Columns

I was 19 and in nursing school. On an impulse, I sent a resume to Trans World Airlines. Word had it they were looking for airline stewardesses and hostesses. I got a call to meet with them, and two weeks later I was off to Queens, New York. After several hours of interviewing, I was hired. Holy smokes! What started as a whim had suddenly turned into a reality.

One of the pleasures of walking the golf course is enjoying the resident birds. Blue jay and tufted titmouse calls are always on offer, but you never know what will catch your eye. Yesterday it was a female eastern bluebird plucking a tuft of grass and flying toward her nest site. Spring breeding season is past, but these gorgeous birds attempt second, even third broods in favorable summer weather.

The first time it happened was in the fall of 1996, upon returning from our honeymoon in Quebec City and opening the door to our Bangor apartment.

The phone call itself was not surprising. My aunt and uncle had retired to Maine and built a home on Orr's Island in the mid-1980s. They had not had children together, so we were effectively their only family. Being invited for a visit was not, in itself, unexpected. We gladly accepted. What we did not know at the time was that there was an ulterior motive.

I remember when summer started in May. The giant, sliding classroom windows were open, and even without a hint of breeze, the hallways got a fresh-mown grass smell. The sun warmed stacks of paper on metal sills, the edges of a year's worth of essays and test scores browning in the bright sun. Dust danced in the light while my teacher droned on about the history of the kings and queens of France.

Halfway through the summer already and I'm still trying to catch up to the calendar. It's not a fair race. I think the calendar got a good six-week head start.

June in the library was busy with our 66th birthday and volunteer celebration on the 27th. Our board worked hard on this event that honored our volunteers.

Sometimes themes or topics emerge when you aren't looking for them — and yet, they are oddly perfect for the moment. I credit this month's topic to my mother, who, like me, is a lover of poetry.