I miss Maine, and more importantly I miss Mike.
I miss every corner of the time we had together over the last two weeks.
Leaving dishes in the sink. Towels on the floor.
Driving slowly and taking in the scenery.
Not knowing where some of my stuff was buried in my luggage.
Letting go of the planning, worrying side of me that endlessly turns things around in my head, no matter how useless doing so is.
(On the way in to Montreal, in the second half of the Drive from Hell, I got trapped in massive construction. My rudimentary, high-school French allowed me to discern from the road signs that this road work was a 'make work' project that employs upwards of 100,000 people. Then, below that, was a figure of 553. I figured it with Quebec math: 100,000 people were employed due to this road work. 553 were needed to make the sign. Sorry. I am half-French-Canadian. So yes. I am fully licensed to make these commets. But I digress. Turning my head to look around at the acreage of fields surrounding the highway, 2 hot air balloons floated by. My cousin: did you create a worry about that? me; yes, I thought if one fell we are all stuck here and can't drive away. See? monstrous anxiety).
I've been back in the city only for one day and have already I endured a grocery line up longer than the one at the passport office, have honked aggressively at at least four drivers, and flipped off a female cyclist, going against the light, pedalling like she owned the road, and I was like...wait...what happened to the Maine Me?
Here are some more amazing shots of this amazing state.
This scene, someones' garden, I found eerily haunting, but somehow compelling. I couldn't stop looking at it, and I made Mike stop the car so I could puzzle over this. \
A garden or a graveyard? The grim reaper or an angel of death? I couldn't decide.
On my last day in Maine we went to Two Lights, on Cape Elizabeth, where you feel surrounded by water, and there were some amazing waves, thanks to the stirred-up weather of the last hurricane of the week, Hurricane Lee.
This is the same house, with another area of their vast garden, this face, to me, of almost benediction, a zen-smile, blessing the bicycle below. These people also have hens. Yes. It was quite the acreage.
Mike took this one; misty in the morning.
I took this one of Mike in the waiter's station of his restaurant. The little character with him is Thing 1, of Dr. Seuss fame, whom I brought with me on my trip--we have alot of shots with Thing 1, in the kitchen, hanging out in the fridge--I bought Thing 1 for my niece and nephew one Christmas, and he lives at "Auntie's house". This journey for him was my little nod to the movie Amelie where she delights her father by giving a garden gnome of his to a flight attendant friend to bring on trips and photograph. I can't wait to see E and R's reactions to Thing 1's adventures.
The marking of a soulmate, to me, is that person that finds funny the same things you find funny. Definitely that is the case with Mike.
Another shot of this garden that would not leave me.
Here, a sculpture of a child doing a handstand, obscured by greenery, left an imprint on me.
Who are the people who cultivate this garden, what is their story? Perhaps I'll have to make it up.
Haunting.
But then, the whole year has been. Events of great significance, the dredging up of reserves of emotions I never knew I would use. Good books. Great friends. The hot summer weather.
The lack of sleep, leaving me more awake than ever.
Spirit was all around me in Maine, whether I was looking for it or not. As with my drive through Vermont, I saw many signs that there is a beyond from this place.
Looking up at the stars, running on the beach as a child carved JAMES into the sand, life-size letters, Mike's camera taking random pictures in the middle of the night when we were both asleep, the strong presence I felt of our friend G.
This garden underscored it all for me.
We aren't alone on this drifting boat, for all the times we feel that we are.
I miss every corner of the time we had together over the last two weeks.
Leaving dishes in the sink. Towels on the floor.
Driving slowly and taking in the scenery.
Not knowing where some of my stuff was buried in my luggage.
Letting go of the planning, worrying side of me that endlessly turns things around in my head, no matter how useless doing so is.
(On the way in to Montreal, in the second half of the Drive from Hell, I got trapped in massive construction. My rudimentary, high-school French allowed me to discern from the road signs that this road work was a 'make work' project that employs upwards of 100,000 people. Then, below that, was a figure of 553. I figured it with Quebec math: 100,000 people were employed due to this road work. 553 were needed to make the sign. Sorry. I am half-French-Canadian. So yes. I am fully licensed to make these commets. But I digress. Turning my head to look around at the acreage of fields surrounding the highway, 2 hot air balloons floated by. My cousin: did you create a worry about that? me; yes, I thought if one fell we are all stuck here and can't drive away. See? monstrous anxiety).
I've been back in the city only for one day and have already I endured a grocery line up longer than the one at the passport office, have honked aggressively at at least four drivers, and flipped off a female cyclist, going against the light, pedalling like she owned the road, and I was like...wait...what happened to the Maine Me?
Here are some more amazing shots of this amazing state.
This scene, someones' garden, I found eerily haunting, but somehow compelling. I couldn't stop looking at it, and I made Mike stop the car so I could puzzle over this. \
A garden or a graveyard? The grim reaper or an angel of death? I couldn't decide.
On my last day in Maine we went to Two Lights, on Cape Elizabeth, where you feel surrounded by water, and there were some amazing waves, thanks to the stirred-up weather of the last hurricane of the week, Hurricane Lee.
This is the same house, with another area of their vast garden, this face, to me, of almost benediction, a zen-smile, blessing the bicycle below. These people also have hens. Yes. It was quite the acreage.
Mike took this one; misty in the morning.
I took this one of Mike in the waiter's station of his restaurant. The little character with him is Thing 1, of Dr. Seuss fame, whom I brought with me on my trip--we have alot of shots with Thing 1, in the kitchen, hanging out in the fridge--I bought Thing 1 for my niece and nephew one Christmas, and he lives at "Auntie's house". This journey for him was my little nod to the movie Amelie where she delights her father by giving a garden gnome of his to a flight attendant friend to bring on trips and photograph. I can't wait to see E and R's reactions to Thing 1's adventures.
The marking of a soulmate, to me, is that person that finds funny the same things you find funny. Definitely that is the case with Mike.
Another shot of this garden that would not leave me.
Here, a sculpture of a child doing a handstand, obscured by greenery, left an imprint on me.
Who are the people who cultivate this garden, what is their story? Perhaps I'll have to make it up.
Haunting.
But then, the whole year has been. Events of great significance, the dredging up of reserves of emotions I never knew I would use. Good books. Great friends. The hot summer weather.
The lack of sleep, leaving me more awake than ever.
Spirit was all around me in Maine, whether I was looking for it or not. As with my drive through Vermont, I saw many signs that there is a beyond from this place.
Looking up at the stars, running on the beach as a child carved JAMES into the sand, life-size letters, Mike's camera taking random pictures in the middle of the night when we were both asleep, the strong presence I felt of our friend G.
This garden underscored it all for me.
We aren't alone on this drifting boat, for all the times we feel that we are.
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