Yesterday I got a text from a Rochester painting student. “I feel like I can’t paint without you,” she wrote. “I’m just not as good.”
“That’s absurd,” I texted back. “Ask yourself, WWCD?” (After a moment’s reflection, I realized she wasn’t old enough to get the joke, so I clarified: “What Would Carol Do?”)
She wants to come to Maine to visit. I love her dearly but from June 27 to October 1, my life is not my own. And I’m concerned about all the people who are already planning to stop by.
My evenings in Rochester more or less went like this: my husband would come home from work, demanding his dinner*and asking about my day. “It was OK,” I’d answer. “Lizzie called and needed help hemming her pants. Chloe wants me to vet her new boyfriend. Melba and I looked at cars. The Duchy’s poodle needed a fast jaunt around the perimeter, and Marguerite had an appointment with her acupuncturist and stopped by and we ended up telling dirty jokes until just a few minutes ago. By the way, WHY don’t I ever get anything done?”
I really thought moving somewhere where nobody knew me would fix this. It hasn’t, actually. I’ve had company every day I’ve been here.
I’m afraid I’ve never met a stranger. And I’m prone to sending my friends—new or old—texts that read, “This beer in the refrigerator isn’t going to drink itself!”
It’s possible—just possible—that I bring my own circus with me.
Let me know if you’re interested in painting with me on the Schoodic Peninsula in beautiful Acadia National Park in August 2015. Click here for more information on my Maine workshops! Download a brochure here.
*This is ridiculous. I haven’t actually cooked since September 10, 2000.