Notes from Maine - 2024/09/01
My aunt just pulled away to drive back home (11 hours or 12, depending on the route she ends up taking). We had a wonderful visit. It was so generous of her to make such a long journey to spend some time here. Each day we talked for hours, sharing stories. I’ve known her my whole life, but there are still so many aspects about her that I’m learning for the first time, and I shared some of the bright and dark moments of my life that lurk in the back of my head.
During the first half of her visit, I was preoccupied with the roofers. It didn’t go great. Dissatisfied with some details, I had to have several conversations about the way I wanted things done and then I had to worry and inspect to make sure it came out okay. I thought I had communicated the issues on day two, but by the fourth day I discovered the same problems in their new work. It was stressful, and I don’t think I was pleasant to be around. By the end, it was all perfect. Since April, when the tree came through the roof, I have dreaded heavy rain. Now I should be able to get back to ignoring it or even enjoying it.
Despite the fact that the “island” is currently a folding table, I’ve been enjoying the kitchen. We’ve taken meals there and talked for hours. I have high hopes that all the boxes in the dining room will be cleared out this year. Taking the better part of a decade to remodel, I’ve learned what I don’t need. I suspect that several pans, utensils, and containers will make their way either to Goodwill or the dump. A yard sale might net me about $5, but I can’t imagine going to that trouble.
When we cleaned out Dad’s house, we had a few yard sales and a lot of his collection went to new homes. I was just mentioning to my aunt that it was a lot of work, but it was pleasant in its own way. My brother and I were forced to sort through everything in the house, deciding what would be kept. In the process, I rounded out my understanding of Dad. His briefcase still contained the details of my grandmother’s estate. That paperwork provided me with assurance that I was doing things correctly. My lists and documents mirrored the ones he kept twenty years ago. I also saw some parts of his life that he chose to keep to himself while he was alive. There were stacks of correspondence with his fishing buddies (drinking buddies, to be more accurate) who met once a year for poker, smoking, drinking, and maybe casting a few lines. Of course I knew about those trips, but I had never seen the photos or the pamphlets he kept. Should I have left those details undiscovered? Should I have preserved his privacy even after his passing? Personally, I don’t think so.
With the roof done, I have some time before the next official project begins. The electricians will be here in a month. The fencing people (assuming they ever show up) don’t have a firm start date. Albert and I will be here waiting.
