What a Day

 Today there was a splendid sunrise from across the lake. The sky and water were fire orange. I walked down to the dock to try and capture it with only partial success. In just a few minutes it will be pouring down rain. But yesterday was one for the ages.

The weather forecast for yesterday was fabulously wrong, which happens often up here. It was supposed to be cloudy all day. Instead the sun blared defiantly, the sky and water brilliant blue with just an occasional wispy cloud overhead. The high temperature was 53 I think, but it felt colder because the wind blew all day. So what did we do? 

My day started with a 4 mile walk. When I got back to the house I saw my wife sitting down on the dock, wrapped up in a sweatshirt and hoodie. The lake was ablaze in yellow sparkles. The sun was delightfully warm but each gust of wind brought a chill. I went up to the house and brought her a windbreaker to take the edge off because she was going nowhere. Despite the chill, it was all just too beautiful to resist.

Around 11:30 we drove into Camden. There was a mission. We had an actual plan for a change, which was to pick up a lunch order we had placed at Camden Deli then take it to the shoreline trail at Camden Hills State Park where we would have a picnic, after which we would head up to Mount Battie for some picture taking. Unfortunately for us—and for the very first time in our collective memories, the park was closed to all vehicles. In addition, the traffic in and around Camden was worse than we have ever seen, even in the middle of the summer. The line of cars waiting to climb Mt. Battie stretched nearly to Route 1. It would be a day where we had to adjust to the reality that being in a hurry was out of the question. We would have to relax and enjoy the gorgeous weather. And…did we ever!

We have been on Mount Battie probably at least 30 times over the years but never in such crystal clear conditions. None of the photographs we took were true to the moment. But we kept taking them. Then we decided that if we couldn’t drive our car down to the picnic tables near the shoreline trail we would just walk. Totally worth it. But by the time we made it back to our car my hips were in complete revolt. Now I was up to seven miles since daybreak.

The final part of the day’s mission involved a trip to Bleeker and Greer, a very bougie, boutique-style grocery store to which we had been given a generous gift card by our Son and Daughter-in-law. Our goal was to buy ingredients for a charcuterie board dinner. This was accomplished with much angst and indecision brought on in no small part by the existence of small, hockey puck sized circles of cheese which cost $19. There was a small box of sea salt crackers selling for $16.99. It felt like highway robbery, but we had a gift card. The resulting feast made me overcome my buyers remorse.

Then, we all settled down and watched the Milwaukee Brewers sweep the mighty Dodgers out of the playoffs. What an amazing day.

No matter how many times I come here I have never lost the overwhelming sense of gratitude I feel that I am able to do this every year. I take none of this for granted. Life comes at us fast. We have no guarantee of anything. All of this could be taken from us in less than an instant. So each year we are grateful. Each year we give thanks for the privilege of being here.

A Morning on Ragged Mountain

Woke up this morning at 6:30 which is the same time I wake up every morning up here. That’s the time when the rising sun starts reflecting off the lake, splashing light up the hill and through the trees into our bedroom. It also happens to be the only time of day when my rear end isn’t throbbing so I get up to remind myself of what normal feels like. I make coffee and stare out at the lake. It’s still this morning with some fog skimming across the surface of the water from north to south. I check the temperature and notice that the first number is a 3. I sneak back into the bedroom and throw on some layers. The lake looks fishy this morning. I’m thinking I might get lucky. Haven’t caught much of anything so far. First of all the lake is at least 8 inches low and grassy. But the real reason I haven’t caught much is that in my present state, sitting in a kayak for more than 45 minutes or so is too painful, so I’m limited. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

Looks like we will be getting some much needed rain from Monday thru Wednesday, after which the high temperatures will be in the upper 40’s. There’s actually an outside chance for a bit of snow next Sunday. So we will be taking advantage of today’s benign forecast by taking the fall foliage ski-lift ride at the Camden Snow bowl. The views from the top of the mountain are magnificent, featuring lake views, gorgeous fall colors and the Penobscot Bay and the Atlantic in the distance.

I didn’t get lucky. But after twenty minutes or so of casting off the end of the dock I was freezing cold. The locals will laugh at this claim. Most of them are still wearing shorts!

After an insignificant make-do breakfast we arrived at the Snow bowl at the advertised starting time of 10:00 am only to find the parking lot nearly full. This is the first time we have ever done this excursion on the Columbus Day holiday weekend. The advantage of the late date was a spectacular leaf viewing experience. The disadvantage wasn’t made known to us until we returned to the ski-lift after our hike to the top of Ragged mountain. That’s when we saw the long snaking line of leaf-peepers standing in line to take the ski-lift down the mountain. Our wait turned out to be 55 minutes in falling temperatures. But because this is America we happens to be standing in line next to a couple who were making their first trip to Maine. When we asked them where they were from they said, “Hawaii…” The husband worked for the cable company on the Big Island. The wife was a twenty year employee of the Hawaii Teachers Union, which explains the fabulous tax-deductible trip from Honolulu to Camden Maine for a “meeting.” Yet another example of how I went into the wrong business. I don’t begrudge them the trip seeing as how they have been hit with three hurricanes in less than six months back home. God bless them.

Now tonight we are about ready for dinner and an evening of Los Angeles Dodger hatred. 

Go Brewers!!!

Taking the Bitter With the Sweet

 Our fall trip to Maine has so far been both chilly and gorgeous. The leaves are beautiful. The lake glistens in the bright sunshine, despite being at the lowest levels in memory. Haven’t caught any fish yet but honestly it’s been quite cold and windy, so haven’t had as many opportunities. Instead we’ve been out and about checking out a couple new places of interest, specifically the Fort Point lighthouse with its 130 year old fog bell and apple orchard. Lovely.

Each evening has been dominated by October baseball. Last night there was bitterness mixed with the sweet. First, the Braves got eliminated by the baseball equivalent of the Avengers, the collection of future Hall-of-famers known as the Los Angeles Dodgers, who are roughly halfway through their streak of winning what will probably be four or five consecutive World Series titles. On the flip side we were treated to the delicious sweep of the New York Yankees from the post season by the Tampa Bay Rays, with the invaluable assistance of that typically obnoxious and clueless Yankee fan who just HAD to reach over into the field of play to interfere with a baseball in flight, denying his team two runs. I’m thinking of started a GoFundMe page for the guy for his selfish contribution to the game. Because of this guy’s moronic action baseball fans everywhere will be spared having to watch Jazz Chisholm play the game for at least six more months. I mean, can you even put a price on that?

Now, all that is left for the majority of baseball lovers around the world is to morph into newly minted Milwaukee Brewer fans. Yes, just as it was with cheering for the Rays, we’ll have to put up with the preening, look-at-me histrionics whenever one of them hits a home-run, where a trip around the bases becomes a three act play involving chest-pounding dance moves, conversations aimed skyward towards dead relatives, and various levels of hip gyrations that would make Beyoncé blush. But it will all be worth it if the Dodgers somehow lose. One coastal elite team down…one to go.

Tonight we will be having dinner at the incomparable Fresh & Co. in Camden. The temperature is projected to be 58 degrees, the skies clear. The hardest decision of the trip thus far will be whether to eat outside or inside. The outdoor seating offers many benefits not the least of which is the delightful opportunities for people watching. But whether inside or out, our meal will be amazing because it always is.

Arrived in Maine!

 It was a two-day trip, the first leg through rain to the Ulysses Hotel in downtown Baltimore to attend my nephew’s wedding. Then yesterday morning we left the hotel at 6:30 in a driving mist to make the eleven hour drive to Maine. Because of my bum bum, this journey required more stops than usual. By the time we made it to the lake I was a mess. But, the er…bottom line is that we made it safe and sound. It is currently noon and the temperature is 59 degrees. The leaves are beautiful. Pam is planning on making soup for dinner. Meanwhile I will continue my search for a better way to…sit.

Coastal Maine continues to be in a drought. In all my years on Quantabacook I have never seen the lake this low. I searched back through my old photographs to find one of the dam in a normal year. Placing that photo next to the one I took this morning was startling. Hope they get lots of snow this winter.

While I was out fishing this morning I took a couple pictures of the leaves. Three weeks of this will do quite nicely.

Half the Battle is Just Showing Up

 It takes two full days of prep work before leaving for Maine. Yesterday my to-do list was formidable. The first item on the agenda was to take Pam’s car to my local Jiffy-Lube for an oil change.

I arrived at 8:05 hoping to be first in line since the place opens for business at 8:00. I was. The only problem being that there was only one other car in the parking lot, each bay door was closed and the entire enterprises looked abandoned. Finally, a 300 pound giant of a man stumbled out of the office door wearing a tent-sized Jiffy-Lube polo shirt that looked like it had spent several weeks at the bottom of a large pile of dirty mechanic hand towels. He shuffled slowly towards my car as I rolled down the window.

“You guys open?” I asked.

“Yeah…well, we open at 8 o’clock.” He offered.

“It’s 8:08 right now so, are we good?” 

At no point of this abbreviated exchange had this gargantuan individual looked directly at me. His eyes seemed committed to scanning the Wendy’s parking lot next door. After an awkward silence he offered a frank analysis of the situation.

“Yeah…well, nobody’s showed up for work yet.”

At this point something going on in the Walmart parking lot grabbed his attention. I pressed on…

“When does that normally happen?” I asked.

“What?”

“When do the workers usually show up?”

“Hard to say. Maybe in a few minutes, maybe a little later.”

This insight seemed to exhaust his thoughts on the subject since he turned around and slouched back inside the office.

Unfortunately, this sort of thing stopped surprising me years ago. My days of being appalled at horrendous customer service ended at roughly the same time as the arrival of self-checkout at the grocery store. Luckily, this is 2026, so I whipped out my cell phone, Googled oil change shops near me, and fifteen minutes later I was being taken care of by the employees of Valvoline Instant Oil Change who thankfully did me the courtesy of showing up for work.

So kids, when you hear old guys saying stuff like—In life half the battle is just showing up—this is what they mean.

My Latest Grand-Parenting Fail

 The photograph that accompanies this post is the site of my most recent grand-parenting mishap. This past weekend we had the privilege of accompanying Silas and his parents to this very cool pumpkin farm place which was an absolute blast. There were so many cool play stations for kids of all ages. Strewn all across the place was a series of slides, but the one in this photograph was the boss. For reasons that still aren’t completely clear, when I saw this tower and the very fun looking slide I found myself walking up the tower with Silas. I must here confess that I hadn’t asked either of his parents their permission. For some reason no one tried to stop us so there we were at the top readying ourselves for the descent, Silas secure in my lap.

It was so great! We were flying down the chute, Silas giggling adorably. I remember thinking, “Man we are really going fast!” Then suddenly we emerged from the giant black corrugated plastic shoot into the bright sunshine at which time I was suddenly made aware of one major miscalculation. This particular slide had not been designed for grownups. The average weight of paying customers was probably somewhere around 40 pounds, not the combined 230 pounds that was racing along merrily to the bottom. When we broke through into the bright sunshine I realized that there was a three inch drop off at the end of the slide, the landing area being a hard surface with zero padding. As soon as I made contact I knew I had made a mistake. The sharp piercing pain in my tailbone was immediate and intense. Of course I hopped up, and handing my delighted grandson to his Mom, declaring the slide a raging success…but I knew that the damage had been done. 

Now, four days later, I am walking with great care and discovering a variety of new and novel ways to sit to reduce the pain. I am hoping that by Saturday when we head to Maine the pain will have run its course. A fourteen hour drive is not the sort of thing it is wise to attempt when one’s ass is on the disabled list.

So…once again a trip to spend time with my grandson has resulted in collateral damage, exactly the sort of thing I feared might happen when I became a grandparent at such an advanced age. This time I also picked up a 36 hour stomach bug, a miserable souvenir from our otherwise wonderful weekend. 

But, all is well. The little boy is the light of our lives. His parents are killing it and we are counting the days until Halloween.

$45,000 a gallon. Gas? No…eye drops

 This morning I once again will revisit my life long fascination with how much things cost. What exactly is it that determines the price of something? I know all about the laws of scarcity, of supply and demand pressures. Still when I encounter a surprising price point for something it always baffles me. Take this for example…

I recently developed a slight infection in one of my eyes. I visited my optometrist of choice who said it was a minor thing that could be cleared up with a three day course of a special eyedrop that she promised to call in to my pharmacy. When I picked up the very, very tiny container at CVS later that day I noticed that the bottle contained a mere 2.5 mili-liters of the cure for my eye problem. To put this in perspective…a gallon contains roughly 3,800 mile-liters. We are talking a splash of eyedrops here, in a bottle that was smaller than my pinky. So, when the friendly pharmacist announced that I owed him $29.75 I was astonished. I immediately started thinking of all the stuff I could buy for $29.75. The list was long and impressive. But my eye was hurting so I paid the man.

Then I started doing that thing I do when something baffles me. I sat in the parking lot…thinking. On my way to CVS I had stopped by a service station to fill up my tank with gas, the price of which has been all over the news of late. I paid a whopping $4.19 a gallon. Just a few years ago that same gallon would have cost around $2.75. But as I sat in the parking lot of CVS I started doing some math and discovered if the eyedrops I had just purchased was sold by the gallon—it would have cost $45,000!!!

Then I did some more thinking.

To get that gallon of gas to that service station pump, Somebody had to suck up crude oil from the depths of the earth where more often than not the drilling attempt fails. The labor involved in finding and then pumping that crude up from the earth is crazy dangerous and expensive. But that’s just the beginning. Once it’s pumped to the surface it has to be transported to a refinery somewhere. That refinery was built ages ago at great expense and the cost of its continued operation is immense. Once the crude oil is refined, it must then be loaded onto great tankers and shipped across vast oceans at great expense to ports where it is then transferred onto 18-wheel trucks that drive it across the country at great expense to filling stations great and small so that a guy like me can pull up, lift a pump handle and fill my gas tank up, all the while bitching and moaning at the ridiculous price of gasoline.

But, what of the people who provided me with this tiny 2.5 mili-liter container of eyedrops? Somebody, or more likely a machine tool, had to mix the three ingredients together, shake it up, then insert it into a mini plastic container with a child-proof top, slap a tiny label on the little container, place it in a tiny box and ship it to my CVS, after which they would call it a day and meet up for drinks at the local Buffalo Wild Wings.

When I brought this up later to Pam she listened politely then said, “Aren’t you glad you live in a world where instead of losing sight in your eye because of an infection, you can pay thirty bucks and be cured?”

This is what she does…she listens to my unhinged harangues and shuts them down with truth bombs.

But…$45,000 a gallon for eye drops?