Who knew a day could go so quickly from the sublime to the ridiculous?
Sunday, Feb. 2, my friend S picked me up to go to Tower Hill Botanic Garden for a 1 p.m. showing of a documentary on Frank Cabot and the creation of his garden Les Quatre Vents in Quebec. From the opening scene of a mass of bright blue, 5-foot-tall delphiniums swaying in a gentle breeze with rolling fields and mountains in the background, the tour of the garden was amazing. It wasn’t just the gardens that were awe-inspiring; so too was Cabot’s narration revealing the passion and insights with which he had created them. The gardens appeal to all senses, because they are the way to the soul, said Cabot. He wanted to stir the emotions of garden visitors: to delight them, surprise them, and even move them to tears. S and I were willing sponges, and we felt everything Cabot intended.
I guess Cabot’s spell of tranquility and wisdom had dissipated by the time we got back to Harvard, for just as we were about to turn down Oak Hill Road, S suggested we case the Bromfield School, site of the breaking news that someone had crashed into a hydrant and wiped out the town water supply. She took a sharp right and was waiting to turn left onto Mass. Ave. when a Channel 10 van drove by and pulled into the General Store parking lot. We watched a man in an orange jacket approach the van and hand someone a sheet of paper. Suddenly we were back in junior high, full of the whole series of Nancy Drew and The Hardy Boys mysteries. S said, “Let’s go see what he’s doing.” She zipped across the road and hauled into the parking lot. “Hop out, Carlene. Go see what’s going on.” I still can’t explain why I did what she told me to do.
By this time two people with microphones and one with a large camera were out of the van. As though I were Lois Lane, I asked, “What did the man in the orange jacket give you?” They looked a little confused and then one of them said it was information about boiling water. That could have been it had I been quicker, but before I knew it, the reporter’s face was right in front of mine. “Are you part of the drinking water ban?” she asked. Still not connecting the dots, I chatted that I lived just down the street. By the time she asked, “How are you affected by the boil water order?” I felt it would be rude to walk away. (How archaic to think that rudeness matters.) I said it made me realize how much I take tap water for granted. She was having none of my philosophical humility. “What would you say is the biggest inconvenience?” “Showers and laundry will be difficult,” I said, anxious to escape.
To look, or not to look
S, who had been waiting in the car, got out to take a picture of me walking away from the reporter; she was beside herself with glee that I had been interviewed. I was only a little mad at her. We saw the group go into the General, and S leapt after them. It hit me then. Their mission was to interview Scott Hayward, the owner of the General Store, and I had interrupted them! S came back with the report that they were talking to Scott and she had gotten a good picture. I felt relieved, certain that their interview with Scott fulfilled their assignment and they could toss out extraneous me.
Back at home as 6 p.m. approached, I debated whether to turn on the news to Channel 10. I felt as I often do about some politicians: I know what I see will upset me, but part of me wants to look to confirm how bad it actually is. With mixed feelings, I turned on the TV, and after a while there I was.
I think we all have an image of how we look that we hold onto despite reality checks in the mirror. I have mine, and this woman on the TV was not it. Not with those wrinkles, ash-white hair, and facial contortions. And the voice—so slow and with a funny accent, when all my life I have vehemently proclaimed people from Connecticut have none. Fortunately I lasted only a few seconds, but it was long enough to register the profundity of the soundbite — “Having no water would be difficult for showers and laundry.”
‘You’re famous’
Almost immediately after experiencing this shock, I received numerous texts and emails with tag lines like “You’re famous” and “News star”—all (except a friend in Ipswich) with offers to come do laundry and shower. I was appreciative but mortified and ready to move on.
Then this morning I got a text from a friend with a link to the Channel 5 Eye Opener. Again I debated, and for the same reason, I decided to look. It wasn’t until near the end of the hour that I saw the clip. It was a different angle of me and my “statement” was longer. Had Channel 10 shared my information with Channel 5? I was horrified to think that channels would be passing me and my ridiculous TV debut around the airways. My friend Cynthia called me from Rockport. I’m amazed at all the people who watch TV at 6 a.m. Without these friends, I would have remained blissfully ignorant because luckily I didn’t see myself in the Globe.
A bit later S emailed me a message about my appearance on the Eye Opener, with a lovely mix of sweetness and sarcasm, apparently feeling total exoneration for her role in this fiasco: “Our citizen news star, YOU, speaking in a pleasant, well-modulated voice some balanced words which clearly described the situation, ‘Bathing and laundry could be a problem.’ And then you flashed a radiant, understanding smile. Just right, as you were surprised to be on camera.”
