2017&18 Recap

Spring, 2017

My adult son came visit to me in Maine.  

We shared a piece of Blueberry pie at the Pie Company in Portland; lobster in Freeport; fried shrimp at Becky’s Diner, and beer at the Allagash Brewery in South Portland. We tried to visit Peaks Island but it was freezing so we got off the boat, walked into the island, changed our minds, and got on the next boat back into town. Then my son spent the rest of the day under the covers in my bed trying to get warm while I made his favorite beef chili.

We’re not close, but I adore him. He thinks I’m too unconventional, especially after I moved to Maine when he left for college.  I just loved that he surprised me with his four-day visit.

Summer, 2017

I turned 50 in May. My daughter stayed with me most of the summer. We hiked, drank tea, went to the fish market, walked the beaches, and ate lobster.

My beautiful, blonde and Russian daughter was carefree, innocent and joyful and she didn’t notice how uptight I was when we walked around town (she’s white, and I am not). In Miami I didn’t mind the stares or questions about our relationship (my ex and I adopted our children from Russia when they were babies). Miami has a multicultural community. Maine, though, is mostly white. Some stared at us, and one man even stopped in front of us on the bus and muttered things I was too afraid to ask or listen to.

But Natalia never noticed the stares or comments. She had always adored me.  All she wanted to know was the details of our daily travel itinerary so that she could track it on her travel apps. Without saying or doing anything, she was teaching me how to not care what others think.

I spent the last days of summer in a cabin at Popham Beach with my sister, her husband, and their four-year-old daughter who were all in town for a visit. And I ran up and down the shore with my niece as if I was her age, as if I never aged, or never will.  When others stared, I didn’t care.

Fall, 2017

I declared bankruptcy and felt free from the oppressive credit card bills I had not been able to pay off since my divorce 12 years ago.

On the bus to Walmart, I met Daniel and knew he was my man even though he was 28, had tattoos all over his body, and wore his pants falling of his waist.  The attraction was mutual.  He had an ageless vitality that I look for in my men and have rarely seen in years. He said “hi” and followed me into Walmart, waiting around so that he could take the same bus back with me into town.

On the 30- minute ride back, he told me he was from Los Angeles. When he was growing up, his father and mother belonged to gangs in California. His brother died from an overdose in Bangor the day before and the funeral was tomorrow. He was heartbroken even though he didn’t say it. His daughter, who he had not seen in years, lived in Canada.  He showed me the knife wounds on his flat stomach from gang fights he’d been in. And he told me that in high school he got a scholarship to play basketball at a university, but jail derailed that dream.  He was also a talented tattoo artist but couldn’t work because of his criminal record; instead, he worked construction and made 18/hour. 

I told him to let Maine work its magic. To go into nature, specially into the woods and to be alone there so that silence and solitude could heal him, if that’s what he really wanted because he kept bemoaning the real gang life in LA and not the fake one in Portland...  I refused his offer to go on a date even though I was tempted, but I couldn’t handle his chaos.  I was heartbroken by my decision because I had not been attracted to a man for years, but I didn’t regret it...

2018

2018 started off on the afterglow of a four-day New Year’s Eve trip to Iceland. The stark, mountainous, glacial and moody scenery stays in my heart, and I make a note to return for longer next time and catch the Northern Lights.

I’ve been in Maine five years now. I’ve revised a memoir, written a new one, published an e-book on how to write love letters, and started a novel. I’ve also seen over 700 movies, mostly foreign and reread my books on how to speak better Spanish, make love, and improve grammar many times.

I still travel to New York City every two or three weeks by bus to visit my mother, who has breast cancer, at her nursing home in Manhattan. It’s been four years since her diagnosis, and my trips to New York City had made me an honorary New Yorker:

I’m comfortable in the city and understand its rowdy. I’ve visited all the parks, museums, famous attractions and have designated the subways my favorite place in the world. This summer I even danced the Charleston, by myself for three hours, at the annual Jazz Ball on Governor’s Island.

I even learned to walk with attitude by tapping into my masculine side when I hit the the pavement at rush hour with all the arrogant Wall Street brokers who have better struts than high fashion runway models.  Even though the trip exhausts me, and I’m tired of staying with my sister in her small and uncomfortable apartment in Brooklyn, I welcome the change of scenery and pace every couple of weeks.

I’ve made three good female friends in Maine now: one French, one Danish and one Russian.  They make me treats or invite to their houses to eat.

I’m more relaxed than I ever was in my life.  Two years of meditation and listening to Ram Dass, Tolle and Alan Watts have freed my spine and shaken belief system that gave me more unhappiness than peace.  I practice loving awareness for all and try to avoid the mental judging that kept me feeling superior and detached from others.

I still spin at the gym every morning and listen to hard core rap, another exercise in tapping into my masculine- speak-your-truth side (for many years I was afraid to speak and be my truth).

I’ve also acquired new heroes like Obama and Muhammad Ali, men I admire for their genuine sense of joy and love for everyone.

I still love to jay-walk and lie to the librarian about how many books and movies I have checked out. And, I’m still having a problem giving myself a decent high (something about not inahaling properly,  I think)

I still teach online and fret about that call from the nursing home that my mother has passed. Still, I practice, “let go, let God.”