Small Town Arts

Tuesday, June 20

North to Rockland, Maine, where we’ll connect w/ my only other cousin and his wife (#3 – they’ve been married 36 years but I haven’t seen Mike for 40). Four hours that seemed like 8 because we skipped the toll roads and stayed on US1. Parked at the local Elks Club, which is very nice. Lots of grass and trees around us. As soon as we were settled, I drove to the nearest laundromat, loaded up 3 machines and headed out for a much-needed walk that serendipitously took me past the Wyeth Center. I popped in to take a quick look, discovered there was a fee (which didn’t make sense for the 10 minutes I had) and figured I’d just check out the art in the lobby. A couple minutes later the manager calls me over, hands me an admission sticker and tells me the watercolors are upstairs. Delighted, I went up immediately. Of course I’m familiar w/ Wyeth, but to have time (even a little) to see the paintings up close and read the background story of each was a real treat. I stretched my time a bit, thanked the manager profusely and left feeling very peaceful.  (And everyone I passed on the walk back got a big grin.)

Not his most emotionally charged work, but I loved the single spot of color.

In the evening we joined a noisy crowd at “the Narrows” (small local tavern) for dinner and live music. Two guitars, one 8-string acoustic bass, a mandolin (crafted by the musician), and a cello played by the mandolin player’s wife. Mostly 70s music, played with energy and fond memories. All the performers remember b&w TV and really knew their way around the instruments.

Note white coffee mugs.
(They're numbered.)

We started w/ three (the bass guitarist is
sitting between the other two).

BlogThoughts...  "Tuesday night at the Narrows" is quintessential small town. It's a tiny venue (Greg counted seating for 38). These musicians come every week. The lead singer (red shirt) takes a bar break after every few songs. Everyone's talking; the waitress knows everyone; it's all fun. Mid-evening a gentleman sat down next to me on the bench. Turned out we were the same age and had both gone to a "small, liberal arts college" in Ohio. When he finished eating I noticed he had a white coffee mug. I asked if he had his own number. "Yup." He lifted the mug so I could see the bottom. "Fifteen years I've been 118."