Part I: Getting away
My vacation time started with a long, leisurely drive to the lovely state of Maine. Actually, to be honest my vacation started with an attempt to drive to Maine the day before, but a flat tire and a driving rainstorm put the kibosh on that plan. A friend and I took in a film that night instead -- Valerian and the City of a Thousand Planets. Wow, was it dull. I know that vacations are meant to be for rest, and I was pretty tired, but I rarely start to fall asleep in a movie theatre. The film really earned its bad reviews.
The drive to Scarborough (just south of Portland) was lovely. I stopped at Saint Benoit du Lac abbey on the way for a brief time of prayer. I should have known that would never work: I was spotted by a monk who spotted me for a bishop, and he offered to give me a tour. How could I refuse?
There was a wedding rehearsal going on, so I had a chance to go inside and look around. It seemed smaller than I remember, but the sanctuary was still set up the same way. I served mass there for the first time, and I still remember sitting in the big chairs next to the credence table, waiting for the priest to tell me what to bring over next.
It was getting dark by the time I was getting close to the Maine coast. A fog had rolled in off the ocean, so thick I had to use the fog lights on my car for the first time. Now I know where Stephen King (a Maine resident) had gotten his idea for his novella The Mist. While I would probably have gotten lost if I was replying on street signs, GPS came to the rescue. Night had fallen, but I finally reached my destination: a house on Higgins Beach.