Maine Chronicles 2000
(This is a series of e-mails I wrote and received while traveling back to my land of origin, South Paris Maine.)
Subject: Maine Chronicles (1)
Date: Mon, 29 May 2000 12:24:40 PDT
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Well, I made it to Maine okay, and it's all I remembered and more.
Travel went fine, for a change. I guess flying at Christmastime in the past accounted for most of the delays and hassles I usually suffer. Went camping with the family at Aziscohos Lake (Erroneously reported earlier as Mooshehead Lake--same area, wrong body of water). I actually saw a moose--as well as loons, and the Maine state bird, the black fly. The latter weren't too harsh, though -- special thanks to
Ma'at for the advice about the bracken fern.
So I'm back dirty, tired, and dirty, waiting for my turn at the shower. There are 88 messages on my e-mail from this
weekend. I think I'll have to cancel some lists if this keeps up. That's probably over an hour to check all the mail. That's why I'm writing this now, before I start reading.
Well, two more weeks and I'll be back. It's lovely here, but so far cold and tiring. Gimme a day to rest up and I'll be back to my old usual enthusiastic self. I'm looking forward to my brother's graduation this week. It'll be
weird. Seems like just yesterday I was changing him.
Ah, well, until next installment,
Scott
Subject: Maine Chronicles (2)
Date: Fri, 02 Jun 2000 17:53:35 PDT
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Well, a few more days have passed, and tomorrow my brother graduates.
It's amazing what different worlds we are in, now. When we went camping, my mother asked, "Did we pack the tarps and ropes?" -- and I swear my first
fifteen responses were inappropriate to the situation. My Mom used to be a hellion, but now she's so settled down and vanilla she censors my brother's
music.
I went rock climbing with my brother (a first for me) and the fact I
couldn't comment on certain things about the sport I found humorous (We wear harnesses that emphasize our crotches, are suspended by ropes, put ourselves
in the hands of another) was made even worse by the fact we were climbing with the church youth group.
And at some of the award events, I've watched the graduating class, and I can't help thinking the winner of all those the choral awards was most
likely gay, and 67% likely to be of legal age (and wearing a style that would have gotten ME beat up)--but I can't share these thoughts with anyone
I'm with here.
I know locals find outlets for their kinky and sexual desires, but my family is just so stiff these days I can't take it! I am under pressure from
family and (old) friends to come back and teach at my own hometown school, but I don't know--where would I find a decent
Latté?
Well, in fact, things are pretty good here. Most of what plagued me in HS is
passé now: they have a GLBTQ club (the first of its kind in Maine), and lots of freedom in dress and hairstyle. Oh, the grief I used to get for
wearing my hair long! Now the kids look like any HS in California, except all the dark skin is on exchange students (we're not discriminatory, it's
just that all the immigrants that came to Maine were from England, Finland, and other Northern Euro places).
Well, that's my ramble for the moment. The boy graduates tomorrow at noon, and I may cry. Then again, my mother's planning on crying enough for three
or four of us.
TTFN,
Scott
Subject: Maine Chronicles 3
Date: Sat, 03 Jun 2000 21:13:55 PDT
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Following are some thoughts just written down, stream-of-consciousness, tonight. I needed to write them to think them, and I need to share them, too, and forgive me, it doesn't much matter yet with whom I share them, you're an almost random list right now (or maybe it's not random, but what it tells me about you, about me I can't figure out yet. I love most of you, though). I'm not sure if I can sleep yet tonight, but by the time I see any of you again, I'll have figured out how again.
Scott
...
An eventful evening, to be sure.
I went to my brother's graduation--forgive me, my writing will be a bit disjointed, by the time I'm done you may understand why--and found a seat, and was looking around at all the bright faces and feeling nostalgia, like maybe I was caught in a time warp and was experiencing some alternate-universe version of my own
graduation, or my children's (unborn as yet). It was a lovely spring afternoon, not yet darkening into soft, warm evening. Then, suddenly, a
cliché erupted into our midst, and a man in front yelled, "Is there a doctor here?"
I turned to someone and said I'd never seen that in real life, never for real, never in life, and someone near me said, "oh, my
God, that's Sherri," and my family surged to their collective feet and galloped over to a corner of the football field, where the handicapped parking was roped off with hand-drawn signs on notebook paper, and someone nearby laughed, and I thought, "it's just someone overreacting, it's nothing, if I look it'll affect my day, and I want to enjoy this, want to remember this, want to evaluate this: is it something I want to see again, myself, my children, my students?"
But my family didn't come back, and I said, out loud, "Shit, it's us. Why did it have to be us?" and I took off my jacket, to hold my seat, because we fought for those seats, and there was nobody there, nobody who wasn't out in the field, in a desperate,
clichéd huddle (Sherri red-faced among them), on the field, in the corner, by the roped-off section, and I walked over, and saw a car with a wheelchair folded, leaning at its side, and the crowd, who was all my family, all my family, was clustered around something, must be
someone, on the ground, on the ground, between the feet, under the hunched back of my aunt's very-
good friend the recently-certified nurse, who was breathing for two now, for two.
And the looks on my faces, my family's faces, even the distant-
who-the-hell-are-they relations, told me who it was, but I couldn't remember his name, I'd spoken to him two days before, he'd said how nice it was to see me after too many long years on the other side of the
country and hadn't things changed?--it was my brother's, half-brother's grandfather, but he was closer than that sounded, he was
Opah, German for granddad, Texan, Army vet/brat, racist, big-mouthed, drinking, smoking son-of-a-bitch on the ground and didn't he look tired
when I saw him on Thursday? So good to see you again, and my son is coming up from Virginia (or was it Maryland) for graduation too, my whole family here, isn't it nice (But oh, he looked tired, old, lost).
His wife (Pat) looked lost, confused, she wanted someone to tell her something, but all I heard was Oh, she's a good friend of mine, a nurse, knows what she's doing, she'll help, she'll breath for him, she'll do what needs to be done, and the AMBULANCE came, but without sirens, and there was a
clichéd "CLEAR!" and an awful, awful pop, and an IV bag, and a get out of the way unless you're family and a mister, this crowd IS the family, gone, gone, gone, drove off with his wife, and his pale belly open to the sky, and it drove off without sirens but THEY DON'T
PUT IV BAGS ON CORPSES, DO THEY? No sirens, it's graduation day, after all, auspices not good for future to have sirens, is it?
Should we tell him? He knows, he knows, what do I say? Hope for the best, the best, double fingers-crossed and Uncle knows the paramedics, they'll let us know, be brave, someone hold my mother, I can't do it, someone needs to hold my mother, she was expecting to cry today anyway, had tissues ready.
"Pomp and Circumstance" is a funeral dirge, even with bagpipes, and the teachers are all in black robes, and the families and the seniors whistle, but not my brother and the literate stoner salutatorians us, and the teenage mother valedictorians us, and by the time the unknown author (hometown girl makes good) tells us tales of cottonwood trees and remember this: remember who you are and where you came from he's already dead, but we
didn't know yet, and gradually we begin to hope, and cheer, and my brother graduates with no particular honor, and I hear Opah has died, and someone asks me his name and at first I can't remember and there are fireworks, not for him but for the future, but to me they are for him, and I think: "Send me off with fireworks, with cheers and
applause, send me off with drinking too much and laughing too loud, and by god, let there be noise, and music, and food, and growing things, and growing things, and growing things, and fireworks to light my way home."
Jim Smith, his name is, he's dead. He ate jalapeño peppers with everything, and he smoked, and he used to be a bartender I think, and a dentist I think, and in the Army, and his food was always greasy, and he had cancer, eating him alive, and one fine June afternoon, after visiting his whole family for the first time in many years, he let go.
Now Pat won't live alone, and there's the house, and the dog, and my mother's crying again, and someone finally told my brother, and he looks like he wants to be brave but doesn't feel it, and I wish I had had something encouraging to say, but I knew he was dead as soon as I knew the
cliché was him, he looked so tired, and so happy to see us, so happy to see us, that one last
time, it was the closest I've ever come to death.
That one last time he smiled and shook my hand and said, it's good to see you again.
And now what? I think I'm going to have to stay a while longer, and maybe San Diego will feel too frivolous now, and I'll have to come back, and teach at my old school, and think of things like giving back to the community. Was it Opah's death, or graduation, or those damned, lovely, wonderful, smile-stretching fireworks in the face of death?
I love you, Jim. May those stuttering sparks spiraling in the night guide your way to your final reward, you much-earned rest. Watch us, we'll be with you soon.
S.
Following are some responses to the last bit from friends:
From: "Anthony Port" <w~~~~~~~~@~~~~~~~>
To: woofaboomus@hotmail.com
Subject: Re: Maine Chronicles 3
Date: Sat, 03 Jun 2000 21:27:28 PDT
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Scott,
Nothing I could say wouldn't be a cliché or overcome the shock of death. Even those words sound hollow to my inner ear. Even us Pagans, some of the best possible people for dealing with death have problems handling it. I offer my hopes to you for the future, with all my heart I ask you to remember the good side of this. The rest he now finds and the possible rebirth. His time was done on this earth and he goes away the brighter for it. The dead are without shame, fear or reprisal. Any harm that has been dies with them, so remember only the good he has given. Tomorrow I will honor a family member of my love in a Odinist way. I will drink and sing and offer a salute, Melanie is working tomorrow night at Cheers and damnit all I will sing his soul to its place. As you honor him there, he will be honored here, by strangers and by family. Its the right way to go. For now accept my hopes and blessings in spirits, until we meet again in the flesh. For always and ever, for aren't we just that?
R~~~~~~~~~~
P.s. You never seen my magickal name before have you? I only use it on important occasions, where it deserves that honor. Blessed be Scott, my heart goes out to you.
From: "Scott Maddix" <woofaboomus@hotmail.com>
To: w~~~~~~~~@~~~~~~~
Subject: Re: Maine Chronicles 3
Date: Sat, 03 Jun 2000 21:31:24 PDT
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Boy, you read fast!
I thank you...you've just brought the first tears. It's just past midnight here, the moon is barely there, but waxing, and It'll All Be Better In The Morning.
Drink hearty, my love, I know he is.
Scott
From: "Donna Haran" <D~~~~~~~~@~~~~~~~>
To: "Scott Maddix" <woofaboomus@hotmail.com>
Subject: Re: Maine Chronicles 3
Date: Sun, 4 Jun 2000 12:07:10 -0700
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Dear Scott.
I just read your message. It was beautiful. It was absolutely perfect
and I am crying. Your writing talent has allowed you to process the ordeal and create something beautiful. You strung together the surreal and the all
too real happenings of yesterday. I know that you think it was just a private stream of consciousness, but your consciousness is attuned and
astute, and it communicates what could be thought to be beyond words.
That being said,( and I know you didn't want a critique of your writing;
I was just so moved by it.) I am so sorry for the loss of your
grandfather, and especially for the way in which it occurred. There is something sadly beautiful about it too, though. I think you touched on all
those points in your written message, so you know what I am thinking about.
As sad as it is, the timing does seem 'poetically perfect'.
Arrivals, departures, hellos, good-byes, coming of age and the passing on.
...
Thank you for sending this news and your personal insight on to me. I
will concentrate now on sending you loving energy. And conscious blessings of strength and peace to you and your family.
I also think the fireworks, so wonderfully, were the guide lights for
you grandfather's spirit. There is so much that you recount that feels
tragic and so much that celebrates life. Wow, Scott you had an experience that you never would have wished for, but that has enriched your spirit,
that you can take into your Self . Breath deeply. Hug your Self and feel the circle of love
around you.
It does seem that Opah was sent well on his way with fireworks, but if
you have the feeling that his spirit might still be 'confused', I have this
Spirit Release blessing :
May blessed soul-friends guide you,
May helping spirits lead you.
May the path rise up under your feet
and lead you gently home.
I have used it a couple of times , and felt a peacefulness afterwards.
I will close for now. Please write back if the feelings move you to do so.
Believe me, I will understand whatever you happen to find yourself going
through.
Look to the Sun, dear friend. and be Gentle with yourself.
I send my love, and Blessings.
Donna
From: "Scott Maddix" <woofaboomus@hotmail.com>
Subject: Maine Chronicles (final)
Date: Mon, 12 Jun 2000 13:01:46 PDT
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Well, here I am at school again, after flying in last night (landed @7pm, almost an hour early). I arrived safe and sound, but desperately tired and just a bit wiggy...head cold + flying cross-country = strangeness in the head.
In the course of the trip I've been camping in the cold Maine woods, discovered that bracken fern is moderately
efficacious in keeping blackflies and 'squitoes away, gone rock climbing, attended my little brother's graduation, attended my (step) grandfather's funeral, carried his casket, beaten Jedi Knight (with only a few cheats), seen my mother's exquisite garden, attended my brother's graduation party, gone swimming in the cold Maine ...er...swimming pool, visited family and friends (and failed to visit many more friends), visited my old school (which is MUCH better now, darn it), received WAY too much e-mail (I'm on 5 lists now), eaten lobster, drank Moxie, written a poetic rhapsody about death and life, missed my San Diego Friends, visited places that make me feel nostalgic, been pressured to come back and teach at my old school, flown in 4
airplanes and spent time in 4 airports (way too much in Newark). It is also the only time since leaving home I've visited non-Christmas--and the only trip in which I've experienced NO delays, weather problems, re-routes, overbooking, icing on the wings or mechanical failure.
Got home last night and was pretty much unable to think or speak coherently, and was still partially deaf because
apparently one's ears don't pop the same way when one has a head cold. I slept fitfully but well, and woke up way too early this morning. School is ... well, about the same.
So, anyway, I just wanted to sort of sum up for those who have been following my travels--I made it back. Next year my family is coming to ME, and I'm sure that will be a whole different sort of trauma.
Over and Out,
Scott
Maine Chronicles 2004
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