Chasing Rainbows

Last night, the warm spring light of the evening mixed with milky clouds towards the horizon in the southwest as I drove from one end of Maine to other.  Pale pinks and yellow grays combined in swirls and the late April sky resembled the surface of Jupiter.  Twelve hours earlier I was racing East from Bangor to Machias along Route 9, known to locals as the Airline, which connects the Queen City to the Canadian boarder and Calais.  Maine Driver’s

Rt. 9 Washington County Maine

Licenses, used to have the phrase, “Where America’s Day Begins” printed along the top edge with the image of a sunrise and a lobster boat.  Now, my license has a Moose standing above a heart indicating I’m an organ honor and the image of Mt Katandin along the top. 

My day began an hour earlier at the Vacationland Motel, in a room where the lock didn’t seem to work all that well.  The night before I told myself that nothing bad would happen, but took precautions anyways, stuffing a towel at the base of the door and wedging the desk chair under the loose handle, hoping these meager steps would allow me a few hours sleep.  Earlier in the day I was presenting at a conference at the University of New Hampshire.  It was the first time this year that I felt the warmth of spring, and my armpits became wet with nervous sweat as I thought about my talk.   I noticed it was 73 degrees on the bank sign as I turned onto a different section of route 9 in Wells, 160 miles away.   Not surprising, I saw a shirtless man raking leaves in his front yard. His dark hair covered his round torso like a black bear and contrasted greatly to his bleached white skin that had been hibernating for the six months of winter that had just ended.

Like a Heartbeat

Staring at the institutional blue walls in the emergency room, I wondered why they're so drab and lifeless.  Suddenly the room was full of people wearing colorful tops and warm concerned faces. They seemed practiced at not looking alarmed, but their actions weren’t casual, especially their eyes that wandered with regularity to the monitor above my exposed left shoulder. The voice of a nurse comforted me as she asked questions,  "It’s going to be okay Gia, do you have any drugs on board, cocaine, marijuana?" "No, " I answered.  "How about alcohol?"   I replied, "yah, vodka and wine," as the nurse standing to my right drew blood from my arm.  Fortunately my roommate was home last Sunday night, and while she was in bed fighting a horrible cold, she still drove me to the hospital.   

The Thing with Feathers

After an exhausting, yet exhilarating two weeks of traveling and attending conferences, I was headed home.  My Southwest 737-700 series Boeing airplane landed in Portland Maine just before midnight, but not before circling out over the dark and deep North Atlantic on a cold, but not frigid winter’s night. Now that I’m working in Portland, the 32 mile drive has become routine, and I tend to drive quickly down the turnpike, often sharing the highway with a handful late night drivers and the occasional truck hauling wood products to a their awaiting warm southern destination.  Flipping between John Tesh’s radio show, Intelligence for Your Life, and First Wave satellite radio, I realize I was tired, and raced home.

Exit 32 arrives and I step on the gas of my white 4-cylinder Elantra, trying to catch the fleeting green light and pass through the intersection to the route 1 connector and the back roads to my house. I don’t see another car the rest of my drive.  With a half mile to go, I turn right onto my tree lined road, and pass the darken

Into the Darkness      Maine

homes that are scattered acres apart, separated by woods and small fields.  No picket fences here. After leaving the highway, I drive a little more causally, aware that critters, like deer and the occasion moose, may suddenly appear in the road in front of me.  Before reaching the driveway, my salt covered headlights catch the slinky crawl of a small animal crossing the road.   It’s safely in the other lane and just about to disappear into the forest, but I notice a brilliant flash of white. I smiled to myself, knowing that the skunk and I avoided a life altering collision.

Everything Counts

I returned to work this week after being unemployed for 19 months.  It was the longest time-frame where I didn’t have a reliable or consistent paying job since I had starting delivering the Wall Street Journal in 1979.  I can’t explain how satisfying it was to pack my lunch, which consisted of a smoked turkey and avocado wrap sandwich with chipotle mayo, low-fat plain yogurt with blueberries, baby carrots, cranberry-lime seltzer, and water, last Monday morning.  It was like meeting an old friend.   

Night and Day

So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past -

 I celebrated Christmas with my family last Saturday.  While there were many hugs and kisses, and a few tears this year, thanks for the bracelet mom and dad, there were just as may laughs filling my parents’ crowded house. Between the chips and salsa, and sips of vodka, the smiles seemed as bright as the lights on the tree, especially as we cheered on my young nieces and nephews dancing on the small area of gray carpet cleared of discarded green and red wrapping paper and gift boxes.

Wonder

On page 318 of the December issue of Elle Magazine, the one with Lea Michele on the cover, looking over her shoulder with smoldering eyes encircled with thick black eyeliner, were this month’s horoscopes. After scanning Sagittarius’s prognostication for the beautiful yet unpredictable Amanda Seyfried, who was born on December 3^rd in the same year I graduated from high school, I read mine; I’m a Pieces by the way, February 19th - March 20th. After the new moon arrives on the 2^nd, expect major career recognition to head your way. Watch for exciting calls that may offer opportunities to broaden your influence. The 12^th could bring good news…

A Kiss is Still a Kiss

I just came across a lovely article, written in 2008, about a dear friend, Jhan Dean Egg. He was known to many, including my friends and family, as just  "Egg".  I only saw him a few times after he moved to San Fransisco and we lost touch in the late 90's. I knew he was HIV+, but never learned what became of one of the most inspiring people I've ever met.  He died 15 years ago on December 13th, 1998.  While we were art students at Syracuse University, he was one of the first boys/men I passionately kissed and caressed.  I will always remember his bearded stubble burning my lips, his persistent phone calls to my dorm pay phone, his love of music, and his infinite optimism. I miss you friend.