HOLLY NADLER

508-274-2329

(hollynadler@gmail.com)

January on the Island reminds me of three o’clock in the morning. And I believe F. Scott Fitzgerald described this time of the wee hours best when he wrote, “In the dark night of the soul it is always three o’clock in the morning.”

Lots of Vineyarders have made it out by now, and we can appreciate the refugee ring to that statement. Peter and Ronni Simon of Chilmark have made it out on a road trip to California, although they’re bound to encounter some hard-core weather on the way; snowstorms such as Minnesota’s make us realize how easy we’ve got it. Kevin Carroll of Oak Bluffs is at his winter digs in the hills of old Virginny. My beloved ex-husband, Marty, of Oak Bluffs, is working on his bronzed-god tan beside the lake-sized pool at his condo association in Margate, Fla.

But for those of us left behind in the oddly quiet, cold Vineyard air that appears this week to be wrapped in grey batting, we come up against the demons of winter, that sorrier side of our psyches that these days has time to brood about the meaning of life and, more specifically, the meaning of one’s own life. Basically it boils down to, What am I doing here?

In late September of 2008, I sat on a bench in Ocean Park with an O.B. buddy whom we’ll call Nell. As we looked out at the indigo blue waters of a superb, balmy, early fall day, we took stock of another crazed summer at our backs. Nell had just quit a fairly decent job with a local media company; decent, except she was tired of overwork mixed with underappreciation. On the other hand, the global economy was starting to sizzle and shrink like ants fried by a magnifying glass. Nell began to fret that she should have retained her job through a predictably slow fall, at least until the company handed out its Christmas bonuses. (Later in the year Nell learned that the media group was suspending bonuses, and my friend had a guilt-stricken moment of, ‘Well, at least we’re all wading through this muck together.’)

As for me, I was just coming to terms with the loss of my bookstore, and this luxury of time to spend brooding kicked over into other losses, most notably that of my son-the-aspiring-screenwriter, who’d moved to Los Angeles, the town from which I’d spent the first 42 years of my life trying to permanently eject myself. I was slated for a radical, albeit local move, from an in-town apartment in Oak Bluffs to my late friend Dawn Greeley’s guest cottage in the isolated tracts of Chilmark. The setting was sumptuous, and I tried to put a good spin on it by assigning to myself the role of a modern-day Thoreau, even going so far as to re-read Walden, highlighting whole passages and scribbling furiously in the margins.

But Thoreau and I had taken two paths diverged in a yellow wood (to add another New England heavyweight to this metaphor). Thoreau launched into the best two years of his life which yielded a classic book about Nature and solitude and all the good things that come with that package. I, on the other hand, had an Appointment in Samara with depression.

And so, it turned out, did Nell.

We checked in with each other by telephone almost daily. My taedium vitae had begun first, and Nell kept urging me to get out, keep busy, do stuff. Later when Nell’s world started to constrict around her like a too-tight life vest, she complained that her friends kept bugging her to get out, keep busy, do stuff. When I reminded her that she’d handed me the same advice, there was a startled silence over the phone, and then she uttered a slow, “Riiiight.”

After five weeks, I believed that a new anti-depressant brought about a conspicuous change for the better. Later, looking back at the timing, I realized it was the election of Barack Obama that had given me a boost like a vitamin B shot to the posterior, an injection that also had been administered to most of the rest of the world.

Come to think of it, we must stop to embrace these occasional great moments in modern history, especially considering that it’s usually bad news that dominates the airwaves, such as this current nightmare in Haiti. If a presidential election can serve as the most potent of S.S.R.I.s, then think of how continuous bad news makes depressives of us all, all six billion of us.

Nell, too, emerged from her funk. Nowadays we occasionally reminisce about that bright fall afternoon on the Ocean Park bench when we’d talked about life, and the gorgeous parkland and shimmering ocean stretched before us with endless possibilities.

So now in the dark woolly days of January, may I suggest that we be extra kind to one another in this, our shared three o’clock in the morning?

Speaking of Haiti, my inner bookseller wishes to recommend the following two titles to help you wrap your mind around the beleaguered island: The first is Graham Greene’s 1950s classic, The Comedians, and the second is Tracy Kidder’s recent biography of Dr. Paul Farmer, Mountains Beyond Mountains. Dr Farmer is a Boston doctor whose medical clinic in the Haiti interior has made tremendous strides in bringing health to that struggling island nation.

Here’s a fun thing to do to dispel the winter blahs: On Feb. 11 at 1:30 p.m., the Federated Church will host a Valentine Tea in the parish house for all Island church ladies. Phil Dietterich will tickle the piano ivories, Jan Hyer will play the cello and Matt Pelikan will hoist his recorder. Little sandwiches will be served along with the traditional spot of tea.

At the Oak Bluffs Library on Saturday, Jan. 23 at 2:30 p.m., a free lecture will take place, Connecting With Fossils. A man known as Fossil Fred to his disciples, Dr. Hotchkiss, will present the talk.

For the next program at the library, on Thursday, Jan. 28 at 6 p.m., drop by the hear author, teacher and Vineyarder Jay Schofield discuss metal detecting, with a lecture about his books on the subject, and information about treasure hunting on Island beaches.

Featherstone Center for the Arts is putting out a call for artists to participate in their popular show Kiss, Kiss, Hug: The Art of Love. The exhibit will take place from Feb. 14 to March 5, and all contributed artwork must arrive by Thursday, Feb. 11. Also, winter and spring classes in all media of art begin Feb. 1. Register now online at featherstoneart.org or call 508-693-1850.