This past Monday meant a day off.
And whoever said that leg room is essential? I can tell you now that it is not.
No wait. Scratch that. I have a vague memory of chewing on a candy cigarette once or twice as a kid. So I guess that wasn't the first time I had tried it after all.
And we had a fantastic sea food lunch at a little rustic restaurant overlooking some fisherman's boats lined up and looking like ducks in a row.
Then we got to Portland and explored this lighthouse.
I love the idea of a lighthouse. A large beacon, leading one to safety, to solid ground. With a light that pierces the darkness, the swell of the waves, the heavy curtain of rain and wind, it remains steadfast. And David and I might have tip-toed through somebody's personal backyard to get a little closer to it. We might have run and giggled like a couple of children cutting school as we cut a path behind their swing set into the woods leading right up to the lighthouse.
And I did try to make myself walk down that hallway. It was terrifying, to tell the truth. I got maybe a few feet in, my friends watching me from the start of the hallway, when I saw some shift in shadow in the blackness and screamed as I turned to run out.
Poor Mindy said she just about broke her neck snapping it back so hard when she heard me scream. But afterward, once we realized there was no imminent danger, we had a good long laugh.
Also, what you cannot see is the sense of calm and storybook charm that you walk into when you find yourself in Maine (except of course, when it says blessed death an abandoned look out, but it rarely does, so you don't really need to be worried about that). It's a special place. There are no neon lights to blot out the stars, not an abundance of billboards to remind you of what you do not have, of what you do not need. It is uncomplicated in its beauty. The abundant evidence of the way nature just makes sense--how the water stops where it needs to, giving way to outcroppings of rocks and cliffs; how the moon works in tandem with the tide and the evergreen trees thickly cover the hills that rise and then dip into valleys--I find comfort in all of this. There is something about it that hints of a plan.