Maine Matters

I’m trying to analyze today what it is about a good getaway holiday – however brief – that really refreshes and accelerates the whole self-actualization process or the struggle to “do better” and slow down. I should just add, that as a real homebody, no matter how much I yearn to go on vacation, when the inevitable prep work presents itself with all its lists, last minute dashes to the drug store/pet food store/ drug store again I always get this panicky, desperate feeling that if someone whispered: “You know what? Don’t go – you don’t even have to go!” I would be hugely relieved to comply. I also feel the need to cram in time to ponder my imminent death from various means and whether or not I will ever return.

Yes, it’s a real laugh riot here during the holiday season!

Anyway, interestingly enough, now that I am with Someone Different I tend not to have these feelings as frequently and I am not sure why but I like it very much. (I do suspect it’s the lack of someone announcing that “everything’s fucked” because we are five minutes off the scheduled departure time – from our driveway, I mean, there are no connecting flights involved here.

I also now know that it is possible to travel without our own latte whip and still have a first rate holiday).

The General and I recently returned from Maine where life quickly became a series of enjoyable, wonderful moments all stitched together with the pleasure of not knowing how the day would enfold but feeling happy and unhurried as it did. (I love a man who will call you over specifically to admire the way the light is really opalescent on a certain rooftop and shares, or even pretends to share, it doesn’t matter, your delight about whether or not the burnished fox with his slitty eyes and dainty feet will return to our back door at 4pm).

We also looked up a lot as we walked about and took great joy in noticing the narrow windows on the top floor of an old building  in Portland where an artist was painting, totally oblivious to us and deep in concentration, his brush darting back and forth, a ring of deep green ivy coiled tightly on the pane.

And yes, I think I have answered my original question.

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