Greg Downing
On request, I was asked to do a piece on how I felt about the trip to Boothbay, and what it meant to me. Of course, how could I refuse? While I won’t say I wake up every day wondering about what to write, it’s important to me that I write, whenever I can. That being said, coming up with what to say was not so easy. Because it required me to think, and remember, how I felt before and after the trip.
Inititally, I’ll admit, I wasn’t overexcited about it. It would require giving up a day of gaming, which is not something I easily give up. Not just because I enjoy it, but because The Sunday game is a commitment that the members of my group make to each other. It’s not something you just not show up for, because it tends to be dependant on everyone showing up. If you’re not going to be there, it’s preferable to let people know at least a week in advance, unless you’re sick or there’s some other unavoidable commitment.
On the other hand, once I determined that my Mom wasn’t going to be needing me on Saturday, I thought about it some more. On the one hand, this isn’t something I do every day, and I definitely don’t see my brother often. And it’s also important to me that I spend time with my father, especially since I’m not always that good at keeping in touch. Finally, it had been forever since I’d been to Boothbay. I remembered it as a place of children hijinks, of swimming in cold water, and of going off to the bowladrome to play videogames. It would be interesting to re-experience Boothbay as an adult.
Having made my decision to go, I still approached the trip with trepidation. What would we do? Where would we go? Spending a few hours with my father and brother would be one thing; it’s completely different to spend a whole weekend together. In the car, I felt them out a little. I made a little conversation, I listened to Dad and Jim’s conversation, I offered music. I napped a little, and read a little. Things weren’t doing too badly.
We finally got in late in the day, after shopping for some food and drink together. And our first activity was having dinner at the Fisherman’s Wharf, since Dad had a coupon. We sad down, and I loosened up a little, though the alcohol might have helped a little. We talked more, and I offered more, and I asked more. We laughed, and I started to feel comfortable. Afterwards, Jim and I stayed up a little late, watching the tail end of the improv Comedy show Whose Line Is It Anyway? and Jim sharing his love of CSI with me, as this was a show I’d never watched. I enjoyed it.
The next day, I had no more idea than the previous what we’d do. So as ideas were suggested, such as going to one of our old stomping grounds, or taking the boat to Squirrel Island to have lunch, I went with it. I found I enjoyed walking around with bro and Dad and Remo, even though Remo clearly did not enjoy getting dumped in the cold water. 😉 About the only bad part was when some dogs took a dislike to Remo, and me and the owners of the other dogs had to rein them in. Then there was the boat ride to the island, and I foolishly assume we were going to have lunch at the picnic tables right there at the pier. No such luck! Dad had a full hike planned. It certainly was an exertion for me, but that was the only thing I disliked about it. I knew that the exercise would be good for me, and it was interesting, looking around the island, and seeing the ‘gnome village’ the inhabitants built (though dad seemed to think I wasn’t impressed. The only thing that I would have preferred is if the hike took longer. I may have disliked the exercise, especially after twisting my ankle, but it was boring sitting and waiting for the boat. There was a sailboat regatta going on, but I wasn’t as interested in that as Dad and Jim.
Getting home, we had some time to ourselves. Dad napped, Jim shopped, and I read. This I needed, as I can only take so much time around other people. It’s just exhausting after a time. But by the time we were all together, I was replenished, and feeling better. We went out to see the waves at some point that I don’t remember the name of (yes, my much lauded memory is fallible). I introduced the comedian Eddie Izzard to my father and brother (which got a lukewarm response, but that could have been because they weren’t really concentrating on it. Also, Dad thought we were lost.
At dinner at another restaurant, I was encouraged to actually eat seafood, which I did. But some of the conversation at dinner was a little uncomfortable, because it was about my job hunting success (or lack thereof), and the likelihood of certain things panning out. I didn’t really want to think about it, but just wanted to enjoy myself.
Later that night, I was having a hard time getting to sleep. My sinuses were acting up, it was hard for me to breathe, and I was killing tree after tree using Kleenex. In the morning, I felt like shit. I just wanted to go home, I’d had enough of Boothbay for now. But I certainly did not expect what came next. I did not expect the conversation that followed, the one that helped me to face some things about myself, about my future, and most importantly, about my writing. That alone made the trip worthwhile, coming to terms with untidy bits of myself, and reinvoking my passion to write.
I still wasn’t feeling great, but the three of us pulled together and worked to try and fix the water, though as it ended up, we needed to call in the professional. And then we packed up and went home, stopping to eat, and ending up having more conversations that were less profound, but no less compelling. Getting home, I just wanted to rest and unwind, and try and get over my sinus troubles. But more than my sickness, I felt satisfied, like I accomplished more and had more fun than I’d expected to on the trip
And that was a good feeling.
