Royal Rains: Maine Squeeze 42 Redux

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Forty two summers ago we planned a honeymoon to Little Dick's Bay in the 
coral blue, balmy waters of the Caribbean. We cancelled two weeks before 
the wedding when it became obvious that the $11.98 balance in George's 
check book would not cover travel and lodging.  

Plan B was enacted. We did a road trip to Bar Harbor, Maine and took a 
ferry to Nova Scotia. The first realism of our wedded bliss was, when it 
pours every day for seven straight days, even the raging hormones of two 
twenty something kids in love succumb to Maine's Rains. 
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I  recall looking out the car window back then and seeing a 
dreary vista of endless green trees and gunmetal gray that reached 
from sky to sea. It was exactly the same as it looks today. I doubt 
anyone could return the same compliment to us as we roll up Coastal 
Route 1, the slowest road in the USA that connects sassy travelers 
from Miami with Moose in Caribou.

Today the western world rejoices with the birth of Britain's royal heir. 
He immediately contributed continuity to the human experience by making 
it possible to know the name of the future king of The United Kingdom 
that will probably rule into the next century (the Windsor's are born 
with nearly eternal batteries).

Two items of mine make it possible to intimately connect to a time 
before the birthing of my brood during the last quarter moon of the 
past century. The first is a picture taken of me at a cheap hotel in 
Bar Harbor on my honeymoon. The later is the contents of my suitcase 
opened this morning in a somewhat less modest motel. The first had bugs 
in the shower stall. The present had a free breakfast Buffet.

In the fading photo a skinny 20 year old college kid (between junior 
and senior year) with long dark hair and freckles is wearing a tight 
pair of salmon colored jeans, a multi-striped tee shirt, flip flops, 
and a broad brimmed floppy hat. In my parrot decorated canvass bag 
you'll find a pair of salmon capris, a navy/white striped long sleeve 
jersey, flip flops, and my 5 o'clock wide brimmed sailing hat.  
Fortunately, the same loving man is willing to snap a picture. 

Some say there are two types of people. Those who are always evolving 
with the times. They tend to be open to change and flexible. The rest 
are stuck in some moment of their past that defined their sense of self. 
That pretty much sums up the stereotype of a New Englander. That moment 
is some time between whenever a dominant ancestor walked off a boat 
into a new life and the last time the Red Sox won the World Series. 

PrepAs for me, it must be that the times they were 
changing as I came of age and my life long preference for stripes and 
preppy clothes reflects that era. Stripes contrast what is and what's 
not, and prep is a preference for an enduring clean cut, hopefully 
not snobbish perspective.  It is a costume for someone who rides 
with the changes but keeps some things in life on an even keel. 

Its nice to celebrate the Prince's birth in a place populated by 
descendants of people who long ago revolted against the crown who 
profess deep affection for the Royals. May his grandpa and daddy 
preserve and protect this baby's future as a gilded age of Pax.  
Long  live the King.
royal coat of arms

 

3 thoughts on “Royal Rains: Maine Squeeze 42 Redux

  1. I like this post a lot. Wish you still had that 20s something pic,but the pic I did find where you were maybe 6, you had stripes and a hat then too. Love you! Amberley

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    • Ah, but I do still have the picture in our faux wedding album composed of Instamatic snap shots. I forgot about my running away picture circa 1957 with my striped shirt and red felt cowboy hat. I didn’t get far on that walk about! Thanks for loaning me your preppy Ralf Lauren bag with the pink ribbon – it made for a nice photo op!

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  2. Jeri, I love your blog. Glad you are sending it. I like your “northeast” native perspective and references. So creative, freeflowing and a much appreciated depth of thought and wonder that you are abke to evoke from us that like to go there with you.
    Mad Mader

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