Curiosity Creates Connection

“We are not on a journey to become the same or to be the same. But we are on a journey to see that in all of our differences, that is what makes us beautiful as a human race, and if we are ever to grow, we ought to learn and always learn some more.”

Twenty-one months have passed since my last blog posting.

Florida was ‘home’ for many of those months, including this past winter. I held the intention of writing, however, the urge to express myself in written words never quite materialized. The delightful distraction of grandkids played a role, but primarily the jumble of thoughts and emotions contemplated on a variety of subjects did not begin to seep out and seek space until now.

We drove a total of 3600 miles over the last two years, down and back from Maine to the bottom tip of the east coast, visiting friends and family along the route. Each stop resulted in heart-bursting delight, spending time with those who mean so much to us. What became intriguing to me and equally satisfying, however, was the number of persons we encountered, actual strangers, whose faces continue to occupy a vivid space in my mind, and whose personal stories remain embedded in my heart.

Like Alliana, for instance, a waitress in the small community of Winchester, VA, who immigrated from El Salvador as a teen. A petite twenty-something, highly extroverted with a charming persona and eyes that twinkled, engaged our attention instantly. As we perused the menu, at our request, she began to share pieces of her life experience.

Her mother gave birth to five children, a single parent who sold coconuts on the beach to support her young brood. Alliana revealed that she sets aside a sizable portion of her income to transport her mother, who resides in El Salvador, to the States for five months of the year. Describing her Mom as a sixty-six year-old stoic Catholic, she explained her desire to provide freedoms never before experienced by her mother…including the ability to ‘shop ’til she drops’ at several of the local clothing stores, indulge in multiple leisure activities including a recent venture together to New York City, and imbibe on an occasional cocktail, adding that until these last few years, her mother never had a drink. Alliana describes it as providing her mom with the opportunity to “live the life she never had”.

The restaurant was experiencing a ‘slow’, off-season evening, which allowed Alliana to say more when she returned to our table to clean up the empty plates. She described a dear friend of many years, a trauma surgeon, who slipped into a serious drug and alcohol habit following the traumatic death of his brother in a motor vehicle accident. Alliana visits him regularly to insure he is fed, that his fashionable home is kept clean, and supports him in his challenge to embrace sobriety. Indeed, we had met a charming woman whose existence is focused most on caring for those in need.

Also while in Winchester, we met John, a gentle, somewhat obese Uber driver originally from Michigan, and as he stated, longing to return. Upon realizing we were from Maine, he shared his story of traveling to Portland with his family at the age of ten to visit an aunt. It was his first glimpse of an ocean. While visiting, he had the opportunity to sail as a passenger aboard a boat in Portland Harbor, fostering an instant love-relationship with the sea. This experience lead him to join the Navy as a young adult, although his family, with an abundance of military members over several generations, had all chosen the Army. After his military service, he married a Filipino woman whose career brought them to Virginia.

He told the story of taking her ice fishing when she first arrived in Michigan, bundling her up in winter clothing as her wardrobe had been limited to the flimsy, lightweight attire she wore in the tropical climate she immigrated from. He described her becoming enthralled with the sport when on her first try she caught a fish.

In St. Augustine, we met our Uber driver from Cambodia, whose primary employment involves working from his computer. He told us he keeps his laptop by his side, clicking the keys between customers, working two jobs late into the night. He shared that all of his Cambodian extended family reside in more than ten States, and reunite annually in Florida.

Our college-age, female wait person in Jim Thorpe, PA, was supposed to be attending school north of the city, but her professor became acutely ill that morning resulting in a cancelled class. Given those circumstances, she decided to drive the three-hour trip back to her hometown of Jim Thorpe to take advantage of the opportunity to earn some money at her waitressing job.  Our plans for dinner at another restaurant changed at the last minute, affording us the opportunity to meet Elsie, our server at the Irish Pub on the bottom floor of an historical building in the center of town.

In conversation, Elsie mentioned she had grown up in Jim Thorpe, a member of a graduating class of under 100 students, now studying to become an ultrasound technician. Jim Thorpe is a town located on a mountainside in the Poconos, where we imagined driving in the winter would be treacherous. We were curious to know her experience. She allayed our fears, noting the meandering, steep roads are cleaned up immediately and efficiently after a major snowfall. We remarked in Portland, Maine, where we reside, is similar in their excellent response to winter storms…to which she replied her that her boyfriend was taking her to Portland for a week this summer as a graduation gift, a place neither had ever been before. We offered to write a list of attractions in southern Maine, including restaurants and places that might be of interest to a young couple. She thanked us profusely, while clutching the list as we departed.

Further along the mountain roads, we encountered a bakery on the edge of the Poconos, where we stopped for fresh baked goods and met an Amish woman, dressed in traditional garb. She told us her mother was the founder of the establishment over fifty years ago, when she was just three. Her two young daughters were located in the back room of the store baking pastries, pies, bread and other delectables. We purchased a peach pie and a few other goodies and as we walked out of the door we noticed receding in a grove of trees abutting the small parking lot, the ramshackle homes of their small community that continues to thrive in this desolate space perched on a narrow, perilous mountain roadway.

Returning to Maine, our thirst for discovery and connection in out-of-the-way-places continued.

This past week, on a whim, we drove to Alna, Maine.

I had stumbled across an online article describing a restaurant nestled in a sparsely inhabited area located in the central part of the State. We left fog-enshrouded Portland, venturing off the highway after 60 miles onto a narrow, pot-holed street densely populated with trees and very few homes. Driving now in bright sun, we passed green fields spread along miles of undulating hillsides with drastic slopes and curves, speckled with horses and grazing cows, becoming an unpaved stretch of two or so miles before connecting again with pavement.

Eventually, we arrived at The Alna Store…and what a treat!

This is my kind of place.

A small wooden structure, immersed in nature, bordered by a goat farm, far from the hustle of city life. Entering the Store, we were immediately met by a member of the staff, sporting a tiny nose ring and long, dark hair heaped together and twisted with a clip. Her upbeat ‘hello’ provided a pleasant welcome as she guided us to the table where our taste buds would soon be rewarded with food as exquisite as any James Beard restaurant in Portland. The interior of the building boasted an atmosphere best described as unique, artsy, quaint.

My tendency is to absorb environments, inhaling every detail…like the four pea-green colored candles on the bar dripping melted wax into a twisted sculpture that hung from the flame nearly touching the wood. A gentleman sitting at the bar was sipping something of the same color green in a martini glass. The decor is simplistic, yet comforting and artistic. A large abstract painting hung near the open kitchen, diagonally across from a small area of the restaurant dedicated to local treasures…mouth-watering spices, unusual greeting cards, a mixed variety of locally grown tulips in rainbow colors, hand-made soaps, and other items that can be purchased.

After taking our order and returning with the Brunch selections, our wait person exclaimed to my husband, “Don’t I know you?” That exchange later revealed that in fact she was correct. She was a member of the staff at a coffee shop directly across from our condo building that he frequented on nearly a daily basis. In further conversation, she shared that she had left the coffee establishment about two years ago, moved to central Maine, and had been working since at the Alna Store, which she reported is bursting with tourists during the summer months, and with ‘locals’ during the off-season.

Not realizing we had forgotten the take-out box containing half of my phenomenal pancakes made with Saigon cinnamon and drizzled with black maple syrup, Maddy, our waitperson, ran from inside and caught up with us just as we approached our car, box in hand, topped with a gift bag of the most delicious dark licorice I have ever tasted!

As we began our journey home, we noted a handmade sign with an arrow depicting an art show being held in a diminutive wooden building across the street. A plaque near the door indicated the date of the structure as 1874. The parking lot allowing for no more than five cars, shared with the town’s miniature Post Office.

“You want change, right?” she said, assuming her artwork was worth only a few dollars at most.

When I assured her she could keep the $20 bill toward her trip, the gleeful look on her face was beyond precious. I recall the grateful, excited look in her eyes as I type this. It warms my heart.

Leaving the exhibit, we drove to the handblown glass store we passed as we wound our way to Alna. We stopped briefly at the historic site of a former mill on the roiling Kennebec River, then meandered our way into the town of Dresden. Arriving at this simple place on the side of road, we entered to a room filled with whimsically outrageous pieces of art. The owner invited us into the studio located behind the displays, to observe his craft. As we watched intently, he created a square cup from a blob of liquid that became a delicate object of art. From start to finish, he explained each step as he thrust a long, metal tube attached to the nondescript piece of unformed glass into multiple furnaces raging with flames of over 1000 degrees, and then blew quickly into the tube to enlarge the piece into a bulbous shape.

He shared with us the journey of he and his wife, college art majors, creating this business after multiple moves beginning in Oakland, CA, and eventually settling in this obscure town. I left with a piece of art, a small handblown vase, signifying a memory to cherish. The day, overall, was simple, yet magnificent. Maine is where I am grounded, centered…where my soul wakes often with wonder to its quirks and whimsy.

Retired now, both our careers were once riveted on people…focused on assisting clients by listening, supporting, coaching, and participating in processing their vast range of emotions and newly discovered awarenesses.

No surprise, we continue that mode of behavior into our retirement lives. It is our tendency to take our natural curiosity along for the ride, wherever we go.

People are facinating.

Everyone has a story.  An interesting story.  A classic story.  An intriguing story.  An awesome, precious story.

Embracing all who wander onto our path… accepting their differences, remaining present to their story, welcoming their kindred spirit…creates a journey seeking connection and unity. Perhaps if enough of us embrace a similar philosophy, hope for our country and ultimately world peace might be within our grasp.

Curiosity Creates Connection