Isn't it Entertainment *and* Sports?

I was at the gym trying to jog away my rainy day blues when I saw the dogs on TV. Some ESPN station was airing all sorts of competitions, and although I completed my workout with my own playlist, I did tell Heidi all about it when I came home. Turns out, watching dogs dock dive and run agility is another good way to spend a rainy day. 

The commercials, though? Not so much! It was all auto parts, dudes who need extra testosterone, and bros with portable smoothie blenders at the gym. Not even Petco or Chewy could crack that members only line-up. 

I wonder who ESPN thought was watching?

Cat Walk

"I guess the whole stroller thing didn't work out?" our friend Sarah asked yesterday when we were talking about whether or not to travel with our cats.

"I'm still trying to teach Lucy to push it without tipping it over," Heidi shook her head. "It isn't easy."

"I meant with Tracey," Sarah corrected her. "I thought that was the idea when she got it-- walking the cats in it."

She was right. I had asked for and received the stroller 4 years ago for my birthday, and after an initial flurry of cat walking, the stroller became nothing more than an elevated cat bed. The cats loved sleeping in it, but rolling around outside? They weren't so sure. Even so, I felt a tinge of regret for not doing more to make cat walking a thing.

That's why I proposed taking the cats along on Lucy's evening walk yesterday. I dug the stroller out of the upstairs closet, and once I placed it next to the dining room bench, bot Tibby and Milo eagerly jumped in. They stiffened a bit when I zipped the mesh closed, and their pupils widened. There was a bit of pathetic mewing as we bumped them out the front door and down the stoop, but they both sat up tall and craned their necks around like periscopes. 

"Let's just walk around the complex," Heidi suggested, and at first I agreed. Then I remembered that it was the boring process of walking the little loop around our neighborhood to acclimate the cats to their stroller that contributed to my loss of interest in cat-walking. 

"I want to take them out of here!" I said, after we had visited with several neighbors who were enjoying the mild summer evening. "We are going down the driveway, past 7-11, and up the big 28th Street hill!" And I don't think it was my imagination that the yowling died down and the cats kind of perked up as we ventured into new territory.

They may become traveling kitties yet!

High Alert

Heidi knew right away. "It smells funny in here," she said the minute we walked in the door from Maine.

My nose is la little less sensitive, and my temperament is a little less dire. "Maybe it's just a little stuffy since we've been gone so long," I suggested, dropping my load and returning to the van for another.

"I don't think it's up here," Heidi reported from the landing, "but I did scoop the litter box."

"That should take care of it," I nodded as we both headed out the door.

"I think it's down here," Heidi said when we re-entered the house. After a cursory inspection, she shook her head and went upstairs to unpack, while I stayed downstairs to put away all the things that belonged and to start dinner.

In the kitchen, I thought I'd found the culprit when I opened the recycling and found an un-rinsed cat food container. "That was me," Josh confessed when I pointed it out. "It's only been in there a couple hours."

As I continued to unpack and cook, I noticed a fair swarm of fruit flies over by the potato bin. The unmistakable stench of rotten potatoes rose to my nose as I approached, and upon further inspection I discovered several blackened potatoes collapsed into their own disgusting goo. "I found it!" I called up to Heidi and then dumped the lot of them into the trash, tied off the bag, and handed it to Josh to take up to the trash enclosure. 

"She knew there was something wrong," he said.

"Yep," I shook my head, "she sure did."

Too Many Choices

"What do you want to watch tonight?" Heidi asked me a little while ago.

I considered her question and thought about how times have changed since I was a kid. Back then, we had three channels and I pretty much memorized the TV Guide once I read it on Sunday with the comics. In early July, the choices were always between reruns or summer replacement shows, the latter of which were usually variety hours starring some newly popular musician. Although there had to be a consensus among all five of us in the family, we usually chose the new over the known. I can remember sitting on the living room floor in my summer pajamas, box fans in the window, and the TV tuned and turned up to the Carpenters, Mac Davis, Tony Orlando and Dawn, or the Hudson Brothers. 

Today, as I sat in my comfortably air-conditioned house with access to hundreds, if not thousands, of shows and movies, I sighed. "I don't know," I answered Heidi. "There's nothing good on."

Doctor's Orders

"My doctor always says vacation calories don't count," Emily told me as we discussed whether or not to stop for ice cream the other day. 

"That seems like healthy advice," I nodded. 

Even so, I decided against the ice cream right then, especially knowing we were going to feast on seafood and blueberry pie later. I did get a cone of Moose Tracks a couple days later, though.

And when I stepped on the scale this morning, I found that even though I had pretty much eaten whatever I wanted, with all that hiking we did, I had actually dropped a couple of pounds over vacation.

Yet another reason to love Maine!

Fireworks

Thanks to some skillful driving by Bill and Emily, we made excellent time on our trip home from Maine: we left Bar Harbor at 8:30 a.m. and for most of the day our ETA was 8:30-something p.m. We originally chose to travel today because it was both a Monday and a holiday, factors we were hoping would keep traffic manageable on the notoriously congested northeast corridor. 

And as road trips go, it was a fun one: replete with the Sunday NY Times crossword and an assortment of 70s singer-song writers, the Beatles, and several Song Exploder episodes. We made a few stops along the way for snacks and relief, and as we approached Baltimore, the map app was predicting a 9:15 arrival. I was at the wheel, and it was only then that I considered that our route would take us right by the 4th of July fireworks display on the National Mall. 

And indeed, the nearer we got to the city, the more unofficial fireworks we saw in the darkening summer sky. Emily suggested detouring to the Beltway, but based on his regular commute back and forth from Baltimore, Bill thought that our route would be okay. As the driver, it was my decision, and personally? I just kind of wanted to see what was going on down there, so I passed the exit to 495 and kept on going into the city. 

The fireworks all around us were very distracting, but it was kind of cool driving through them. In the distance, we could see the National 4th celebration getting started, and the traffic slowed as the fireworks intensified. We were a bit dismayed to find our exit closed, and we crawled on to the next one until we realized that the right lane was blocked by cars that had intentionally stopped to watch the show and changed lanes. 

The finale lit up the sky ahead of us as we rolled down next exit ramp, and the streets were nearly deserted. We easily made our way past the stadium and on to 395, also very empty. It was then that we realized that we were among the first cars to be allowed on the freeway after the police opened it following the fireworks. From there we zipped home, noting all the boats and barges dotting the Potomac and all decked out in their red, white, and blue. 

We pulled into Bill and Emily's house just 10 minutes behind our scheduled time, and although we were all tired and even a little cranky about the inconvenience, I couldn't help feeling a little thrilled about being witness to such pageantry and its inevitable effects.

Thanks, Ruthie!

My friend Ruth is the person who first brought me to Maine. I met her in 1991 when we were both starting a masters program to get our teaching degrees. When she was growing up, her family had a small summer place on Mount Desert Island where they spent most of every summer, and she and her husband were building their own place on 7 acres they had recently purchased on the island. Ruth invited me to come up any time, and I finally did in the summer of 1995. After teaching summer school and shoveling several tons of lathe and plaster out the window and into a dumpster as part of a home renovation project, a road trip to Maine seemed like a good break. 

And it was. I clearly remembering rolling along in Ruth's minivan, windows down, past coves and inlets and through balsam-scented woods, and skirting pink granite mountains. "I hate it here!" I said, "because it's perfect, and I have to leave."

But I've come back many times in the last 27 years. In the early days, we used to stay with Ruth and her two young sons in the ever-evolving cabin. First it had cardboard walls and plywood floors, and we slept on a futon in the nook outside the bedroom. Mornings were spent watching VHS recordings of kids television shows, because there was no TV reception, and afternoons we packed lunches and carried the boys up and down mountain trails, picking wild blueberries along the trail. I usually bought the NY Times on the way back and did the crossword puzzle while the kids napped. Then we would have a lobster picnic down at the beach and play games until an early bedtime, so that we could get up and do it all over again.

But I couldn't keep Maine to myself, so soon I started renting places where we could bring family, which was awesome, but we didn't spend as much time with Ruth. Circumstances and COVID had kept us away six years, and a couple of weeks before we headed up here for my birthday week, Ruth let me know that she had room for us if we wanted to extend our vacation for a couple of days. When we pulled down the unimproved  gravelly road last night, it had been many years since I had been to Ruth's place, and many more since I had spent the night here. 

It is still a pretty rustic place, although the cardboard has been replaced with knotty pine and the floors with carpeting, tile, and hardwood. There are also a couple of bedrooms downstairs and extra bathroom, but the kitchen is still small, although extremely functional. It was almost like muscle memory as I made pancakes this morning on the American Serviceware griddle while Heidi and Ruth sat at the linoleum topped table. Then  had to sit in my favorite chair for a minute and play the theme song from Katie and Orbie before we packed lunches and headed out for a beautiful hike on a nearly deserted trail (despite it being Independence Day weekend). The land was managed by a group other than the park service, so the dogs could run off leash along the stream and up through the woods to the granite ledge where we ate our lunch, and Lucy was one happy pup.

After the hike we returned to the house to shower and chat until it was time to order lobster rolls and drive over to Pretty Marsh for a picnic dinner. As the sun set over the western islands, we saw a seal and a dolphin fishing herring in the cove, and an osprey chased a bald eagle along the shore. Returning home once again, we sat outside in the fading day as the stars came out and coyotes howled not too far away.

And even though I have to leave tomorrow, I can't ever say I hate it here again.