I’ve always talked to myself – frank, out-loud discussions with all sorts of people. I used to love explaining my present life to old boyfriends, or to childhood friends, imagining their amazement at my transformation from a clueless suburban teenager to a woman who’d pulled a calf out of a laboring cow with her own strong hands. Sometimes I was showing my siblings, whom I never knew, around our town, explaining life in rural Maine to people who didn’t even know I existed.

Then there were the rants, generally directed at someone whom I decided would benefit from my wisdom. These were often family members, someone who, in my opinion, had a bad habit or lousy attitude. The cool thing about talking to yourself is you never actually have to defend these outrageous accusations to the target of your anger.

 Then one by one, the old boyfriends fell out of my repertoire as I recalled why they were former bfs. Thank goodness for escaping each of them. As for the childhood friends, one by one they actually died, making them totally unavailable for my rambling conversations. At least one of those unknown siblings has become a regular visitor here in Lincolnville, and can show her own self around town. And the family members with bad habits or attitudes? Well, I just plain got tired of telling them, over and over, what I thought. It just took too much energy. They weren’t hearing it, anyway.

 All of this was obviously self-indulgent, and of no use to anyone, probably least of all to me. But then there were the long talks I had with myself about my marriage. These were often preceded by some rip-roaring fight, then me grabbing the dog, and announcing that I was going for a walk. His post-fight strategy was to slam the door to his truck and drive to the Bald Rock trail with a couple of beers. You had to be quick to be the first one out the door, because one of us had to stay home with the kids.

 Trying to figure out the person I lived with, the one I’d promised to stay with forever – the one I loved – was a monumental effort, and it lasted all our lives together. It was also totally worth it. I like to think I was an easy keeper (remember, as the last one standing, I get to tell the story). I told him all the time that he wasn’t. He actually agreed.

 But marriage is so much more than those unfortunate moments when the fur flew and the tears fell, when voices became hard and it looked as if there was no way out. And isn’t that its beauty? The very complexity of two separate personalities learning to give and take, over years, over decades if you’re lucky, to give your partner what he or she needs, to take what you need in return – gives a richness to the relationship that’s indescribable.

 I never caught Wally talking to himself, and I doubt that he did. Certainly not trying to figure out his wife. He was the one who would roll over, turn his back on me and go to sleep (or pretend to) when we went to bed mad. I was the one to sit up, switch on the light and pummel him until he finally, grudgingly, opened his eyes and listened to my grievances.

 But now even this last subject is off the table when I’m having one of my long talks with myself. There’ll be no more negotiating, no more concessions, no more making up. Luckily, he left no loose ends behind, nothing left unsaid, nothing for me to agonize over for the rest of my life. So besides telling him the obvious, while roaming around this empty house on a bad day or striding up and down the hills to Ducktrap, that I miss him (such tepid words for the emptiness they describe), there really isn’t much more to say.

 However, I still talk to myself, talk a mile a minute, on my morning walk to and from Maplewood Cemetery. Occasionally I’m startled by a cyclist or a faster walker coming up silently behind me just as I’m launching into some passionate debate with myself. It’s kind of embarrassing.

 Now the talk isn’t about setting someone straight, but rather trying to set a course. What happens next, for me, for anyone finding themselves suddenly adrift without the anchor they’ve relied on for so long? A dear friend told me yesterday that he’d never think of me as a widow. I know how he meant it. He said it was a relief to find I’m still me. Another friend observed that there are two kinds of widows ­– the ones who blossom and the ones who wilt, or words to that effect.

 Notice how something a friend says resonates, pulls things into some kind of sense. Nobody does this alone. I hope no one has to do it alone. Friends, acquaintances and even strangers have come with meals, phone calls, cards, plants, cookies, gardening help, books, their compassionate ears, and always, hugs. “Let me give you a hug,” they say, and boy, I’ll take them. People want to know what they can do for someone grieving, but, (and I know that feeling) they don’t know what. Speaking from this side now, any of the above will do. We widows or widowers will take anything we can get.

LSD

Lincolnville Sewer District trustees will meet on June 6 at 6 p.m. at the LIA Building, 33 Beach Road. All LSD meetings are open to the public. All who are interested are encouraged to attend. The LSD’s website is now live. Please visit! The LSD has secured 3.2 million dollars in Federal funds through a combination of grants and a loan to bring sewer to 66 of the most densely concentrated properties surrounding Lincolnville Beach.

 Have you see the signs around town urging a yes vote on Article 5? The Selectmen voted unanimously to put this article on the Warrant for the annual Town Meeting, establishing a wastewater capital fund of $25,000 for the upcoming fiscal year. These funds can be used by the LSD to help in repaying the loan portion of their funding. Money would also be available through this fund to work in other areas of town for wastewater planning and infrastructure.

Town

The annual Town Meeting takes place next week; there are two parts to it. Tuesday, June 13 voters will come to the polls (8 a.m. to 8 p.m. in the LCS gym) to decide on the first five articles of the warrant. These include picking a moderator (which is usually done by a show of hands of whoever is first at the polls), voting on Selectmen, School Committee and Budget Committee members as well as Article 5, funding the wastewater capital fund. Then on Thursday, June 15 at 6 p.m. the Town Meeting reconvenes at the Community Building (eighth grade graduation will be taking place in Walsh Common that evening) to decide on the rest of the warrant.

Those of us who grew up playing checkers or Candyland or, if you’re really old, Parchesi or Old Maid, this feels like a different world. Monday after kids in grades K-5 from both LCS and Hope Elementary School will be playing in the LCS Chess Tournament. Under the direction of Bruce Haffner kids in both Lincolnville and Hope have learned to play the game this past year.

The excitement about the Center’s general store is mounting as the exterior finishing touches appear – great red color, bright white trim, the wrap-around porch, big front windows restored. Speculation now is when opening day will be. The other night, around a dinner table in the Center, speculation quickly turned into a betting pool. Dividing the guesses into two-week segments, everyone slapped down five bucks and picked their best estimate. Stay tuned!

Meanwhile, down at the Beach, people are talking about the Lobster Pound. The renovations that are going on prior to opening day are mostly interior, although a new roof has been installed. The front sign announces “Restaurant Opening Soon”, so again, stay tuned.