December 27
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| Portland Head Light Photo by Chris. All rights reserved. |
We're on the plane at Portland Jetport,
getting ready to take off – and I just realized that my camera is
not I my bag!! A woman in the next row up said an announcement was
made at the check-in area that a camera had been found, but we were
long gone from there by then. So, on the good side, I had to switch
memory cards today, and most of my pictures are on the card that
isn't in the camera. And I have that card. Yay! However, the pictures of the stunningly
Christmas-decorated house...gone... I bought a souvenir guidebook,
but that doesn't replace my photos. The flight attendant helpfully
suggested that we call the airport to claim it, but, really, what are
the odds? We'll see. And here I thought I was going to make it
through this trip without a single major mishap on my part. Sigh.
Backtrack. So, this morning, Harry
didn't want to get up, though it was the only morning on this trip
when it was important for us to do so. I admit it, I was a tiny bit
irritated and started taking the linens off the bed while he was
still in it...heh heh...
We went to Sue's for some quiche
left-overs for breakfast, and Harry and Jim and I waited for Melissa
and Sue to come back from taking care of some business at the notary
public. We settled in, expecting the transaction to take a while, but
they were gone for maybe 20 minutes total! They said they drove
there, walked right in, had the notary witness the signatures, and
drove right back. No wait, no hassle. I love this place.
[When we arrived at the airport, there
was no line at the check-in counter. There was no line at the TSA
checkpoint. The airplane went straight to the runway and took off –
no wait. Things are how they used to be. As I said, I love this
place.]
Sue decided not to go to Portland with
us because of Jim's injury. Jim, by the way, is taking the calls for
his son's “side” heating oil business for a couple of days. As I
said, Jim hates to just sit around. Business is good, and the phone
is ringing off the hook.
Jim went to the orthopedist today and
will be having surgery tomorrow. His Achilles tendon is torn all the
way through, and he won't heal up properly without the surgery. [The
surgery went well. Several months of physical therapy should help him
to recover completely.]
We said good-bye, which is always so
very hard to do, especially with such lovely, kind, generous,
hospitable people. Parting is such sweet sorrow, eh?
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| Portland Head Light Photo by Chris. All rights reserved. |
We loaded up the car, turned the heat
down in the duplex, locked up, and off we went to the Portland Head Light, which I've heard is the most photographed place in Maine (if
not on the East Coast). Who can blame anyone? It is entirely
stereotypical and photogenic. The cute cottage front, the add-ons and
(presumably) storage areas in back, all connected to the lighthouse
in an inverted “T” so you don't have to go outside to get from
the house to the lighthouse. Which is a good thing, because I imagine
it gets rather chillsome on a blustery winter's day. Such as today,
for instance. The wind is reaching right through my jeans with its
glacial fingers. Brrr.
You've got your rugged coastline, your
boiling waters frothing over the rocks, and your wintery gray skies
with pink on the horizon and the faded sun hiding behind clouds.
Altogether, it is a picture-perfect winter scene by the seaside. It
looks like a postcard at the gift shop, which it is. And the homes on
the waterfront are enviable.
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| Portland, Maine Photo by Chris. All rights reserved. |
We then drove in to Old Portland, which
reminded me of Boston's North End, and we had lunch at The ThirstyPig, an Irish pub with one employee on hand for the busy lunch hour.
The poor fellow was the greeter, waiter, bartender, cook, busboy,
dishwasher, and checker. Harry had a bratwurst sandwich, and I had
chicken-apple sausage. I asked for it to be served on greens, but it
came on a roll. I didn't have the heart to send it back. And I gave
the guy a huge tip, 'cause he totally deserved it. He was doing every
job in the place. [I later learned that my credit card had been
compromised, possibly here. I hope it wasn't you, dude.]
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| Beautiful Victoria Mansion Photo by Chris. All rights reserved. |
Melissa's high school friend Michelle
joined us at the pub for lunch, and then we all went to the Victoria Mansion, which was unbelievably decked out for Christmas. Every room.
Every corner of every room. Every surface in every room. And there
were many, many rooms. The ceilings, which are always of great
interest to me, because my grandfather was a craftsman who did the
fancy ceilings, were amazing. They were plaster, painted with frescoes
to look like inlaid wood, with little cherubs and things – very
impressive. The woodwork and paneling in the home? Impressive. The
fireplaces, mirrors, and mantles? Impressive. The carpets?
Impressive. The furniture? 90% original...and impressive.
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| Over the top? Maybe. Photo by Chris. All rights reserved. |
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| Leaving is always a bummer. Photo by Chris. |
And then we headed to the Jetport, and
here we are, flying to (shudder) O'Hare, where we'll change planes.
Harry's been pointing out some cool stuff in the Sky Mall
magazine...always shopping, that one. The “special edition”
humidor with a Blu-ray copy of “Scarface” for $729.99 is a
must-have, no? Well, it does come with 100 cigars...
Amazingly, my camera had indeed been found...and turned in to lost-and-found...at the airport, complete with memory card. It was retrieved by a friend of Sue's, and Sue shipped it home to me. Would this happy ending have happened in most places? No, it would not. And so, it's just one more reason for me to love Maine and the people in it. Thank you so much!
Our arrival in San Francisco was
delayed just enough that we missed the last BART train by ½ hour and
had to take a cab across the Bay and back to Zack and Mel's. It's a
toss-up between the getting there and the coming back as to which is
the least enjoyable part of travel; but, on the plus side, the
getting there has the benefit of anticipation. What do you think? Do
you most dread the getting there, with all its accompanying nerves
and unfamiliarity and tantalizing promise of new adventure, or do you
most dread the bittersweet separation from a new-found love and the
long road home that, at least, ends in the comfort of your own bed?
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