End of the parade

I wandered down to the ocean to say goodbye after the parade was over. I collected some shells and a dried crab claw that I swore I would draw one day when I had the time. I heard some noise behind me and realized the parade was heading toward its end in the parking lot. I like these end of parade photos, where people look a little less fabulous and a little more real.

I'd wondered what it would be like at this point, both my last day in Maine, shown here in July, and my last day of postings about Maine, shown now in September. What's been showing here the last few months I actually wrote about during summer afternoons in Vermont, where I grew up. It's been automatically posting for the last few months, while I've been meandering down the coast and to the other side of the country.

I'm now under palms not pines, blocks from the Pacific instead of the Atlantic. Today I'm starting my fieldwork in occupational therapy. What I don't have now is time to write about the last few months, like I did that one week in Vermont. So my blog will be taking a rest, some quiet time until the window comes where I can organize the photos and write. I like how my blog sometimes gets to do things I don't, or sees things in its own way. I look forward to returning to my quiet little corner of the internet as soon as I can.

Parade cars

I felt like a toddler in Maine, whether watching the fog roll in over the islands, an osprey catch a fish, or a small town parade. I kept wanting to shout, "Again! Again!"

How did I get here? The apartment where I was living in Albuquerque was part of a community promoting itself as a place for "intentional aging". I was asked to move because someone older than me wanted my apartment. After the initial disaster phase it dawned on me that I could pay rent anywhere, attend to some things before starting my new profession. I thought, "Fine then, I will go be young."

Haystack Waves

Haystack had my favorite float, though I didn't get as many pictures of it. Sometimes it's hard to see and take pictures at the same time. It was a series of waves and sea critters all moving at their own rhythm. The top photo shows it best, but I love the shadows of the waves and the fish on a stick in the bottom photo.

Parade whales

The Deer Isle Fourth of July parade is small but famous for its homemade floats. It goes up the street then turns around and goes back down. The whale at the top had a working spout with water that blew high into the sky, prompted by the dad walking alongside.

Fourth of July

They threw a parade for me the last day I was in Maine. Well, for me and the entire country.

Indian Point Road

I wanted to stay in the studio and work on my project, when I was 22 and he was 33. It was Saturday afternoon and everyone else was going to the lily pond. When he returned he came into the studio and handed me a goblet blown by Lino Tagliapietra. It was filled with water and a single lily. "Since you couldn't go to the lily pond, I brought it to you," he said.

On my last day in Maine, twenty years later, I reflected that I'd done everything I'd dreamed of doing there. Then I remembered the lily pond. Where was that lily pond, the one he'd brought to me? I read that it was on Indian Point Road, but I'd driven every road on the island and still couldn't find it. Then I realized it was the road right next to Saint Mary's, the one with the old Mobil Pegasus sign, so close that I couldn't see it. As I walked, I wondered what else was right in front of me, that I was looking for but couldn't see. When I turned the corner the memory of a single lily bloomed into a pond filled with thousands.

Light house

I read once that bodhisattva do not come to us as golden Buddhas, but dressed as people in our everyday life. That we only notice and respond to that which we are most familiar with. The actual appearance of a golden Buddha would be so far out that we might not think it pertained to us.

One visualization is to imagine that everyone around you is an enlightened being, and they are all showing up to help you along on your path. Whether it's the guy that just cut you off in traffic or the one that has saved more for retirement, the emotions they invoke in you are to shed light, to enlighten you, to the truth of what you're feeling inside.

From the Window at Saint Mary's, High Tide

I wonder how much longing the sea can hold, and where does the longing go? Does it fall to the bottom, forever tumbling amongst pirate's treasures? Does it dissipate into fog that hovers above the waves?

Women in corsets pressed up against panes of glass waiting for a loved one to come home, or wishing one would go away. Unspoken longing, felt in times where it was unsafe to even put it on a page. So many have set out for the sea with a longing. The physical body stops at the edge while the energy of the longing keeps flowing, out into the light and wind and waves.

Broken shard

I bought this necklace in Castine. It's made from a broken pottery shard found on the beach, like sea glass. It's a piece of brown transferware. A local told me that the British used the pottery for ballast in their schooners, tossing it into the sea as they pulled away from the shore. Only these remnants remain, found occasionally amongst the mussels and seaweed and stones.

A psychic once told me that in a past life I was an aristocrat. I lived a highly privileged life, wanted for nothing, and spent my days refining my abilities in the arts. But I was socially isolated. I would lean against the window of my ivory tower and gaze out at the gardeners, envying the way they joked and teased each other. I longed to run through the fields barefoot, ride a horse with my hair flowing behind me, galloping toward the unknown.

The psychic said I came into this lifetime with the artistic talents I had developed in the last, but not the high standing. I came into this lifetime to experience social freedom. I could talk to the lobstermen at the local diner, joke with the lemonade seller on the side of the road, and eat a clam fritter off a paper plate on the pier.

I bought this necklace because it was beautiful. It was while gazing out the window that I remembered what the psychic said. A remnant of a privileged life, smashed on the rocks in order to be free. A broken shard from a contained life, worn over my heart.

Iron flight

My friend Lauren and I were talking about blogging. I sometimes (often) question why I'm doing this. I'd rather be sitting on the porch with a glass of lemonade, or reading something someone else has written. I told her that for me the greatest benefit was the discipline. It forces me to put words and pictures on a page, instead of thinking that one day I will do so, just not now.

And I like that it's like a journal, but without as much whining. I can see an image or a thought from my life, and not have to read the "I'm tired and I really don't feel like doing this" sentences that creep in when I'm writing only to myself.

It pins you down to allow you to take flight. Balancing heaven and earth.

Letter to Martha

I saw you in SoHo once, Martha. You walked out of a gallery as I walked down the street. Broome, I think it was. We smiled with our eyes in that friendly way that strangers do when their eyes meet. Only you were Martha Stewart, and I was just me.

Castine makes me think of you, I think you would like it here. I heard you have a house in Southwest Harbor, on Mount Desert Island. When I worked as a waitress in Bar Harbor it was always a dream to one day live on that quiet side of the island.

I was just out walking on Perkins Road, you would love the houses here. You could don your table with matching place mats and napkins with rings, a glass bowl filled with shells as the centerpiece. I wonder how you found Southwest Harbor, how did you choose it? Have you been to Castine? I can see you riding along these windy island roads, blonde hair blowing in the breeze, your assistant jotting notes as you pick your new seaside home.

Friends often tell me I remind them of you, but I was making shaped cookies before I even knew of you! I'm writing from the wide porch of the Castine Inn, in a white wicker chair with a view of the sea. In this moment I feel like the queen of Castine, but with no one around to bother me. Have you ever wished that you were just me?

Written with Guinness and herbed potato chips, made by the innkeeper, on the wraparound porch of the Castine Inn.

Shells, Philippines

How did they do it before the internet? Sailing to the Philippines, Peru, Africa, Bali, just landing on shores without reading lodging reviews? There was a little map, hand drawn in pencil by Captain Wilson's wife, of the itinerary for their wedding trip to archeological sites in Europe, and a photo of her digging while wearing a corset. How did they do it?

Peruvian Jar#3, puffin

Captain Wilson! Captain Wilson! Please take me with you....

Peruvian jars #2

Peruvian jars #1

What an absolute delight to stumble upon the Wilson Museum while walking down Perkins Road in Castine. It was filled with artifacts from Captain Wilson's travels around the world. I sketched these Peruvian whistling jars there.

Castine

Castine is one of the oldest communities in North America, continuously inhabited from the early 1600's. I arrived there on the same day the ship "The State of Maine" returned from two months at sea. My mind reeled with thoughts of Tintin returning from an adventure, having solved an important case.

I adored the old colonial houses and historic markers sprinkled throughout the town, telling stories of battles between those who claimed the land, and those newly arrived. I was delighted with the dozens of starfish beneath the dock, and wrote postcards on the porch of the Pentagoet Inn, before dinner of tagliatelle with fiddleheads, in a sauce of truffles and cream.

Island sculpture

Tiny sketchbook tidal pools

Marlinspike Chandlery

I learned that a chandlery is a store that sells nautical supplies for sea-faring vessels, like rope and candles and soap. The Marlinspike Chandlery is open during the summer months, the owner makes beautiful rope, sells rope making tools, and even has an Etsy store, like me! I love his rope wrapped urchins and stones.