As you may have concluded, we are in Maine. Three and a half weeks have passed like water down the gentle creek that peeps out at me from the thick trees and shrubs on my occasional runs round the neighborhood. We didn't move the van from its level driveway spot at K, K & R's for a week when we first got here.
How quickly we transformed into domestic hermits after the constant movement of road travel and our one crazy night out in New York. To finally arrive here on the other side of the country, in our friends' driveway, after so many months imagining it! It put a broad smile on my face and butterflies in my stomach all day. And several days after, I kept stopping in my tracks to say, "We're in MAINE!" to whoever was at hand.
A typical day in the life here:
Wake up in the van well after sunrise. Open the back curtain a smidge to let the light in. Climb out of the layers of covers, pull on some PJs or yesterday's clothes, slip on the wool slippers I got recently with an unused birthday gift certificate, gather up my iPod (on which I record ephemeral thoughts as I drift off to sleep), glasses and clothes and emerge into the cold air for a brisk, blinking walk to the front door. Retreat to the bathroom for the normal stuff, come out and decide whether to eat or get exercise first. Decide to eat first. Make some scrambled eggs with fresh chard from the garden. On my more motivated days, I don my long stretchy pants and a short-sleeve shirt and hoodie for a stint in the basement with the weights, physioball, yoga mat, and foam roll we brought with us (see, we're using them!). Take a shower and rummage through the duffel bag of clothes in the basement for fresh duds. Read some email, write some email, read some blogs, check out what I have planned on my syllabus (without the structure of school or a job, I find I have to create schedules and deadlines or I end up having done I don't know what by the end of the day). Write my daily stream of consciousness journal for half an hour. Go upstairs for a peek at what's in the fridge and nibble on leftovers. Chat with Adam, Kelly, or Kevin. Play with Raelin for a few minutes (painting, reading books, drawing numbers on pieces of paper, stacking blocks, complete with narration "Raelin is painting dots...what are you doing, Juli?"). Do some reading (Artist's Way, Thunder & Lightning, Ballad of the Sad Cafe, or Bee Season). Do some writing (writing practice exercise, work on a short story I started back in Spring of 2004 in my one and only creative writing class, or write a blog). Make headway with some things on my to do list. Go upstairs and pile some leftovers onto a plate for lunch. Hang out with Raelin for a bit. Pet the dog and the cat. Go back downstairs and continue writing. Get distracted looking up a good name for a character on one of the many baby name websites I have bookmarked, and then resolve to use an asterisk and figure it out later. All of this work in the basement is to the tune of muffled Raelin and Kelly conversations, book reading, giggling, and the like, through the baby monitor Kevin keeps near his desk. That is unless I have decided to enclose myself in my own world to avoid my persistent urge toward distraction, in which case I put in headphones while I write. Start to smell dinner Kelly is cooking on the stove (or realize it's time to upstairs and make dinner). See the sunset across the lake on another break upstairs. Settle in at the oval table at the appointed moment for feasting. Dish up a delicious meal and talk about the day's events and ponderings and funny stories. Answer Raelin's periodic questions. "Are you talking?" is the favorite. Often my answer is, "No, I'm listening." Load the dish washer and wash the rest of the dishes. Pile up the napkins and placemats near the dog bowl while Raelin gets her nightly bath. Sit in the living room and chat or read with Adam and either Kevin or Kelly, whoever is not putting Raelin to sleep with bedtime stories. Say goodnight. Get ready for bed, gather up the various DVD-watching equipment, head out to the van for a snuggley episode of Lost, or an occasional Daily Show downloaded a week after it airs from bit torrent. Turn out the light and settle into the piles of covers. Depending on how cold the night is, put on hats and socks and long wool underwear.
What strikes me again and again is how easy it is to get used to a new place and a new rhythm. As if we've always been living in our van, cooking at "home" 6 nights out of 7, eating at the table with our friends, planning the next little outing when the rain breaks. Now that our time here is nearing an end, it feels like we haven't been here that long at all. We haven't eaten lobster yet. We haven't been to Acadia yet (more on that later). We have eaten delicious pork ribs and many other mouth-watering meals. We have been getting our work done.
The leaves on the hill across the lake are finally changing color to gentle amber-gold. On my drive to Warren (a little town a few miles away) to buy a leg of lamb for tonight's dinner I marveled at the color over and over again. It took a while, but ALL the trees are lellow now, as Raelin would say. Around every turn in the drive back to the homestead, leaves fly down from branches extended high above my head. The brilliant blue sky (a common sight for only the last 3 days we've been here) invited my gaze upward at the billows of small white clouds. New England has seeped into my heart and I will miss it (not to mention our wonderful friends who've made this far north place home) when we go!
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2 comments:
i love spending this day with you, in your story, in the question, "are you speaking?" yes, and listening, loving to listen to you days and be there with you so clearly. thank you, xo, ah.
and it's soooo awesome to share our little slice of northern New England. Me thinks that the place has seeped into your heart more than you know. I always have found, even before we moved here, that leaving Maine was a lot like leaving the wilderness out West to return to the city; it's a big part of why I was willing to make the leap to call this place home, and every time I drive out to Warren, look up Main Street at the old brick buildings, see the huddled peaks of the Camden Hills, or just look out our windows, I am struck by this place we call home, and the family and friends I am blessed to share it with...
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