On the cusp

Autumnal Equinox

When day and night are almost equal in length. After which, of course, the days get shorter and shorter until the winter solstice. In Maine, on Dec 21 the sun will rise at 7AM and set at 4PM. Gulp. Some say the early darkness and light deprivation in general are harder on the psyche than the cold, snow, and ice itself. I must be a bit anxious about it because I had a dream last night that it was September 21st, and I woke up to a world covered in snow and ice - and burst into tears. Of course in reality, I woke up to a beautiful sunny day, and calmed down over breakfast and coffee on my deck. My daisies and nasturtiums and garden full of flowers, herbs, and cherry tomatoes were cheerful and promising. Another day to procrastinate battening down the hatches, as the thermometer was moving upward on its way to 70. Whew!

What is it about fall that makes us so pensive and melancholy?  Of course this year, there's a lot of change in the air around me. Up and move at 58 - new job, new home, new community, new friends. The house and job were a relative snap. Both fell so rightly into place - and I can honestly say I feel right with both. And both are leading to new friends as well. But what's that saying ...... "There's no mirror like an old friend?" Thankfully, staying in touch is a lot easier in the 21st century than ever, and travel accessible. I recently had a great visit from my dear friend Pam. We met 24 years ago when our kids were both in the NICU. Not your everyday shared experience. Then we ended up in the same neighborhood and there were playdates, birthday parties, shared dinners, teaching the kids to ride bikes and sending them off to school. And then the divorces, the single parenting, financial stresses, survival, coming of age for the kids AND us. And through it all - a lot of laughter. And now we're empty nesters 900 miles apart, and trying to figure out how to have quality time in concentrated blocks here, there, or somewhere else once in a while. Having almost 4 days of fine Maine late summer was a good start.....
In between work and 'retire'ment as well......or so I thought. Maybe more like putting on a new set of tires to roll through new turf with my loved work with little people. They of course are some of my favorite new friends. Nothing quite like hanging with a two year old boy who is trying to figure out how to tell you what's on his mind. Fresh slates to draw on. Not at all like meeting 62ish year old boys (or women) who drag a lot of baggage along with them, though the layers of stacked experience do make us an interesting lot for the most part. Working / playing with little people is like living in eternal springtime. The curiousity and openness with which they typically approach life is infectious and empowering. Without renewal, it's hard to face winter. I get some of the same sense of hope and promise planting bulbs about the time of the autumnal equinox. In gardening, I think there is nothing more rewarding. At 44 degrees latitude, I expect spring blooms will stir elation.
On saving for retirement - or preparing for that kind of winter. Hmmmm. I keep wrestling with that one. The whole concept of retirement 'funds' is really all so recent. Only in 'developed' western culture do we presume that it is the responsibility of the individual to support him or herself as we age. Of course a mere 100 or so years ago, the life expectancy was 30 years younger, or about 48-50. I still find that staggering. So now, at 58, do I continue to build my retirement fund, presuming that I will be able to buy quality of life 20 years from now (??????), or do I focus more on phasing in my actual retirement NOW, realign my daily priorities NOW, and hope that somehow luck, reasonable fiscal planning, and listening to my own biological clock will free up some of the stress of worrying about tomorrow. OK, I first have to admit that I have no 401-K 403(B), pension plan, etc. etc. Nothing traditional in my retirement plan, except for a very small Roth IRA. It, like most of my friends' retirement "investments" has performed poorly. Plenty of them (friends) are freaking out because what they had saved for tomorrow has been shrinking rather than growing for what seems like a long time now. Many can't even look at their statements, even tho it's just a  number. I think the bottom line as I see it is that if you don't invest in OTHERS - especially our KIDS - there will be no safety net in the last laps of life.
OK, that's plenty enough musing for today. We narrowly escaped an early frost last night, and it's time to head out, enjoy the sunshine, and get some of those spring bulbs planted! 

Labor Day weekend

An odd mix of work and play themes this holiday. Though rooted in celebrations of workers and history of organized labor, we generally think of it as a last wave of summer play. And so my own thoughts, as I enjoy this glorious 4 day weekend, are also stuck somewhere between wallowing in unbelievably beautiful weather and the long to do list. The radio has been playing an interesting lineup of folk and work songs, back drop to my focus on self-elected chores on the homefront.

Oh I did push myself up the road on Friday to explore a different village and waterfront, and check out the windjammer festival in Camden. Today I'm insisting on finding a local beach I've been meaning to check out. But laregly, I've been happily chipping away at home improvements. I seem to have this door theme going on. (witness the photos from my last blog) I'm sure there's something metaphoric there, and I doubt it takes a rocket scientist to feel the current. Anyway, this weekend's project has been stripping, sanding, and painting old doors. Most of the doors in the downstairs had been removed and stored in the shed. I've decided to revive some of them, and rehang them. First, to offer some climate control options in the colder months ahead. Also, just to enjoy their beauty. They are all very old, very heavy solid wood doors with umpteen coats of paint. Several have the old glass doorknobs, reminiscent of my mother's house, and invitation in themselves to bring them back. Part of this journey will be seeking old hardware to complete the restoration.

Work. Hard work. Good work. I love days that in the end feel.........productive. I am lucky to have both employed and unemployed work that generates that feeling. I can't imagine not liking the work that one does.....or not being able to find projects that are fulfilling. But I am reminded that I am not one of the 10% of Americans that are out of work. And I've seldom had to to work, and never for long, at jobs that I didn't really like. I can't imagine what it does to the spirit to get nothing from one's work but a paycheck.

Some jobs - like stripping and painting old doors - take more time and energy than makes economic sense. That's sad. So culturally, we often end up replacing old well built things with slapped together, hollow, cheesy, new versions. Usually something that will not last, but will last long enough to serve our fleeting purposes and lifestyles. I'm sure my doors are original -meaning about 150 years old. What do we make today that will be around 150 years from now? Our cost /benefit ratio is completely skewed toward a more temporal way of thinking and living. What can we crank out in the least amount of man hours? But we also find that some things that need being done are also just too expensive to happen - unless you can do things yourself........AND have the time. Building fences, mowing the lawn, replacing windows, knitting a sweater, growing our own food. So either you have to make a lot of money, have a large extended family to co-op chores, or learn to live more simply. A lot more simply.

Thousands, maybe millions, of Americans are being forced to do just that. Some side effects of the economic downturn are of course positive. Without the support of jobs and benefits, people just have to become more efficient, creative, and entrepreneurial. Maine is chuck full of people doing just that. Artists, artisans, craftspeople, and small business owners. They do more of their own work at home, and share the chores of neighborhoods and communities. They gather to argue and debate the perils and possibilities of change and progress, and what that all means anyway.

And so this Labor Day, I ponder the work of striving to live more simply. To each day cherish the work of one's own hands, and the play of sharing simple pleasures with those working around us. Happy Labor Day.

The 'Hood

The South End. A transitional neighborhood. Up and coming. The other side of the tracks. My new neighborhood. Realtors and newspaper reporters told me to look here when I was searching for a house. From early in my search I knew I wanted to be here. Not for its investment value, which was predicted to rise. Prices here, like most places, have gone down a little since I bought two years ago. The houses were pretty much all built between 1860-1890. Back when building actually had some substance to it. So even here, on the working class side of town, the houses have a lot of character........and characters. Not too many years ago, when the sardine factory was more than a fading memory, and the odor was barely waning, you could snatch up these houses for under $50,000. Then in came MBNA. Cleaned up the waterfront, built the boardwalk, started renovating some of the grander houses down by the waterfront and built their new spiffy 60,000 or more sq ft building. They also pumped millions of dollars into the community, helping to expand the already fine Farnsworth Gallery and Museum, and downtown Rockland. A salty and seamy seaport started to look kind of charming. MBNA offered jobs too - where you didn't have to get your hands dirty or smell like fish. Folks started following their lead, and investing in Rockland. Galleries and bookstores and coffee shops popped up. Restaurants where you could get some decent wine and upscale dining.

When I lived in the midcoast 33 years ago, there seemed to be only two reasons to go to Rockland. First, the Farnsworth, which was already a class act place. Second was the dime store, a Ben Franklin I believe. It was so retro in 1976 that it was like walking into an antique store in the making. I loved it. It's long gone, and nothing quite like it remains.

Although MBNA pulled out of the midcoast and left a lot of people unemployed and reeling, Rockland somehow maintained its upswing. Folks had to be a little more creative to hang on and pay taxes here, but I think that really helped build a more interesting community. Who wants to live next to a bunch of bank processing workers anyway? People who stumble into Rockland now pretty much just see it as a very culturally cool and scenically well located hub in the glorious midcoast of Maine. From my little house on the south end I can easily walk to all of it - the harbor, the incredible art theater, the Farnsworth, great restaurants, coffee shops, bookstores, a fine fresh fish market, and some of the last working waterfront on the huge coast of Maine.

But the south end is funky, a splattering of old and relocated new like myself. By oral report, there used to be a lot of fighting in these streets, a few genuine flop houses for the seamen, and some pretty rowdy bars frequented by burly bikers. If you look closely, you can still see plenty of remnants. Some of the families who worked in that sardine factory and never really were quite employable by MBNA and aftereffects era are still here, hanging on to old houses that haven't seen renovations in near 100 years. They might share those houses with a few generations of working or not working poor. Though the neighborhood is by and large quiet, their loud voices sometimes resonate. I swear the ocean breezes can carry sound better than some other places. Sometimes it seems they blow from both the past and the present. You have to have an open mind and a sense of humor some days.

I'd like to tell a few stories about people I've encountered in the 'hood. I'm a little leery, because I'm not sure they would like the light I shed on them if they happened to stumble onto this blog. And who am I anyway, but a newcomer 'from away.' There's surely nothing generic about any of them. The loudest award, as well as most folks crammed into one small space, goes to the Hatfields. (Do you think I'd be foolish enough to tell you their real name?) The kids being bred into this clan are some of the hooligans I've talked about. They're actually good kids - like all kids basically are - who have weathered some pretty tough shakes, and go looking for attention wherever they can find it. They live far enough away to mostly ignore, and I tend to head the other way on my walks if they are spilling over onto the street. There are a LOT of single women living in the 'hood. That was kind of a surprise. Survival of the stronger sex, perhaps. But also several like myself that just up and moved here. Go figure. There's a southern belle renovating a farmhouse, some artists, a hardened feminist, a social worker. My house was actually owned for 40 years by the sister of one of my neighbors. She ran a beauty salon in my living room. Maybe that's why I hear a lot of interesting echoes, or why so many women find their way here. Most of my neighbors I haven't met yet, so I start to make up stories about them when I go on my walks or bike rides. There are a lot of dogs, and a lot of fences. I'm hopeful that there will also be some interesting men. You'll notice no triple digits on the addresses, so it's all kind of close in. The melting pot of such a unique place can't be described in a season or a day. Likely the stories real and imagined will unfold over the revolving seasons ahead.

Vacationland

For decades, Maine's state motto, and license plate subtitle, has been "vacationland." Some years back, I think they changed at least the motto to "Maine - the way life should be." I now have the license plate fixed on my car, and the other -the way life should be- has been rattling around in my head for the last couple years. Now that I'm actually here, I'm mulling often about what it is that defines Maine.

With the exception of a short 6 month stay in 1976 - when I was in my young "seasonal drifter" phase - Maine has always been vacationland for me. I don't know how many trips over the last 33 years I've made to visit family, friends, and this unique place and quality of life. But now, on the other side of the residency line, perceptions start to shift. In the peak of summer and tourist season, I too glory in the incredible days when they happen, but resent a little when they fall on a workday. My work of course takes me out and into this beautiful county, and into the rural and village homes of the little people I work with, so it's not totally like being left out. But it is of course different than wandering aimlessly over beaches or floating in the lakes and harbors tracking loons, waves, or white sails across the horizon. I've thankfully had several visitors this past month, most of whom were experiencing Maine for the first time, and wallowing in the wonders of Maine "vacationland." I've heard words and phrases like "Eden," "amazing," etc.

It's a little hard to descirbe what it feels like from the 'inside' looking out. Summer does have it's blissful moments, and it's great to share them with folks who head up Route 1 to see what all the fuss is about - and are lucky enough to grab one or a few of the peak summer days here. The local fish market has a phrase - "Summer people, some are not." You get really possessive about the magic that is summer in Maine, and just a little resentful I guess, about those who come and take it in while you might be working..... Vacationland takes on a differenet ring if you're the one working when others are vacationing. But underneath, you know that you get all of the days....good, bad, foggy, rainy, sunny, white light and impenetrable gray. You get lobster whenever you want, ruggedly independent neighbors, and more lakes, streams, mountains, and oceanfront than you can navigate in a lifetime.

The summer is one unending festival. Blues Festival, Lobster Festival, Boats homes & Harbors festival, country fairs, boat races of all dimensions. The tourists come, wallow, wonder, and leave again. Maine vacationland. It's a great place to live, share, and presumably, just be after it all moves to another dimension. I've not yet made it past the first season. Yet somehow, I'm wishing I had chosen one of the other license plates. Save the children, whales, working water front, loons, lobsters........... or just plain 'the way life should be.' Now that it's home, and I'm a residential working stiff.....anything, but "vacationland."

PS I AM grateful to all of you that have come to visit!! (and supported the local economy!!!....:) and as they say in the south.....Y'all come back now!

40 Days & 40 Nights

Ok, this one is for those of you who purport to be jealous of my new found Nirvana. Every silver lining has a cloud ---- or a month of them. It is now the rainiest month on record for Maine. Over 12 inches in the midcoast. The roses and peonies are drooping and exhausted. The tomatoes and basil are limping toward the hope of sunshine. Other plantings are of course loving the rain forest effects, thriving and soaring. The good news? My basement is dry(!!!) and the vapor barrier that I laid down last week over my dirt/gravel floor seems to be helping hold down moisture. The patience of all is tested. The newspaper talks about foot long leopard slugs, the seeds in my birdfeeder are all sprouting, all the doors and windows are swollen and sticking. The Department of Marine Resources closed the entire Maine coast to shellfishing because the heavy rains are flushing contaminants into near-shore waters and the red-tide phytoplankton is surging. It is hard to tell when it is misting or just heavy fogging. The rains are more obvious. Late last night, to cap this month of rain, we had a severe thunderstorm. No stranger to thunderstorms in Virginia - when extreme heat and shifting fronts regularly erupt in thunder and lightening and downpours, this one followed but another cool and misty day, and was a more unusual phenomenon - or maybe just the last straw. The dog was freaked by it, making me get out of bed to see if maybe the water was rushing into the house or something. Alas, all was well, and my dehumidifier along with my whole house air exchange system was cranking hard to do what it could to keep high humidity levels outside. I actually fell back asleep to a marvellous dream, and slept until 8:15 AM this morning - the latest since my arrival here 6 weeks ago. I am in no hurry for my morning walk today, but relish a big breakfast with the fresh farm eggs I bought from a coworker. I wonder if the hens' nests are molding.

I have a little creek (aka drainage ditch) in my backyard that surges and swells, soaking the hostas and bog plants that I have planted there. The neighborhood children (aka hoolilgans) have a history of riding their bikes through my yard and over my little bridge to the next street. Despite many 'requests' to not play in my yard, they returned yesterday, somehow not understanding the firm NO I had issued only minutes before. I imagine myself finally attaining the role of Cloris Leachman, the ageing eccentric who lives alone and shuns the world in the movie "Prancer" -screaming "my floribundae! my floribundae!" as they sail through her gardens on sleds. They plaintively tried to assure me that my yard was the ONLY place that they could play, the youngest adding that maybe they could LIVE there and have their own little brook. How cool would THAT be??? Bicycle mud tracks, strewn candy wrappers, my fire wood thrown into the brook and flooding my gardens. I try to assure them that they are very smart and strong children (thinking noisy, insolent, unbridled, audacious) and will surely find somewhere else to play. OK, this weather is not bringing out the best in any of us.......

On my eventual walk, I took these pictures, trying to capture the essence of sog. Accompany them, if you will, by the steady drone of foghorns and the sound of water rushing through the sewer lines as you pass the aging iron street drains. For a few flickering seconds, the sky seemed to lighten. Would the sun make a guest appearance.....today?? Tho the heavens were grey, I swear I saw my shadow. I turned around three times to see if I was only imagining. I wonder if anyone is looking. If I am experiencing the polar opposite of the desert mirage. I pull off my rain parka (one of 6 varying styles and warmth that hang now in my mud room). When it is humid and low 60s, it is hard to tell if your body is chill and damp or hot and clammy. Splashing through a puddle in my treasured early pea green rain galoshes that Corrina rejected as a gift too garish, I return home to treasure another day off, a good book, domestic projects, and a prayer that the sun WILL return.....one of these tomorrows.

icons

The things we carry....

My dear friend said, "You'll know you're home when you hang up the thumb." I spent a couple days searching for it in boxes, crumpled newspaper, suitcases. Could I have possibly just thrown it out?? Of all the things you pack and unpack......and find a place for in your heart and homes....what is really important?

Honestly, a part of me was ready to push it all off a cliff. There's a scene in the movie "Up" (a good one, if you haven't seen it) where the ageing Carl Fredericksen, who is flying his beloved house filled with memories via balloon power to Paradise Falls - destination of his long-dreamed great adventure - realizes that he can't take everything with him. So he just starts hurling everything out the door into the abyss. It's really liberating - or at least was from my current perspective. You kind of realize that it's not the things, but the memories and experiences that we collect that carry us onward.

But then there are all of these THINGS that remind us of the memories....and somehow anchor us in space and time. So.....I started thinking about what really IS important when we transition from one place to the next?? I decided to imagine moving with only a 12"x 12" box, and figure that you could reaccumulate anything else that you might need for the next journey. What would warm my heart and provide me with a sense of home - and familiar -when I put my feet up in a next place?

When I bought this house two years ago, I spent about 6 weeks in Virginia buying furniture and household on Craigslist and at thrift stores, loaded a truck, and Walla! instant house / home. Whoa. Cool. Every time I visited, I realized that I had everything I needed.....and nothing more. I loved the simple comfort of my 'vacation home.' Oh sure, I was always cruising thrift stores to find a garlic press or wine glasses, or funky funstuff. But gone was the usual clutter of my life on every surface. And I realized that you can easily shift from one pair of glasses to another. And at some point....you could just acquire one new whimsy when you were ready to shed another. Some things of course....are not easy to discard - hence the 12" box.

So here I am, striving to keep it simple, and cherish the treasures of my memories, my dreams......and the contents of the little box.

Transitions...

Everything about this transition has felt right, telling me that it is what I'm supposed to be doing.

Well, OK, the move WAS greuling, and I don't think I've been that tired in......ever. Corrina (who drove my car up from Virginia), and Tag (who rode shotgun with me in the rental truck) were both ready to kill me before the journey ended. Tag (now 14ish) sat bolt upright in total shell shock the whole first (approximately 14 hour) day, refusing to lay down or sleep. Which meant that he was blocking my right rearview mirror the entire time, forcing me to stay in the right lane, and hope to hell that any merging traffic was intimidated by a midlife woman and a rigid dog driving a Budget rental truck. I also managed to have a tire blow out that day - really FUN! Did catch up with a good friend for coffee and dinner. And by the time we stopped at a hotel that would take the dog, because there was no way we were making Corrina's apartment in New York, she was yelling at me to get off the road and stop hitting things! (apparently I had clipped off a little road sign backing out of a driveway and bumped into a few firmly immovable objects in the parking lot..) I suppose it's good to have sane and sensible children tell you when you're being irresponsible and reckless, but they could learn to do so more quietly and respectfully! By the second day, I figure out how to leash the dog and jerk him down when I needed to change lanes. When we reached the Maine state line, I was too tired to move another inch. Corrina was yelling at me about what we were doing, and I was trying to explain to her that this is why they call them "rest" areas, and that in fact all those truckers and people were actually trying to rest, which is what I intended to do. I rolled up my window and closed my eyes. Shortly she was pounding on my window telling me that she was going on to Rockland (about two hours ahead. The dog was near comatose by then, so I didn't have to worry about him giving me grief. In fact, I was starting to think....maybe I won't have to build that fence for him when we get there... After a little power nap, I decided to head up the road myself, with the glare and scrutiny of night road repair crews checking my sanity between long stretches of isolated Maine beauty - obscured by night and exhaustion. I arrived at the house about a half hour after Corrina, around 2AM. We fell like rocks into comfortable beds, in a vacation rental that had just become -home.
I can only tell that story and admit how stupid I was to subbornly tackle so much of the move myself......because we survived, recovered......and mostly because moving here feels so right.