommunity. Wearing my hat proudly is one way to accomplish this.The Hat has been a constant part of my wardrobe and I get a lot ofnods and "thank you for your service" comments. The acceptance ofall veterans, including those of the Vietnam era has increased greatlyover the years and I notice more and more of us wearing caps withour service time and unit noted.Though the Hat doesn't define me it definitely identifies me.The Hat by John Magnarelli

Duxbury, MADuxbury High School