Of all of the things we didn't expect on our vacation to Maine was that the trip would be without sunlight. Out of ten days, we were blessed with only four hours of sunshine. Please don't misunderstand me, it was great to get away and also to spend time with my wife's extended family. But, the lack of sunlight does things to one's mind.For example, spending the bulk of one's vacation trying to piece together a 1500 piece jigsaw puzzle was not my original idea of enjoying the natural beauty of Maine. Others played numerous rounds of Monopoly, Aces to Kings, Gin Rummy and other card games. Some read. Some cooked. One croquet match was played in the drizzle and fog.
It was in this state of mind that I remembered Andre the Seal from a previous trip to Maine. 22 years ago to be exact. My brother, Graham and his wife Diane, lived in the Rockland area and I had come up from New York to visit them. It was late August and I decided to take an open boat tour of the coast from Rockland to Camden. My memory was that Andre the Seal had been a heroic figure and that a bronze statue sat high on a promontory overlooking Camden Harbor. Visiting Camden for a day and asking around, with mostly blank stares greeting me, some tourists like myself said that they thought there was a seal statue in Rockport. As the other carload of our party headed back to the rental house in Martinsville, I became obsessed with finding Andre.
The fog began to thicken as we turned into the Rockport area. As we descended towards the water, the fog got even thicker. There had to be some supernatural humor here that represented the graying hair on my head and the deficient memory of who and where Andre actually was. Through the good graces of a local woman, we found the park and drove down to a park by the water. There he was - Andre the Seal. Though it was nothing like I remembered. It was a small granite figure hidden behind the foilage of the water's edge. My party giggled and laughed as they viewed the real Andre, probably because of my obsession to find him and the unreliable memory I had carried for over 20 years. In fact, Andre had not piloted wayward ships safely to shore during Nor'easters as I had remembered. He was in fact a favorite of the locals and played among their vessels until passing in 1986. Whatever.
Nonetheless, it was good to reach a touchstone of a past life, when a young buck with a Wall Street firm felt strong and that his whole life still lay before him. Like Andre, the world was his oyster, a playground of limitless joy. Sorry, the sun in Atlanta is slowly pulling me back from depression. Can you tell?
Posts
