Pinochle and Parsimony

My wife and I just took our first vacation in almost three years. Our grandparents (my side) invited us to come stay with them in Houlton, Maine... about 2 miles from the Canadian border. To all appearances it seems that all my expectations were off base. I expected something out of Green Acres, and what I got was more Northern Exposure. There is a surprising thriving cultural community nested in those hills, with all the quirks of any eclectic arts group, and some ethically minded activists living completely off the grid. We were nearly there ourselves with no access to a computer, little TV (I didn't miss it) and no telephone, cellular or land-line. It was truly a poem in simplicity, which made each moment the more poignant.

Not only was the land absolutely breath-taking, but the time spent with my grandparents (love them though do) was surprisingly entertaining. My wife monopolized my grandmother's time and I did the same for my grandfather. Every day began with a trip through the countryside - perhaps to go pheasant hunting - a lesson in economics (the tariff lifted on importing Canadian potatoes had destroyed the local agrarian economy) and a journey into history (my grandfather grew up there). And every evening ended with Pinochle. I recall at the height of a game, when my grandfather won a bid, something more than cards passed between us. I believe a little bit of understanding was born.

Being the self centered youth that I am, I had not realized that this man I had known my whole life was actually a stranger to me. This was the first time I had spent more than two hours with him since I was 15, and at that time I was hardly interested. But it was as if I suddenly had connected with something rooted in my soul that I had never guessed existed.

All the stories, all the moments, all the visions of his life recounted
might have passed out of memory with him years from now, and I would never have known.
I mention this because of the inevitability, and the fact that my grandfather has bladder cancer. I do not know how much time he has left, something none of us really know. I hope that we have time to spend at least a few more summers together in Maine.
Regardless, I am thankful that I took the time to drive ten hours in an unknown territory
to make a journey into the past.

And forge a few moments for the future.