It gets better? Really?

Then how come today was my teariest day yet?

Maybe because it's late May, and I drove into New Brunswick. Maybe because Frank and I used to go into Atlantic Canada every June, very deliberately. If we didn't go to Canada on his birthday, June 9, then we went on our anniversary, June 21. We just always made sure that we were celebrating something, whenever we crossed the border.

Can't say we ever went the same place twice, in our eight years of Canada-gazing every June. On our first anniversary, we went on a late-afternoon whim to Grand Manan. We felt lucky to catch the very last ferry of the evening out of Blacks Harbour.

We also went, through the years, to Saint John, Campobello, St. Stephen, St. Andrew, Prince Edward Island and Fredericton. We'd go for either dinner or an overnight, or both, or even longer. And last year, when Frank was sick and we were on our long trip across the country, our last overnight before returning to Maine in mid-June was at Helen and Larry LeDuc's cottage in Gananoque, Ontario. See? Canada in June, again.

Separate of anniversary or birthday trips, Frank and I also crossed the border at Calais three other times -- twice for Ukulele trips to Liverpool, Nova Scotia; and once more to Liverpool, Nova Scotia, for an exploratory trip for Ukuleles-planning. Someone's got to check out Nova Scotia over a four-night Labor Day weekend, and Frank and I made sure it was us.

Today I had a meeting with a marathon organizer in Saint John. Route 1 from St. Stephen to Saint John is just rolling in beauty. So, the tears started, and carried me all the way to Saint John. Then they hit me on the return trip, too. Always in June, New Brunswick would be blooming with lupines. But there weren't any lupines on this trip, and no Frank, either.