verge (vʉrj)
the edge, brink, or margin (of something): also used figuratively the verge of the forest, on the verge of hysteria

to tend or incline (to or toward)
to be in the process of change or transition into something else; pass gradually (into) dawn verging into daylight

Friday, December 23, 2011

Sunday, December 11, 2011

Maine Prelude

Prelude, Kennebunkport

I am just back from another Prelude weekend in Kennebunkport, Maine.  Christmas on the Maine coast is beautiful.  Boats with red gingham wreaths, a lobster trap tree lighting, sea shell ornaments, church craft fairs, white twinkly lights, carolers singing and drumming, children with lobster hats and mittens, jingle bells on doorknobs, people shopping...It reminds me of the days when we anticipated magic.  

I enjoyed time with my friends.  We all came from different places and for different reasons.   I loved how that really didn't matter.  We thrived around the dinner table, laughing very loudly and sometimes whispering serious things.  Every time we crossed the Dock Square Bridge, we reminded ourselves of our past bridge stories--telling those stories again and again because telling them has become more important than the past. I love this ritual.

Prelude.  We still anticipate magic but we don't look for it in town at Dock Square. Instead, we find it in the harbor, looking out at a deep gray sea and a white foamy beach.  The sky and horizon stretch right around us and take us in.  We are so lucky to know this. We hear the stories of the gulls and rocks and waves again and again, because listening to them has become more important than anything we could say.  

I thank my friends for sharing Prelude as they do.  Magic, indeed.



Well, I confess I fell in love this weekend.  Ok--it was fast.  And ok--I already have a dog.  But this one--this one....sigh.  Her name, Angelica.  At 10 years old, she was the most senior member of a Leonberger reunion taking place at Prelude in Kennebunkport, Maine.  There must have been seven or eight other dogs with her, including a youngster who was only a few months old and too antsy to pose for a picture.  The Leonberger, I learned, is a cross between a St. Bernard, a Newfoundland, and a Great Pyrenees.  Ka-boom!  That's quite a lot of dog!

I think what I love most about Angelica (besides her name) is how she brings all her dog-ness to such simple and understated elegance.  The subtle bling, the weathered lines, the gray hair....

Too sexy for her hair.