tradition

During 1966- 1974 or thereabouts my family had a cottage on Kezar Lake in Maine. A truly beautiful place built in the 30's with a 2 story boat house complete with a menagerie of odd boats, 8 changing rooms, a 2nd story with a fireplace with a great dock. We would spend entire summers there with family and friends. My father sold the place to buy something else in Florida and perhaps was a good decision on his part because now he and my mother are living down there.

When we got older my sister and I decided to find a cottage we could rent nearby our old camp and met a wonder-filled woman Jesse Volk. She was an artist like myself and must have been in her 80's when we met. We loved the 6 hand constructed cottages with all the antiques and artifacts and paintings she, her husband and father-in-law had painted over the years and acquired over their numerous travels painting all over the world. They were real camps not by any means luxurious but knowing Jesse and being there was everything.

I started to make it a tradition for myself or with some of my boyfriends every year to return to that place and stay for a little while every summer. It is a place of great inspiration and beauty for me. Every year I would set up my house-keeping by going to a cabinet, reaching for a ceramic pink dog planter and placing it on the center of my painting table. I felt home and ready to begin that summer's adventure. He had a kind, yet regal, 7x5 inch look about him even though he was pink. When the cottages were willed to the University of Maine and then leased for a children's camp, I became the first teacher to help give printmaking classes there to the camp kids. I have done so ever since and feel totally rewarded in working there.

I still get to stay in my favorite cottage and bring out my pink dog. This year as every year I was sad to leave but went on my way and decided to leave him out to greet the next guest there this summer and for my return. I had an invitation to meet up with my cousins on Sebago Lake and meandered my way down stopping to have a sandwhich in Bridgeton -the next town over. While window browsing I found an old antique store and to my surprise and joy found the exact same pink dog. I was afraid to see the price but knew in my heart no matter he was part of my tradition.

Memorial Day

I have been thinking about Memorial Day . A day of memories. I received a note by chance today from a soldier overseas and got to wish him well.

When there are holidays I recall my childhood. I can see my mother with her red lipstick in the kitchen dancing with the dog as she feed him. It was wet food that came in a large can all condensed together. Once scooped out and into his bowl on the floor, she'd kick out a leg high in the air overhead as an iceskater would gliding. Smiling, she held the poise, can in hand, till the round of applause had subsided.