May 29, 2020--Maine: From Away

This is from Jill Davenport, another good Maine friend. She is writing in response to what Mike Stevens said the other day about people "from away" returning to Maine for this virus-infected "season."


Hi Steven--

I just now read your blog and saw the picture of our Maine friend, Mike Stevens.  He lends the same sort of perspective about us summer residents as do some other friends of mine who live year-round near Pumpkin Cove.  They, too, have offered help during the two-week quarantine which we must all live through if coming from out-of-state.  

And they, as do Mike and Mary, have a friendly acceptance of us cottage dwellers and have given assurances that we are missed and welcome to return.  

Perhaps all of the caveats rolled out by the state apply to those who could be transient and careless, like the beach-goers on the southern NH beaches or the fools who crowd together in bars.  

Our Maine friends and acquaintances need us and the economic boost we bring.  Though no beaches for this girl.  

Think about Thrumcap Island in Johns Bay.  Think about Rona's honeysuckle and clematis and the pot holes in the road and then think about the sweetness of the simple life and the pleasure which this brings.  

We need Maine but Maine needs us too.  The effort to get there will be worth it.  Just ask the clematis.   

Love to you both.

Jill

June 9, 2015--Perfection

Perhaps it's where we are. Maybe it's because of the way we live while here. Or it could be the people with whom we have become friends. Wonderful people. Of course it could be the weather--gray one day or hour, then clear and sparkling, sometimes dramatically and dangerously threatening. All awesomely beautiful. Maybe we are just feeling good and in a romanticizing mood.

Whatever the cause, we have been spending time thinking about perfection.

About certain things Rona can be a bit of an absolutist. I on the other hand may be inclined to seek compromise, middle ground, consensus. Or do this because I am an equivocator by nature with few guiding principles. These differences between us, though, contribute to a good debate about a lot of things, including what might be thought to be perfect.

For Rona there is, cannot be anything even resembling perfect; and, more perplexing to me, to her nothing can be improved enough to become perfect. Things that by nature are not perfect cannot become perfect. Perfect is flawless, and not capable of becoming so. Perfect is not the result of any process--it just is or must be.

In fact, perfect to her does not exist anywhere in nature, and especially not among humans, since everything is subject to change. But not change leading to perfection. Just to hopefully something better. Much better is possible, hoped for--even to a very good outcome--but just not to perfect.

Thus, for her, what we experience here is not perfection. Cannot be. By this definition anything, everything can be improved but still not become perfect. It is always out of reach. In fact, the closer one approaches the more it tantalizingly retreats.

Rona does believe that things can become much better, even when it feels they cannot be. They just never can become perfect.

I am not happy thinking this way, though I suspect she is right. It is just that I do not want to give in to the view that there can be an end to striving.

So I retreat and turn to dictionaries in defense of my position about perfection.

One says perfect "is as good as it is possible to be."

I like that. Nothing static here. The pursuit of perfect is thus literally full of possibilities.

Perfection, another says, is as "free as possible from all flaws or defects." Again, the allure of possibilities.

Etymologically, I point out--my best repost---that perfect, perfection is from the Latin perficere, which means "to complete." I embrace this lower standard. I believe in the value of completion. It helps me make my case.

In the meantime, as I write this, the sun is rising. The light, perfect on the bay and islands. Or at least becoming so.

Rona on her birthday

September 1, 2104--Midcoast: Too Much Nice

Again yesterday morning when we pulled up to our house, hanging from the latch on the shed door was a bulging plastic shopping bag.

"Ken," Rona said. I knew what she meant.

Peering into it, Rona said, "This time it's full of peaches, broccoli, and zucchini. Ken is amazing."

"Indeed he is," I said, feeling Ken's affection.

He has a large vegetable garden and we are beneficiaries.

Rhubarb comes early, shortly after we arrive for the season, and then, not long after, are his wonderful squash and string beans; and next, after the peaches and zuccs, another round of rhubarb and then giant butternut squash, which we use to make a hearty soup that is perfect when the fall weather sets in.

Usually when we are done with coffee at the diner, on Rona's seat, there's a bag from Ken. If we skip breakfast, Ken comes by and quietly hangs a bag on the shed door.

And occasionally, from our up-the-road neighbor, Jill--a very talented gardener--there might be a package waiting on the front deck with all the ingredients but olive oil that we need to make pesto--the basil and garlic right out of her overflowing garden.

"You know it's about to be September 1st," I pointed out with a shrug of resignation.

"September 1st? You're losing me. I thought we were talking about Ken."

"We were but it also means we only have about two months left before we need to head for the city. Before long it'll be too cold for us to stay here without the cottage being insulated."

"I know. But why does Ken's bag of veggies make you think about that? It's supposed to make us happy, not depressed."

"It does make me happy, and though all his and other's niceness is half the reason we want to be here, getting used to too much niceness will disarm us for when we'll be back in New York. One can't expect that there. Nice is not much of a virtue in the city. And unless we get used to less nice we'll be at a disadvantage back in town because it will make us vulnerable. Still needing things to be nice."

"You amaze me sometimes."

"Amaze you?"

"All the things you come up with to make you feel bad."

"I don't . . ."

"Yes, you do. You're very creative when it comes to anticipating in advance everything that can go wrong." I shrugged again. This time with a hint of apology. "You go from Ken's vegetables, which is such a wonderful thing, to worrying that his being giving leads to your imagining, anxisizing about how his generosity is a bad thing." She sighed. "Sometimes you are just too much."

"I just think I'm trying to be honest about my feelings. Isn't that something you always tell me you want me to do?""

"Yes, yes. But soon you'll again be telling me how Ken keeps bringing us firewood so we can keep the place warm so we won't have to leave so soon also upsets you."

"Not upsets me, but has the effect of disarming me emotionally. I mean I love it, but aren't you afraid that this kind of generous friendship can have some negative consequences when we're back in our dog-eat-dog environment?"

"I don't want to allow myself to think that way. I'd rather live taking things as they come. Enjoying the wonderful way life is here and then doing the same thing in the city. Which has other virtues. I mean we do enjoy being there, right?" She paused as I didn't respond immediately. "You do, don't you? I mean want to spend time there?"

"Yes, yes."

"And soon, closer to the time when we have to leave, you'll be reminding me about how during the winter many of our friends walk by our place after a storm to see how the house fared, letting us know not to worry. They even . . ."

"I know, send us photos to reassure us that all is well."

"And that presents problems for you?"

"It shouldn't, right? And all the other nice things that are too numerous to mention."

"I'm not going to tell you how to feel. I'm out of that business."

"And I'm glad for it."

I looked out over the bay. The tide was running in as if there were rapids in the water. It was another glorious day.

"Maybe," I said, "I should put all this on hold--my obsessing about niceness--until at least the end of the month. When we'd have only a month to go."

"How about holding off until mid-October? After your birthday. Better, until late in the month. After our anniversary."

"I can't commit to that, but I think I can hold out until I'm officially a year older." I smiled.

"That would be a nice present . . . to me."

"In the meantime, what should we do with Ken's broccoli?"