Post by Grubb.
Wednesday morning we left the magnificent house where Joey and Elaine live in Sudbury. (The place has a basement theater off the ping-pong room which is off the pool table room. It has a 100-inch screen and electric recliner seats. It’s lucky I don’t live in such a house or else I would never rise to the surface.)
On our way to Boothbay Harbor we took Elaine’s suggestion and stopped at Ogunquit on the coast of southern Maine. On the docks people were tucking into their lobster rolls, but we held off and chose the healthy alternative by joining the march of the elderly on a seaside path called Marginal Way.
It has a plaque dedicated to the people who helped rebuild it after a storm tore it apart in 1991.
This made me wonder how many seaside plaques will be lining the shore in the future. I mean, the weather certainly isn’t going to get any better.
Back to the march of the elderly. I got nothing against old folks, I mean I am one, but one of the refreshing things about visiting Boston was being among young people. Especially at night in the North End. All those colleges, students smoking, drinking, being loud. And getting a whiff of the pungent smells as we walked by the clamorous taverns, the quiet cannabis dispensaries.
So walking the Marginal Way we got a beautiful panorama of the rocky Maine shoreline. But on the asphalt path were all these ancient people our age, or heaven help me, even older. No raucous laughter, no pungent smells. Just creaky, white-haired retirees sometimes lounging on the rocks like geriatric seals, or stretched out like recovering addicts on blue canvas chaise lounges dotting the sloping resort lawns the size of golf course fairways that stretch down to the sea.
