Where's Maine?

After the play yesterday, we went to Hopewell so that I could look for old Maine postcards for my collection. We drove around Hopewell looking for a playground where Tab and the boys could hang out while I browsed. Hopewell is a pretty, serene little town. Broad Street, the primary thoroughfare, could double as a movie location for Main Street, U.S.A. In fact, it did, in a rather forgettable Meg Ryan comedy called IQ. The quiet, tree-lined streets boast spacious old houses with wrap around porches. If Tab and I were to win the lottery--an unlikely event since we never buy lottery tickets--we would buy a home in Hopewell.

I dropped Tab and the boys off at the playground and drove to the antique shop. It was in a ramshackle, dusty old building that was too narrow for its length, as though it had suffered one too many additions. I went upstairs into a room crowded with all sorts of curios. Nearly every available surface was covered with bric-a-brac. There were cases of costume jewelry, shelves of books, and chests full of clothes. I ignored them all, however. I was a woman on a mission.

Tab's co-worker, who was the one who told us about the shop, thought that the postcards were organized by state, but when I asked the kindly older lady behind the counter, she shook her head ruefully.

"No, we don't bother to keep them organized. Customers rifle through them and get them all out of order." She offered me a seat on a rocking chair ; surveying the dozens of piles of cards I would have to sort through, I gratefully accepted.

It took me just over an hour to go through the postcards. Several times I would find a run of New York cards or Massachusetts cards, which would make me hopeful that I was just about to discover a trove of Maine cards, but they never materialized. In fact, there wasn't a single Maine card to be had. I did find some holiday cards for my sister, who collects them, so it wasn't a total waste of time.

While I was sorting through the postcards, the proprietor and I talked about all sorts of things. She was a gregarious soul who reminded me of Nana. She told me she was 84, and that she'd had four children, all of whom she had breastfed even though there was little support for nursing mothers back in the 1940s and 50s. I told her I'd breastfed my boys exclusively, including the twins. She said, wistfully, "Oh, I always wanted to have twins!"

When I arrived back at the playground to pick up the boys, they greeted me as if I'd been gone for years. Tab shook his head in exasperation. "For the past half hour, Matthew has been driving me crazy. All he's been saying is: 'Where's Mama? When's she coming back? I want Mama to come back.' "

It's lovely to be missed.

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