It's beautiful. Ok, it's foggy and chilly but right now that feels great.
I don't care what my kids say, the minute they start driving down the road to the house? their energy perks up and they start talking about all the stuff they do here... even Mr. Ben boy.
Yuh. They hate it. Yuh.
At a low point, when I was feeling really bad about spending the money on this place, that it was our "baby" to save the "marriage," Jeanine reminded me we gave the kids an experience they would never have had in their lives. We'll sell it, sure. But not for a while.
I've invited many folks and few have come. It's not for the weak, I suppose. It always hurts my feelings a little because it is so special to me. Even Jeanine hems and haws. Bah I say. Bah.
Part of what has been difficult this week has been a power and privilege play. I have hurt a good, dear friend. I never meant to. It kills me to think I hurt her.
I never see myself as powerful. I understand I'm privileged. Somewhere in there, I need to make a connection that I'm missing. I'm often embarrassed by my privilege. But it's there. Hiding from it doesn't make it not so. Nor does it mean I have to give it all away to be a "good" person.
Why is that so hard for me?
Not going to figure that out tonight. No mussels for dinner this weekend, it's red tide. There is a good boat for sale that I may just go ahead and buy. I so want a boat to go play on. have since I was a kid staying on Canadaigua lake. It's a Boston whaler, sturdy and not prone to tipping. It's the boat Bob and Mary, the lobsterfolks, used last year to pull traps, which makes me think it's way too big but... it would come with their help and guidance.
They make me smile so much. Raspberry ripple, you know. Haven't found any yet but still looking.
Donald told me the big news- a new Hannaford supermarket was opened. At least everything will be in date- maybe. We passed the blueberry fields and the portapotties were being brought out to the tiny cabins for the migrant workers. Ben is starting to understand about his privilege. We had a good talk about what it would be like to have to live like that. I reminded him his great grandmother, grandmother and great uncles lived in a boxcar, and followed the seasons to pick whatever was there, whatever they could make money doing.
He reminded me that his other grandmother never picked a thing and was related to George Washington. I said, yup. You got both worlds going on. Be true to both.
My sister reminded me the other day about how far he has come. How hard it was only a few months ago. I look at him and am so grateful we are where we are.
Jake asked me, as we were settling in, if Walter and Allan were going to take their stuff from here. I said we hadn't decided what to do about that yet. Soon, people up here will see the car in the driveway and stop by and ask about them. I'm not sure what to say. They all accepted our weird family with open hearts. And now it's broken and I feel the failure. This place, all the homes down here, are old old old. families own them for generations.
And here we are. New, and already broken.
Sadness. The sign with all our names on it is still in the magic shed (it's the all purpose shed on the property that has always had everything we needed in it- tools, wicks, oils, buckets, ropes, ladders... a friend deemed it the magic shed because whatever you needed magically appeared.)
Do I burn it? Or do I toss it in the pile of other shit here, some totally useless, for the next owner to find and wonder about. There is so much in this house, the dome, the shed, that covers the 110 years it's been here. The captain's quarters sign, AB Seaman and spare signs, from the shipwreck the wood to build the house was scavenged from. Books from the early 1900's, old wood toys most certainly coated with lead paint, and all the antique lanterns we light every night.
Maybe it just belongs here as part of it's history. I don't know. I just don't feel as vengeful as I did a few months ago.
One of the propane lights broke and was leaking gas. Yikes. A burner on the stove is clogged. A-yuh. I'll get to it. No sign of porkchop- I don't really care. I don't have a garden. There are plenty of trees for it to munch on. Live and let live.
Mind you, I throw the fish I catch back in the water, too. I don't really have the heart to kill things. Except mice. I can kill a mouse. Well, not personally. I'd be shrieking too loud.
Maybe that would kill them. Hmmmm.
For now? A glass of wine in front of the fire. Yes, a fire. It's not cold but there is a chill. A game of gin with Jake. Light the lanterns- it's already getting a little dark. I'll make some dinner, and when it gets truly dark, everyone is ready for bed- even if it's 9pm. I love that.
I'm in downeast. Again. It is where my soul rests for a while.
And the boys... even though they complain? Seem to find some peace, too.