Taking the Bitter With the Sweet

What follows goes into the category of the ebb and flow of life, or maybe... you win some you lose some, or even, you must take the bitter with the sweet. If any of you are my secret enemies and read this blog only to collect evidence to support your resentment against me, or if any of you have quietly resented my three week Maine vacation, you're gonna love this!

Ok, so after unpacking yesterday, I collapsed on my bed for a nap. I've come down with some sort of sinus thing/cold or something, so I was pretty wiped out. When I woke up, I walked downstairs and noticed that where my coffee maker used to be there's an unopened box containing a brand new Hamilton Beech model. My wife explained that when she opened the lid to give it a clean after three weeks of inactivity, she noticed a that the filter and grounds from my last pot was still in there, encrusted with enough mold to kill an asthmatic at thirty paces. She had made the snap decision that instead of cleaning it out, the damage was so severe and disgusting, only a new coffee maker would do. So, she did an online search of five different stores, picked out this Hamilton Beech beauty and marched herself over to Walmart to buy it...and there it set. The maiden pot was brewed without incident. All was well until thirty minutes later when we noticed an odd humming noise coming from the shiny new appliance. The side of the thing became hot. The unmistakable smell of burning plastic filled the air, then the digital display began to flicker. It seemed possessed by an evil demon. Pam grabbed the chord and ripped it from its plug, preventing it from bursting into flames. Now, I have no coffee maker.

After this fiasco, things settled down nicely. We had dinner while we watched the first episode of the new Ken Burns Vietnam documentary. After dinner, Pam loaded the dish washer, turned it on, then went about her business. Suddenly, I heard her exclaim...Oh no!! What's this?? There's water leaking out of the dish washer!! 

Over the next couple of hours, Pam and I did our best Keystone Cop imitation as we frantically tried to...get it to stop!!! Turn it off!...was my expert advice. But turning it off did nothing to stop the flow of hot, dirty water being belched out across the kitchen floor. Legions of towels were brought to bear against the gushing beast. I tried opening the door, which turned the flow into a deluge. Quickly I ran to the fuse box and turned off power to the thing, to no avail. Still, the water gushed. Pam, frantic and wild eyed, instructed me to crawl under the house and find the thing that shuts off the water to the house! I did as I was told, of course, although in twenty years here I have crawled under the house exactly once, and had no idea where this magical valve was located. But, there I was on hands and knees, crawling towards the sound of rushing water, with a sharp eye peeled for any reptilian beasts that might be lurking in the formidable shadows. To my great relief, I heard my wife scream, the water has stopped!!

Of course now we had the dish washer door opened, and it was full of water and weighed a ton. The inside of the expiring appliance was also full of water. If Pam's husband was the handy type and knew anything about how stuff works, he might have instinctively known what to do. But, that ship has sailed...so she did what she always does in times of mechanical crisis...she called Ron Roop, my brother-in-law. Within fifteen minutes, he shows up with a shop vac to suck up the water in the bottom of the dish washer. Although it worked, it also began some belching of its own, spewing filthy water out of several places around the the lid. Then we positioned a couple of deep dish pans under the door of the unit and slowly lifted the door, releasing torrents of water all over the place, but mostly into the dishes. After bailing in this fashion for fifteen minutes, it finally stopped leaking. Order was finally restored and every towel we owned was now draped over the deck railings to dry, making our deck look like it belonged to a family of Gypsies.

So, now I have no coffee maker, our dish washer doesn't work, and the hard wood floor in the kitchen is bowing quite nicely.

Welcome back home, Dunnevant's!!!

Back Home

Just a note to let everyone know that we made it safely home this afternoon. It was a largely uneventful two day slog back to Short Pump. And, just like that, it's over.

Lucy has been ecstatic to be back home. She has alternated between sitting on our bed, which has always been her upstairs throne chair, and the sofa, the only piece of furniture she's allowed to sit on downstairs...therefore, her downstairs throne chair. She took a quick spin around her fenced in yard out back just to remind herself that she was home, now she's sacked out on the floor in my library. She may sleep for a week.

It's when you arrive back home from vacation that you realize you're not rich. If I were rich, surely I would have people on the payroll to do all my unpacking. What a miserable exercise...as if I needed any reminders that my vacation is over. You open up your suitcase full of mostly dirty clothes and the delightful aroma of Loon Landing hits you in the face. It's a mixture of pine needles, lake water and campfire smoke. One tumble in the washing machine will take away the smell from my clothes. Luckily, there is no machine capable of getting that smell out of my heart and soul.

The good news is, there's only 9 more months until we go back, this time with the kids. 

Tomorrow is my one and only buffer day between being in Maine and being back at work. It's all I'll need. There are actually things about home that I've missed. I missed my house. We've been here twenty years. That's a significant amount of time which has endowed this place with its own powerful memories. I've missed my office, the people there more than the actual work, but missed them just the same. I missed my church, and the people in my small group. But, mostly I missed the calming, dependable rhythm of my life here. How lucky I am to be able to go to so fabulous a place as Maine, then come back to a good life in Short Pump. Sometimes, I wonder why I have it so good. Why me, while so many others have such a struggle? I have no answers to questions like this. But, I am grateful, and I don't take a single part of it for granted. 

Pam's at the store. Tonight she will make white chicken chili. We will watch something on television while we eat. Tomorrow morning, we will go to church.

Good. Maine was great, but being home is good too.

The Last Day

The problem with vacations is that they all have a last day. Today is ours. 

My profession is measured out in numbers, it's how we keep score in the investment business. Everything, eventually, can be reduced to a number. Not so with vacations. Although it doesn't prevent me from trying:

Loon Landing vacation by the numbers:

Only 1 day of rain.

Pam, inexplicably, only ate 1 lobster roll.

Played 2 rounds of golf.

Hosted 2 sets of guests...Russ and Vi White and Alan and Lisa Smith.

Turned the television on 3 times...two games, and the season premiere of This Is Us.

Fell in love with family of 3 loons who continually entertained us for 3 weeks.

Read 5 novels.

Posted photographs of 7 sunsets on Facebook. Could have added 13 others.

Took at last 20 killer naps.

Logged 25 miles of runs/walks on the paths and trails around the cabin, along with 12 miles of kayaking around the lake.

Caught 4 bass, 3 largemouth and 1 smallmouth.

Cooked at least 20 meals on the grill, including steak, hamburger, shrimp, chicken, smoked sausage and foiled potatoes.

On one particularly fabulous run of weather, took 10 consecutive meals outside.

Of course, numbers tell an incomplete story, turning wonderful things into flat, one dimensional digits. Sure, I can tally the number of sunsets, but to understand the beauty and magic you needed to be here. No mere number can describe what it's like to watch the leaves change in slow motion for three weeks. Photographs help, but only a little. I cannot assign a numerical value to the peace that has come over us during our time on this lake. That's the thing about this life, the thing that our parents told us when we were kids...the best things in life can't be measured by numbers. There is so much more to life than the counting of things...how much we have, what we own, the size of this, the heft of that. Too much counting produces men and women who know the price of everything and the value of nothing.

So, every year we come here to banish the numbers from our mind. And each year, there is a last day.

But this day, like all others, is a day that the Lord has made. We will be glad in it.

On The Home Stretch

Our vacation has entered the home stretch, there's just a few days left and we are already trying to banish images of packing up from our imaginations. Weather still holding on to this amazing run of beautiful, sunny days and crisp, cool nights. It might make it easier to leave this place if it would get rainy and cold, but no such luck. Last night we drove into Camden to have dinner at Sea Dog's, the replacement for our beloved Cappy's, which used to serve the best clam chowder in the world, but now serves clam chowder with a strange spice in it which disappoints. 

Besides, nothing Sea Dog's ever does will be able to top this awesome hat I bought at Cappy's on the occasion of their 25th anniversary back in 2005.

This morning I will be heading into the offices of our fabulous rental company, On The Water In Maine, to begin plotting and scheming next year's four week adventure. I will lay out my must-haves and throw out some possible dates, and they will get to work. We can't actually make 2018 reservations prior to November 1st or something, but we must begin the search right away. Next summer will be tricky. There will be a wedding at some point next year. That may make it difficult for Patrick and Sarah to take a week in Maine after having already taken time off for a honeymoon. Also, funds will be tighter since I will, no doubt, have spent a bundle on the blessed event. But, this is the sort of thing I do. I excel at making things happen when it comes to my children. If I have to fly the two of them up here on a Friday and fly them back on a Sunday, well, so be it. There's a chance that Jon and Kaitlin might be able to come for two weeks. Then there's Ron and Paula, and Gordon and Leigh Ann....probably need to find a bigger house for next year. But, I would love to find one on this lake. Quantabacook is about as perfect a place as we have ever stayed up here. And, if this house had one more bathroom I might be tempted to shoehorn everybody into Loon Landing next year too!

Woke up with a sore throat this morning, which is a bit unsettling, since I hardly ever get sick in Maine, or at least...it's been a while since I have. It's probably God's judgement on me for foolishly getting involved in ( i.e...starting) a Facebook political dispute yesterday about the NFL protests. That was a rookie mistake that you would think a seasoned Maine vacationer wouldn't have made. The key to happiness up here is to stay fully disengaged for the duration. I should have known better. So I wake up with a sore throat. God is just, and he will not be mocked! There will be no more of that!!!

Almost finished Empire Falls. Holy Cow, can Richard Russo write. I can't wait to read everything else he has written. Of course, if you can't write inspired prose sitting at a table at the Camden Deli every morning overlooking the bay, then you should probably give it up.

The Time Thief

Regular readers of this blog might be wondering what has happened to me this past week. After a deluge of lake pictures and vacation posts, I inadvertently went dark and have maintained radio silence for over five days. This was not intentional. It was not due to some creative deficiency or writer's block. Rather, I have been hypnotized by this place into something very much like a trance. While enthralled by Quantabacook , I have found it surprisingly easy to tear myself away from the gravitational pull of my former habits. Instead of writing this blog, I've been occupied with a series of new daily rhythms, which include but are by no means limited to, kayaking, fishing, reading, running hastily constructed 5k tracts through the woods, taking Lucy for walks, floating on inflatable rafts, taking my meals on a wooden table on the deck while Pam and I sometimes talk, but mostly just stare at the lake, soaking up the silence. It is this last thing, this staring at the lake, that has risen to the top of the distraction list. It's hard to explain how such a mindless, effortless, seemingly passive exercise could become such a show-stopper, but...let me try.

I wake up between 6:00 and 6:30 in the morning. Upon entering the main living room of the house, the first thing I do is walk over to the wall of windows that face the lake. 

There is always a rush of expectation. Will it be calm or choppy? Clear, or fogged in? Most days it's been calm and clear, since we have won the weather lottery by choosing September of 2017 for this trip. Locals can't believe how warm and beautiful it's been here since we arrived. We are taking full credit for bringing this weather with us through a combination of Southern benevolence and clean living, global warming be damned. After this morning reconnaissance, I allow myself the distraction of making coffee. 

The only deficiency we have found in this lake house is it's lack of comfortable seating. The two chairs and sofa are fine but don't lend themselves to long, leasurely reading sessions...but I make do. This past few days it's been a book by my new favorite author, Richard Russo and his Pulitzer Prize winning novel, Empire Falls. I cannot for the life of me figure out how I have gone 59 years without reading this guy. His stuff always pops up in books you might like when I'm browsing iBooks, and I've known of him forever, but for some reason, never read any of his work. Well, imagine my surprise when I open this one to the acknowledgement page and see this:

Come to find out, the guy has a house up Main Street just past the library and used to come in to the Deli and write every morning. Richard Russo won a Pulitzer for a novel he wrote at the freaking Camden Deli! I'm hooked. Now that Pat Conroy is dead, I've needed a new literary hero. I've found him.

After a robust morning read, Pam eventually emerges from the bedroom in her kayaking outfit, a snappy pink thing that clashes horribly with her bright red kayak, causing her great anguish, but not enough to prevent her from launching out into the deep for a 3-4 mile meander around the lake. I watch her get smaller and eventually disappear around the point, ripples trailing behind her. I watch the sun spread out its warmth to the houses across the way..the morning sun houses. Pam is jealous. She wants morning sun...right up to the point in the day when those houses across the way are in the shade and our dock is splashed in sunlight from around 1:30 in the afternoon until the last rays dip behind the pines at sunset. Then she's content with what we have. She eventually gets back, and we have some sort of breakfast, usually on the table outside. On the days I run, it's something lighter. Now that our last guests have left, it will be less regimented...if you can call a meal with no start time and no fixed menu..regimented.

Then, I'll fish a little. I've caught three nice sized bass this year, and learned how to fish effectively with crank baits, earning significant upgrades to my man card. However, I haven't let the fishing interfere with the real business of my days here in Maine. My job has been to keep a sharp eye peeled on this lake and all of its surroundings. I watch for the appearance of the Loon pair who own this lake, a Mother Loon and a juvenile. They pop up at various times, sometimes as close as twenty feet from the end of our dock..which drives poor Lucy crazy. Just about the time she is about to explode in excitement, they will suddenly disappear, diving below for fish. This vanishing act is a source of great wonderment for Lucy...What happened?? Where did they go? 

I watch for the arrival of wind, if it comes at all, it usually arrives mid-morning. Ripples start sliding in from the north or sometimes the west. After a while the ripples upgrade to a discernible current, then what can be called waves arrive. When the waves get large enough, the dock starts to bob up and down, which used to emit an annoying metal screech in the joints of the dock until I bought the last bottle of WD-40 from the Fraternity Village store and put a stop to that outrage. Mid-morning brings an hour of sun to the dock surface from 10:00 to 11:00. I take advantage by moving a chair out there in it to warm up. Mornings are chilly here, no matter how warm it gets during the day.

Then, Pam and I are always astounded to discover that somehow it is now 2 o'clock in the afternoon and we haven't had lunch. How on earth does this happen? Seriously?? How can it be 2 o'clock? I mean, we've done virtually nothing all day. Sure, there was the kayaking, the fishing and increasingly Pam's paddle boarding...but 2 o'clock? It is a great mystery where the time goes here.

So, we have a snacky lunch. Then, more lake watching. When the afternoon sun arrives in our cove, I swim and take Lucy out for a swim and a frisbee fetching session. Then, maybe a nap.

Eventually, we are always baffled when we discover that it's now 6:30 in the evening and we're still floating out in the lake talking about the kids, having made zero preparations for dinner. Again, the great time thief has struck. We shrug and watch the sun disappear.

Different Year, Same Result.

The weather has finally turned on us. After ten days of perfect conditions, the past couple of days have been overcast, foggy, and filled with drizzle. It was bound to happen. Yesterday was a lazy day. Pam took Russ and Vi to the airport in Portland. While they were gone, I caught a beautiful bass off the end of my dock with a fancy lure that my buddy Alan had loaned me. 

I took a quick picture of it because if I hadn't, he would never have believed me. 

So, today will feature a leasurely trip into Camden for breakfast and some shopping. I need a new book to read. I've read three novels on this trip, only have one more left on my iPad, and need another to reach my goal of five books read on vacation. So, I will browse through a couple of the great bookshops in Camden until I find something that intrigues me. Then we will come back to the cabin to check on Lucy. If the weather is still cloudy and gross, we will spend the afternoon exploring the town of Belfast, around 15 minutes away. 

Last night, after dinner, my wife and I renewed our Rummikub competition from last year. Alert readers will recall the beatdown she laid on me on last year's Maine adventure. Well, so far this year, nothing has changed. A few nights ago, we played probably ten hands of Gin...she won seven. Last night, she won two out of the three games we played. It's the same thing every year...the woman is a cold blooded killer. 

Come...Walk With Me.

I've taken a thousand photographs in Maine, probably a hundred or more of this place alone. It begs to have its picture taken. But, I'm so often disappointed in how they turn out, not because they are blurry or ill-centered, but rather because they never seem to capture the magic. 

Except for a special few, when you say, Ahh, that's it!

This is the one.

It doesn't matter where I took it. This shot doesn't need context. This photograph captures everything I love about Maine. It's an invitation. It stands before you like a great mystery. Where does it lead? How far? Is it dangerous or tranquil, treacherous or benign? It's impossible to tell. Still, it beckons you with the invitation...Come, walk with me.

But, I don't know where it will take me.

We will find out together. Come, walk with me.

I'm tired. This is not a good day for such an uncertain walk.

All of life is uncertain. Come, walk with me.

But, I've too much on my mind right now. My kids, I'm just too worried about my kids to enjoy a walk.

Come, walk with me and I'll show you the reason you wanted to have kids in the first place.

How can I take such a walk when I'm so worried about my job? I don't even know if I'll ever be able to retire.

If you will walk with me, you'll be better at your job.

You don't understand. Have you read a newspaper lately? Trump is in the White House. They're tearing down statues, and driving cars into crowds of young people!

There is no racial hatred where I will take you, and nobody here knows who the president is...come walk with me.

But, there might be ticks.

Hush...when did you get so fragile? Come, walk with me.

I want to, I really do...

There was once a time when you would have run down this path without even thinking. What happened to that guy?

I don't know. I grew up.

No, you grew inward. Come, walk with me and I will reintroduce you to the person you used to be.

How long will it take?

As long as you like. 

Come...walk with me.