just ponderin'

… on maine interrupted

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Lobster buoy near a pine-y shore. Cosy Harbor, Southport, Maine.

In addition to being ocean-y here, it is also pine-y.

There is something so deeply ingrained in my psyche about the combination of pine trees and a rocky shore (really it’s more ‘boulder-y’… Rocky would be different. Like, I was once at Brighton Beach in England and, believe me, that beach is rocky (or maybe it’s more like ‘stone-y’). I dunno.

It’s all igneous to me.

Unless it’s metamorphic or sedentary.

I know, right? I totally missed my geological and petrological callings!

Ya. I looked up ‘petrological’.

No. I’m not gonna tell you what it means.

Because I’m in a mood.

My mood has come on due to Interrupted Maine Time, or IMT.

If you look it up on WebMD – it’s wicked hard to find – IMT is described as a disorder and here are the symptoms:

  • Feel sad, grumpy, moody, or anxious.
  • Lose interest in your usual activities.
  • Eat more and crave crustaceans and/or mollusks, such as lobster, steamers, and clam chowder.
  • Gain weight due to the butter and/or creamy broth served with the aforementioned crustaceans and/or mollusks.
  • Sleep more but still feel tired.
  • Have trouble concentrating.

I know, right?  It sounds totally like Seasonal Affective Disorder, or SAD. You might even think I cut and pasted the symptoms for SAD right out of WebMD which, let’s face it, I totally did. But I replaced ‘bread and pasta’ with ‘crustaceans and/or mollusks’ and the gaining weight bit? I attributed that to the associated butter and cream.

Okay, fine.

Even the other symptoms of SAD don’t totally apply to IMT either, but I put them in there even though really IMT just results in one particular symptom.

Pissy.

Oh, sorry, that doesn’t really qualify as a symptom, which should probably be a noun.

Pissy-ness.

I am experiencing pissy-ness because I keep getting distracted from my Maine time, and often I am even physically removed from Maine to attend to other things.

What is it with the world in summertime, that it doesn’t recognize that I am supposed to be here for weeks on end, allowing relaxation to drape itself across my soul in a place where words are redefined on a daily basis?

For instance, ‘traffic’? ‘Traffic’ is several boats jockeying for position as they pass by my front yard.

I don’t love traffic anywhere else, but I love traffic here.

I am thinking of submitting a bill to congress at the end of this summer.

This bill would decree that the following events are prohibited from the 25th of June through the 31st of August.

For, like…..ever.

Anyone else’s weddings, funerals, birthdays, and any other huge important parties and/or events (this includes my own children. We will choose new birthdays. It will be the law.)

All graduations, sports practices/games/tournaments.

Any moving requiring my interest, attention, or help. No more of that. Not in summer. This is not allowed any more. No matter how much fun it will be for me. I will sacrifice (again, ‘law’).

Any emergencies, specifically at a certain house located in Dunstable, Massachusetts belonging to anyone with the last name of Dingle.

Said emergencies will, henceforth include threats by a certain Old Yankee Man that he will ‘move out’ if he is not cleared to drive… like now.

Right.

It’s totally selfish.

I don’t care.

I’m pissy.

No matter how much fun something else is, my heart wants to be here.

It is a place I prefer to be pissy more than anywhere else, too.

Because… well…. it is nearly impossible for me to be pissy here.

The other day, I finished a seven-hour drive from Connecticut to Maine and, at the very end of the journey (not even a mile from the house), had to sit in traffic – the car kind.

This would normally result in at least some frustration because the previous hours of driving had been filled with stop and go stuff (and the grumpy humans associated with it) on Route 95, and 84, and 90, and 95 (ya, 95 again – just further north that time).

But it was a little hard to be pissy because the traffic I was stuck in, at the very end, was because the bridge to the island was open, and sailboats were gliding through.

And I was able to scoop up my camera from the passenger seat, look over to my right, and snap this just as the crossing gate was being raised, signaling that it was time for me to head onto the island, around the corner, toward home.

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The view toward home, Southport, Maine.

I take it back.

IMT be damned.

I’ll take every second here that I can get, interrupted or not.

No pissy-ness allowed.

Only gratitude.

Thanks for readin’.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAAs always, you can come on over to Just Ponderin’s Facebook page to comment or just hang out.

 

 

Elena Peters

midlife blogger & pinterest master

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