A WEEK IN MAINE

         

First days – cold, rainy, wrapped up in layers topped by raincoat with hood. End of week, bright sunshine, temperatures approaching 80. No matter the weather, being with good friends is always warm, with the collective ongoing struggle with a New York Times Crossword puzzle. On Sunday an organ recital deep-massaged our bodies at the Basilica in Lewiston. Of course, Freeport is a Monday stop for lunch and dropping a minimal amount of money  – a Nine West handbag on sale for $22.00 – but I didn’t even go to L.L. Bean this time – doesn’t seem right, somehow.  

What else? A fabulous exhibit of Edward Hopper paintings. I confess, I do like recognizing the subject. Dinner with more friends by the Maine shore with a view of their private island. Another time found me with my annual fix of boiled live lobster by the sea (indoors this time, though. It was one of the cold and dreary days.) As an invited guest for a class on the Hebrew Bible I found gratification that “Mrs. Job” had it pretty much right about the heritage of Jacob and Esau. Visiting the Shaker Village offered order, peace, and beautifully crafted products,

Somewhere around 1980 I flew in to Portland on Bar Harbor Airlines – six rows of single seats on each side, a cooler up front with choice of sodas if one chose to open it. Only one of my little Bichons could ride in his cage on my flight. The other one had to wait for the next trip.

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More recently I flew into Portland on a cozy little plane with two seats on each side – maybe ten rows. Forgive me, I don’t know airplanes. All I know is that this time the rows were three by two and so long there were lavatories at each end of business class – and stuffed full. The waiting line for the rental car was forty-five minutes long, almost as long as it took the luggage to come out for the two big planeloads of passengers who had just arrived

Before I left the state a visit to a most amazing museum proved that Portland is not the small town I once thought it was. The harbor bustles with art displays and shops of crafty wares and interesting foods. The more things change, though, the more they stay the same. Maine is still the place to go for calm and quiet

HOLD ALL CALLS. JUNG WAS RIGHT

My brain is swollen tight up against my skull, and my heart is about to break my ribs. No. It’s not a medical emergency. It’s just time to retreat to my introvert for some recovery time. I’ll tell you why, and then I’m withdrawing until I feel like getting back into the extraverted fray again.

Swollen heart. I spent time this past week with my college roommate and her husband – in Maine. Even had a whole lobster, gift of other Maine friends. Overlooking the water, of course. Oh, and a brief swim in a very cold lake. But it’s the friendship that counts. And that continued with a trip to New London for a Connecticut College reunion. (It was Connecticut College for Women then.)

We don’t look like our yearbook photos any more, and widowhood is almost as common as toothpaste, but zoom in close and there is community warmer even than it was when we graduated. “Wise Women” was the theme, and that we should be – lots of experience to ripen us. “Mrs. Job” and my forgiveness books were included in a signing at the bookstore. No surprise – I was the oldest author there, but in the group attending were rows of the CC scarves that mark our class. Would that everyone could have such a rich store of friends. OK. So much for the heart.

As for the swollen brain, I’ve been deep into getting to know my magical website – still not released to the public, but the work of some very clever people. I have more to do on my part, but I need time out. Remember Jung’s opposites? Every once in a while the extravert has to retreat for replenishment. I’ll be back before too long with the bells and whistles (well, sort of) of my new web site.

White Nail Polish

A response from a friend reminds me why I've been wearing nail polish the last few years. It's a friendship thing again. I was there when Hallie died. It must have been eight years ago, but it doesn't seem that long. She waited for me, I think, to make it from Minnesota to Cape Cod. The hospice folks were there, so they got to hear our last exchange. I rattled off silly stories from our years together, and she laughed a real Hallie laugh. Then she checked out. It was actually 2:00 a.m. the next morning when she finished her journey, but for all practical purposes, she ended her life with a laugh. 

What a gift for me to have been there. My daughter was with us too and was all gratitude for having been included in that blessed event. 

Some time later I realized I was wearing white nail polish pretty regularly. I've never been a nail polish kind of person, so I was a bit of a puzzle for myself. Then I remembered Hallie's hands as she lay dying, beautifully manicured with white nail polish. What a caring gesture it was for someone to take the time to give her that comfort in her last days.

Now I know, my white nails are a memorial to Hallie, as is remembering her childhood energy which greatly outmatched mine, and her smile which I spot on my face in the mirror sometimes.