Maine Encounter
Perkins Cove, Ogunquit, Maine
My husband and I returned recently from a short vacation to Maine. By the time we got back to Michigan, if he’d said “ayuh” instead of his usual Midwestern “yep” one more time I’d have killed him. But I have to admit, being around Mainers encourages brevity, gentle abruptness; a shyness about spilling personal details or inquiring too deeply.
We landed in Portland in glorious, warm weather, the kind of week the tourism industry had prayed for all summer. Only it was October, and the glut of tourists was gone. We lucked into both leaf peeping and deep azure skies, able to get a table anywhere, high on lobster rolls, dizzy on drinks by the pool, petting dogs brought to our inn by locals who’d ventured out to reclaim favorite spots before they closed for the season. We admired their dogs, curbing our Midwestern chattiness, learning from them how to let people be.
It was good preparation for meeting Sally Struthers. In downtown Ogunquit, after a capacious lobster roll and a large beer, my husband needed to find the public restrooms. I entered a gift shop of only middling interest until the actress burst in with her dog, hands fluttering, eyes batting, a bundle of Gloria Bunker energy even in her mid-70s. I recognized her immediately: the chin dimple, the bright eyes, the high, sweet voice that still sounded young. The shopkeeper buzzed around her, familiar, offering condolences on the passing of her prior canine. The new one was a rescue – Rooney – a mellow, floppy chap indifferent to attention. Sally needed “something green” as a birthday gift. Within two minutes we learned a little about Bend, Oregon; Rooney’s adoption; and the new friend with a strong allegiance to green. Mainers apparently had not schooled her in the art of unobtrusive conversation.
“She adores green, so I’m going to look at absolutely everything in here that’s green,” the actress announced. She then strolled to the jewelry case to examine gold necklaces while the shopkeeper and I explored green. It was all too expensive. “I’ve only known her two weeks!” Sally said. “I’m not spending a hundred seventy-five dollars!” I endorsed the impulse, but it left only a small, painted wooden tray, a set of linen napkins, and many lovely items that were not, alas, green. I wanted to ask: How about a gift certificate? Or perhaps something out of wood – doesn’t wood go with green? I had just purchased a stunning green silk scarf for myself at a shop in Kennebunk, and I shoved it into the bottom of its bag, swaddling it firmly in tissue paper. I remained Maine-silent.
My husband returned and attempted play with Rooney while we searched a minute longer. When he gave me the high sign to depart, I said goodbye to Rooney. Would the actress want to be recognized? Probably. But we were in Maine, dammit. In the end, I said simply, “Goodbye, Rooney’s mom.” Ayuh.