90th year

We were pleased and honored two weekends ago to be able to celebrate my mother's 89th birthday in  Maine. Heroically, she made the flight to Boston, delayed only a day by Sandy; hastily, we went north the next day.

It seems right to be in Maine for such a landmark. So much has changed since 1923, Maine too, of course, but I dare say the view and the shore and the islands and the bracing, exhilarating air now are the same as when our house was first built, in 1924, and perhaps for centuries before. Humans have made magnificent things, and fantastic art, and great social progress over those centuries. We've also lost a lot, but this is not so obvious on a rocky seashore. (Now on a sandy one....). The arc of years seems to have a point here; the end result is not so scary. I only have to watch my mother stare at the surf to understand that progress these days is poorly defined.

Of course, we did drive up in a nice car, and the house is toasty, and the cable brought us a couple of hours of Pink Panther silliness, and lots of people live way beyond 90, and we can see the brutal wind turbines on Vinalhaven if we peer just wrongly through the pointed firs....

The big spruce in our back yard is extra poignant this season. I'd like to think my two matriarchs are about the same age - they are certainly similarly strong and enduring. What clearly is true is that they both still look like forever.