Josh, Heidi, and I were waiting in the ER this evening when an orderly pushed a somewhat disheveled woman past us on a gurney.
"Is that the pizza delivery guy?" she asked loudly. No one answered so she waved at Josh. "Hey! Are you the pizza delivery guy?"
"Uh, no," he answered.
"Well you really look like him!" she said, and then she was gone.
Yeah. There's more to the story. Tune in tomorrow.
Thursday, July 5, 2012
Wednesday, July 4, 2012
One Morning in Maine
My sister's family is heading home to Atlanta tomorrow, so when I saw a copy of One Morning in Maine by Robert McCloskey today in a gift shop in Lubec, I bought it for the kids, hoping that whenever they read it in the future it will remind them fondly of our vacation here.
This evening Annabelle and I sat side by side on the couch with the book spread across our laps. I turned to the imprint and saw that it was published in 1952. We began to read; the story is about Sal, of blueberry fame, waking up one summer morning to find her tooth is loose. The illustrations and text continue her tale as she scrambles down to the rocky beach past a fishing eagle, loon, seal, and flock of sea gulls to meet her dad who is clamming.
Culminating in a trip across the bay by row boat to visit the village which is little more than a dock, garage, church, and general store, is a charming story, but to me the most notable thing is how little has changed up here in the last sixty years.
This evening Annabelle and I sat side by side on the couch with the book spread across our laps. I turned to the imprint and saw that it was published in 1952. We began to read; the story is about Sal, of blueberry fame, waking up one summer morning to find her tooth is loose. The illustrations and text continue her tale as she scrambles down to the rocky beach past a fishing eagle, loon, seal, and flock of sea gulls to meet her dad who is clamming.
Culminating in a trip across the bay by row boat to visit the village which is little more than a dock, garage, church, and general store, is a charming story, but to me the most notable thing is how little has changed up here in the last sixty years.
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
Mayberry
Word today that Andy Griffith died. I was never a big fan of the show, but who wouldn't want an Aint Bea? Not to mention that watching that cute Opie grow up into first Richie Cunningham and then an Oscar-nominated director was almost like having a famous cousin or something. As for Andy himself, I think what appealed to me most was his unwavering good will. He was the embodiment of the Dalai Lama's advice: Be kind whenever possible. It's always possible.
Set aside the other stereotypes of small town America: more than anything else that spirit embodies the mythicism of Mayberry for me. It was a place with a giant safety net, where people could make mistakes, suffer the consequences, learn their lesson, and still sit down to a warm supper, or at least a cool glass of lemonade on the porch.
We've been spending the last week in a rather rural part of Maine. Towns around here might have a post office, meeting hall, school, and maybe, just maybe, a store of some sort. This afternoon, I was rushing to meet the other half of our family and so I took a calculated risk-- let the gas light come on and fill up after the hike.
6:55 found us pulling up to a general store with a couple of gas pumps in Birch Harbor. With only 35 miles left in our tank, Mom and I went in to pay for the gas. Inside, we joined a line of 3 or 4 people, but when we got to the front, the cashier informed us that it was after seven, and the pumps were closed.
Fortunately, the manager was nearby, and before we even had a chance to panic she intervened. "If they need gas," she said, "we'll turn on the pumps."
And in a few minutes, we were on our way home to a warm supper.
Set aside the other stereotypes of small town America: more than anything else that spirit embodies the mythicism of Mayberry for me. It was a place with a giant safety net, where people could make mistakes, suffer the consequences, learn their lesson, and still sit down to a warm supper, or at least a cool glass of lemonade on the porch.
We've been spending the last week in a rather rural part of Maine. Towns around here might have a post office, meeting hall, school, and maybe, just maybe, a store of some sort. This afternoon, I was rushing to meet the other half of our family and so I took a calculated risk-- let the gas light come on and fill up after the hike.
6:55 found us pulling up to a general store with a couple of gas pumps in Birch Harbor. With only 35 miles left in our tank, Mom and I went in to pay for the gas. Inside, we joined a line of 3 or 4 people, but when we got to the front, the cashier informed us that it was after seven, and the pumps were closed.
Fortunately, the manager was nearby, and before we even had a chance to panic she intervened. "If they need gas," she said, "we'll turn on the pumps."
And in a few minutes, we were on our way home to a warm supper.
Monday, July 2, 2012
The Queen of Flying Mountain
It's not always easy coordinating the activities of twelve people who happen to live in five different households, but family vacations can be demanding in that way. Today we split into four groups and headed off in different directions with loose plans to text and meet up in a few hours.
The three big boys went solo on a hike over the Beehive and on to summit Champlain, and although I envied them, my little group of Grandma, Heidi, Annabelle, the dogs, and I had a sweet adventure of our own.
Flying Mountain got its name because from the ground it looks like it is fleeing from the larger peaks of St. Saveur and Acadia behind it. At just over a couple hundred feet, it offers some of the best views on the island in a sort of compacted hike of piney woods and granite ledges. The trail ends on a rocky beach where dogs and kids will happily scramble over barnacled boulders to splash into Somes Sound.
Our merry band of hikers enjoyed it all. We ate apples and pita chips at the summit, spied little trampolines for spiders, found letters in the tree roots, shook a few baby balsam trees, and sang loudly in the rain all the way back to the car.
It was just how imagined my birthday vacation might be.
The three big boys went solo on a hike over the Beehive and on to summit Champlain, and although I envied them, my little group of Grandma, Heidi, Annabelle, the dogs, and I had a sweet adventure of our own.
Flying Mountain got its name because from the ground it looks like it is fleeing from the larger peaks of St. Saveur and Acadia behind it. At just over a couple hundred feet, it offers some of the best views on the island in a sort of compacted hike of piney woods and granite ledges. The trail ends on a rocky beach where dogs and kids will happily scramble over barnacled boulders to splash into Somes Sound.
Our merry band of hikers enjoyed it all. We ate apples and pita chips at the summit, spied little trampolines for spiders, found letters in the tree roots, shook a few baby balsam trees, and sang loudly in the rain all the way back to the car.
It was just how imagined my birthday vacation might be.
Sunday, July 1, 2012
My Next Fifty Years
When I considered how I wanted to start my fifty-first year I hit upon the idea of a sunrise hike. Just a few miles from here is a 300 foot or so nubble of a mountain called Pigeon Hill overlooking several piney islands and the Gulf of Maine beyond. At this time of year, the sun comes up before five AM this far north, and so I set my alarm for four AM.
I heard the soft patter of light rain as soon as I opened my eyes, and peering out the window, I knew the plan was a wash. Only slightly disappointed (it was 4 AM after all), I alerted the boys and my mom that the hike was off and went back to sleep.
I didn't give up though, and this morning at 3:55 there were a few clouds in the sky, but nothing to justify bagging the plan again. Heidi got up, and so did Emily, Josh, Treat, and Victor. In the lessening gloom we found the trail head and started up at a quick pace-- it would be silly to get up so early and miss the main event. 4:45 found us perched on a conveniently bench-like section of the granite ledge on the eastern shoulder of Pigeon Hill.
The horizon was a hazy pink and orange and for a time I was worried that our sunrise would be obscured by clouds.
"C'mon, Sun! You can do it!" Josh said.
And then, just as sure as the sun rises in the east, the sun rose in the east.
And it was breathtaking.
I heard the soft patter of light rain as soon as I opened my eyes, and peering out the window, I knew the plan was a wash. Only slightly disappointed (it was 4 AM after all), I alerted the boys and my mom that the hike was off and went back to sleep.
I didn't give up though, and this morning at 3:55 there were a few clouds in the sky, but nothing to justify bagging the plan again. Heidi got up, and so did Emily, Josh, Treat, and Victor. In the lessening gloom we found the trail head and started up at a quick pace-- it would be silly to get up so early and miss the main event. 4:45 found us perched on a conveniently bench-like section of the granite ledge on the eastern shoulder of Pigeon Hill.
The horizon was a hazy pink and orange and for a time I was worried that our sunrise would be obscured by clouds.
"C'mon, Sun! You can do it!" Josh said.
And then, just as sure as the sun rises in the east, the sun rose in the east.
And it was breathtaking.
Saturday, June 30, 2012
Saturday Night Special
I was born on a Saturday night fifty years ago today, and this morning I sat on a gigantic deck overlooking Pinkham Bay in Steuben, Maine considering my birthday dinner. My whole family has traveled thousands of miles from Minnesota, Georgia, Pennsylvania, and Virginia to spend the week with me, and nothing could be more special than that. Even so, we have to eat, and meals are always a celebration for us. I knew there would be lobster, of course, but what else should we have?
When we were kids, our usual Saturday night dinner was steak, french fries, salad, and sauteed mushrooms, peppers, and onions. My mom bought an economical cut of beef, grilled or broiled it, and then sliced it thin. A few shakes of Lawry's seasoned salt and it was the finest of entrees to us. My dad peeled the potatoes and hand-cut them for the fries. He also cut up the onions and peppers-- and that is most of the cooking I ever remember him doing. As for the salad, iceberg lettuce, cucumbers, celery, and tomatoes with Wish Bone Italian dressing was a delicious compliment to the meal. We loved it.
2601 Saturday nights in, I decided to go with a classic, updated to be sure, but the steaks are grilling right now.
When we were kids, our usual Saturday night dinner was steak, french fries, salad, and sauteed mushrooms, peppers, and onions. My mom bought an economical cut of beef, grilled or broiled it, and then sliced it thin. A few shakes of Lawry's seasoned salt and it was the finest of entrees to us. My dad peeled the potatoes and hand-cut them for the fries. He also cut up the onions and peppers-- and that is most of the cooking I ever remember him doing. As for the salad, iceberg lettuce, cucumbers, celery, and tomatoes with Wish Bone Italian dressing was a delicious compliment to the meal. We loved it.
2601 Saturday nights in, I decided to go with a classic, updated to be sure, but the steaks are grilling right now.
Friday, June 29, 2012
Schoodic Sound Bites
The bottom of the ocean here is much like the shore-- granite ledges and boulders.
Where's my journal? I need to draw some of this.
Follow me! I see the blue slashes!
This is the best hike we've done so far, and it's really close to our house... why haven't we been here before?
Did you ever think 10 years ago that you'd be doing these hikes at 73 years old?
Actually, I'm thinking of how it will be ten years from now.
Flip flops might not have been the best choice for this hike.
That was only one mile?
I've been thinking the whole way that this whole forest reminds me of a Harry Potter movie. Awesome!
She did it in flip flops!
Where's my journal? I need to draw some of this.
Follow me! I see the blue slashes!
This is the best hike we've done so far, and it's really close to our house... why haven't we been here before?
Did you ever think 10 years ago that you'd be doing these hikes at 73 years old?
Actually, I'm thinking of how it will be ten years from now.
Flip flops might not have been the best choice for this hike.
That was only one mile?
I've been thinking the whole way that this whole forest reminds me of a Harry Potter movie. Awesome!
She did it in flip flops!
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