PORTLAND, Maine — The Weather Channel, online, had warned us last week rain was likely every day, both our time in Maine and then in Boston. It drizzled on our drive last Sunday to Ogunquit from the Manchester, N.H., airport. But Monday and Tuesday stayed merely overcast; Wednesday seemed the best day for Kennebunkport and an afternoon whale-watching cruise, even though it also had the highest predicted chance for rain.
Sure enough, the late-morning outing was canceled as we tourists were boarding the boat so we received refunds. We were to sail near Walker Point, the Bush family compound. Dang.
We then walked around the town, spending the most time at an import shop specializing in Japanese and Korean goods. The proprietor said he was retired from the State Department, with his time in the Foreign Service in those countries and part of his sales inventory from his collection. He took a call while we were shopping and spoke fluent Japanese.
Still we kept thinking of Eureka Springs, Ark., in the questionable quality of the other shops — souvenirs are souvenirs and apparently the official bird of every state is the mosquito. But we were reminded of Branson, Mo., as well, in the bumper-to-bumper cars. Every shopkeeper in Maine told us, traffic was light, just wait until July.
Running out of things to do quickly, we drove in a steady drizzle to Portland, for the Museum of Art before dinner with a Stanford freshman dorm friend and his wife. It was terrific and though small deserved more hours than we gave it. Periodically I need to see how Impressionism evolved into Cubism, and between a traveling exhibit and the permanent collection this was made plain. The progression is as inevitable as for me impossible to explain. Read Robert Hughes; he comes close.
My favorite painting was “Un Jeu de Croquet,” 1872 by Abbena and owned by the Arkley family. Hey, classical croquet.
The Youngs took us to Walter’s in the renovated wharf area. The 25th reunion we all missed in 2005 in Palo Alto we created that night. These are smart, kind people living decently in a great region. Everyone lives so far apart; if only. … Our college lives had so much hope, and look at us now, not so bad at all but still. Oh let’s not go on either of those paths. -30-
