Friday Frustration

Yesterday wasn’t a good day in our politics, although admittedly, the bar is exceedingly low on that score. What would a good day look like?

First there was the absurd theatre of Mitch McConnell vs. Nancy Pelosi, two of the crustiest fossils on Capital Hill, negotiating over how many trillions of dollars the latest COVID relief package is going to be. Over the past four months in four different bills Congress has already spent 3 trillion dollars on Covid relief. This latest package will be between one and three trillion more, depending on which fossil prevails. Not one penny of these trillions of dollars was money that we actually...have. So, all of it was borrowed, a veritable geyser of red ink spewing forth from the Capital Dome. Thus we were treated to the preposterous assertion that Mitch McConnell’s one trillion dollar offer was miserly. 

How much is a trillion dollars, you ask? See, here’s the thing. You and I can’t fathom such a sum. We hear the word trillion and we think... a large sum, but we can’t comprehend such a number. Here’s how much one trillion is...if you went back to the year of our savior’s birth and began spending one million dollars every single day for the past 2020 years...you would still have over 250 billion dollars left. The United States of America currently has 24 trillion dollars of debt...before the two fossils come to an agreement over how much more to pile on top. How many of our leaders are troubled by this Mount Everest of debt and the every increasing percentage of the federal budget required to service it? None. Zero. In fact, our elected officials are busy coming up with even more ways to spend money we don’t have. There are serious people making serious proposals for free college education for all, a wiping out of student debt, universal health care, government paid daycare, even slavery reparations is now in the mix. I watch it all in a befuddled daze.

Then there’s this...yesterday, President Trump’s Twitter Feed—the inflamed canker sore on the lip of the Country—belched forth yet another towering pile of nonsense onto the body politic:

“With Universal Mail-In Voting (not Absentee Voting, which is good), 2020 will be the most INACCURATE & FRAUDULENT Election in history. It will be a great embarrassment to the USA. Delay the Election until people can properly, securely and safely vote???”

 

Where in the world to begin? Politicians of every stripe have always complained about the fairness of elections, especially the ones they lose. It’s an American tradition. Remember 1960 when John Kennedy inched out Richard Nixon? That was only because Democratic Mayor, Richard Daley saw to it that 9,000 recently departed Chicagoans pulled the lever for Kennedy, giving him the electoral votes of the great state of Illinois!! So, complaining about election fraud is nothing new. What is new is complaining about election fraud in an election that hasn’t taken place yet, when the one doing the complaining is the sitting President who hopes to be on the ballot!! Aside from Trump’s incessant need to be the center of every conversation, this Tweet had one purpose and one purpose only...to delegitimization an election that he believes he’s going to lose. If he can sew enough doubt in the reliability of the count, he will always be able to say in his dotage, “I never lost an election, I was robbed.” To their credit, Republican leaders were quick and unanimous in their rejection of this foolishness. This country, through pestilence, peril and even civil war, has never postponed a Presidential election, and we are not about to start now just to assuage Donald Trump’s fragile ego.

DISCLAIMER: Since this is a political blog post, many of you will be furious with the opinions expressed here and feel the need to engage me in debate about this point or that. However, it should be noted that this post was written not to persuade any of you, but rather to get a great deal of frustration off my chest. If you find yourself itching to rip my opinions to shreds, I have a suggestion for you....start your own blog.

What’s YOUR Plan Today?

On this morning, I am thankful. Everywhere I look people are suffering. I am not, and for this I am grateful.

I am thankful that my health is good, that nobody I am close to has come down with COVID.

I am thankful that my business has not been set upon by rock-throwing rioters, indeed, that I have a business that has been able to weather the disruptions of 2020.

I am thankful that I no longer have school aged children with all of the impending disruptions that virtual learning will visit upon those families.

I am thankful that my kids are healthy, employed and safe.

But, many of my clients haven’t been so fortunate. Many are hurting, their health and their fortunes are being compromised by things that they cannot control. Some have been furloughed, others have lost their jobs entirely. Seed corn which had been set aside for the future is being eaten now out of necessity.

My job, as I currently understand it, is to be on the lookout for people who haven’t been so lucky. Is there someone I will encounter today to whom I might be a blessing? Will God place someone in my path today who I am uniquely suited to help? If he does, will I be paying close enough attention to notice...and act? That’s the plan today. It’s the plan every day. Wish me luck.

All that is being asked of me at the moment, in exchange for all of this good fortune, is to wear a freaking mask when I enter a public accommodation.

I got this.

Something We Can All Agree On

It hasn’t taken me long to discover that we are still at each other’s throats. Despite all of the positive vibes I was sending out into the world while in Maine, America is still a nation at war with itself. I don’t even have to watch the news or read a newspaper. All I have to do is flip through my Facebook feed to see the hostility. We seem to be bitterly divided about...everything.

We can’t agree that wearing a mask in the middle of a pandemic might be a smart thing. Hell, we can’t even agree that COVID-19 is a pandemic. 

We remain stubbornly opposed on the subject of how or even if schools should reopen this fall. In this argument, many teachers find themselves disagreeing with parents, administrators and various elected officials.

The removal of Confederate statues and other symbols of racism throughout the country has done very little to assuage the appetite for protest in many American cities. Portland, Oregon seems intent on reinventing agitprop, creating all new ways to raise hell. Even here we are divided, some viewing these protests as blatant Marxist agitation, others convinced that the federal response is proof that Trump is at heart a Fascist.

Policemen have been cast as the enemy of the people by many, a tool of the establishment whose only real job is to protect property, this despite the gazillion dollars spent each year investigating murder and assault by police departments all over the country. Others view them as an unfairly besieged thin blue line of noble public servants who do ridiculously dangerous work for low pay only to be spit upon by rabble rousing malcontents. Many people view police tactics as severely flawed, far too violent and confrontational. Others believe that overly restrictive rules of engagement make it virtually impossible for them to do their jobs.

No matter what side people find themselves on in these fierce debates, we all seem to agree on one thing...it’s the government’s job to fix it. Those on the right want the government to crack down hard on rioters, and force schools to reopen despite health concerns. Those on the left demand the government continue handing out checks for every conceivable inequality that exists. 

So, maybe we have stumbled upon an area of agreement at long last....we all want the government to save us from...them.

Time For Your Vote

Y’all. The heat...

My first day back at the office was going pretty well, right up until the moment I stepped out to go get a much needed haircut at 11:00 am...

When I got home, I walked upstairs only to discover that my wife was already preparing my body for the viewing...

Don’t even ask me what the heck that is laying on the day bed in my house. It’s the sort of thing that a man doesn’t want or need to know when it’s 98 degrees outside. My nephew’s fiancé is living with us now. I assume that this body has something to do with her. 

Ok, while we were in Maine, my wife began just letting her hair go every morning. Instead of the hour it takes to blow dry, curling iron, and God knows what else she normally does in the morning, she just decided to go all natural. I LOVE IT. She’s not so sure. So, on our drive home she sent her pack of girl friends a side by side picture asking for their vote...

Her posse responded with a decisive landslide vote in favor of the lake house hair on the right. Which is better, Suburban Pam or Lake House Pam? Set aside for a moment the fact that Pam seemed far more interested in her girl friends’ opinions than mine. The real problem with this is simple...can anyone imagine a man doing this? How about if I sent a group text to a bunch of my guy friends saying something like, “Hey guys, trying to decide what’s a better look for me, this slim cut polo shirt or the fuller figure button down?” I just can’t imagine anything worse than how I would feel if one of my friends wanted fashion advice from...me?? I mean, how pathetic! But just for fun, I decided to give it a try...

On the left is button downed Doug, cotton dress shirt, silk tie, in my office. The dude on the right is in his kayak on the lake.

Or what about this shot, which admittedly has been manipulated to hide the extra vacation poundage of my gut. So which is better? Button down Doug or Lake Doug?

Goodbye, Loon Call

Heading home this morning. It’s beautiful out which makes the leaving harder. Took the kayaks out for one last sunset cruise last night.

We will miss this place. It was an adventure.

A Blind Dog

Last days are the worst. For the first time since you got here you are no longer living in the moment. You’re trying to but you know that this day has an agenda all its own. Soon, the packing up will begin. First, Pam will drive Patrick and Sarah to the airport. She will hug them tight then cry as she pulls away from the curb. It has been wonderful having them here. They have thoroughly enjoyed themselves. When Pam gets back from the airport, we will try to enjoy some dock and lake time on what promises to be another gorgeous sunny day in the low 80’s, before surrendering to the task of gathering up all our belongings, including all the new stuff we have accumulated since we arrived, and stuffing it all back into our car...hoping that all the doors shut.

But, we will leave our mark. The owner of this house has suffered a terrible loss, we discovered, the kind of loss that is unfathomable. We collected rocks from the yard and painted them. Last night we placed them around the property, hoping that maybe she will see them and take heart.

This morning our neighbor is swimming in the middle of our cove with her sweet little blind dog. They look to be around a hundred yards out, she dog paddling as the dog swims in circles around her. He loves the water because its the only place he can move around without fear of bumping into anything or falling off an edge. His silver eyes gloss over with joy as he follows her voice calling his name. The lake is the one place where he feels safe

I know how that blind dog feels.

“What do you DO up there for an entire month??”

I get asked this question a lot when people find out that I go to Maine for an entire month. “But Doug, but Doug...what on earth do you do for a whole month?” A reasonable question. A month is a long time, and Maine isn’t exactly what you would call a beehive of activity, no thriving metropolis to be found anywhere once you cross the Piscataqua River. What follows is my attempt at an answer.

This morning I was out on the kayak, minding my own business, when suddenly my wife appeared off the port side momentarily startling me. As fate would have it, about the time she appeared on the scene, I hooked in to an impressive bass and began reeling it in...

One could say that I was showing off except for the fact that it was completely random happenstance, just one of many magical things that seem to occur up here. Once she was on her way, she took my good luck with her. I only caught two more the rest of the morning, both small and uneventful.

So, yes, I fish. A lot. Fishing allows me time to think and ponder, interrupted occasionally by fish. Most of the best fishing happens in the early morning, but every now and then I’ll catch something late afternoon. 

Ok, so that accounts for maybe four hours of my day, when it’s not raining, of course. In past years, at least twice, sometimes three times, I play a round of golf at Rockland Golf Club. Unfortunately this year due to the increasingly annoying COVID-19, golf was out because the course wouldn’t rent me clubs. That was a disappointment, but allowed me even more time for another of my major pastimes up here...reading.

These are the seven novels that I have had the time to read while I’ve been at Loon Call. All but two of these were already in the house library. They were all enjoyable reads except for Hunter S. Thompson who, I have discovered, I’ve outgrown since the days when he wowed me as an undergraduate. The Sunday Philosophy Club was an annoying little thing that disappointed, but everything else was amazingly good.

Then, there’s eating. There’s lots of eating. There’s the actual eating of the food, but there’s also the thinking about eating the food. There’s the plotting and scheming involved in the preparation of the food to be eaten. Then there’s the sitting around afterwards savoring the food that has been eaten, complete with lots of ooohing and aaahing and the rubbing of tummies. All of this takes up a surprising amount of time. But it’s something that cannot be rushed. Meals are central events of each day around which every other endeavor must subject itself. “Shall we go for a swim? Wait...what about lunch??”

Last night there was a rousing game of Monikers which featured an embarrassing attempt by me (during the charades portion of the proceedings) to illustrate necrophilia to a couple of my grown children. Needless to say, much hilarity ensued. 

On days when the weather isn’t good we are reduced to driving to the coast to have breakfast (again with the eating) in Camden, followed by shopping and visits to lighthouses and whatnot, all the while keeping a sharp eye peeled for any change in the weather which might result in a hasty retreat back to the lake for some bonus dock time.

That’s pretty much the itinerary...fishing, eating, reading, eating, shopping, sightseeing, and eating. It’s not for everybody. Some of you would get bored, I imagine. That’s why God created Myrtle Beach and New York City...for the rest of you.

Gratitude

Every time we come up here I am confronted with a different emotion. Some years it’s the beauty of it all that strikes me, other years it’s the peacefulness. Some years it’s an overwhelming sense of relaxation. But this year it’s been...gratitude.

Maybe it’s 2020 that’s responsible for this emotion. COVID, racism, and politics have produced a toxic quality to this year, and being here has felt like stumbling into an oasis in the middle of the desert. Whatever the reason, I have felt an overpowering sense of gratefulness that I am here. I never want to lose that. Gratitude has fallen out of favor as a sentiment of late, I think. Nobody seems grateful anymore. If something good happens, we assume it’s because we deserved it. When bad things happen to others, we sometimes secretly think to ourselves, “serves them right, the way they live” or “well you could see that coming the way they...” Then when some huge windfall or blessing falls in our laps we secretly credit our own skill, work ethic, and righteousness for our good fortune. This is the very definition of pride, the great sin of the scriptures.

You can go mad trying to figure out why bad things happen to good people. You can drive yourself crazy contemplating why fortuitous things happen to horrible people. I have no answer for the vicissitudes of life. Here’s what I do know. I have been extraordinarily blessed in this life with mostly good health, a functioning brain, great parents and siblings who taught me the value of honesty and hard work. Those gifts have led to a degree of success in this world that has allowed me the great privilege of being able to come here every year. Why me? Others are smarter, other people I’ve known work harder than me, are better looking than me and yet, have struggled. I don’t know. I don’t think I will ever know, this side of eternity. But I do know this...I am grateful for the blessings of life. I might not know the why. I will resist the prideful attitude that says, “I deserve this.” This year especially it has been overwhelming, this sense of gratefulness. Maybe its why we love bringing friends here. Maybe it explains why I post so many pictures. Part of me wants everyone I know to come here, while the selfish part of me wants it all to myself.

So, Kaitlin and Jon are back in Columbia, SC in the unrelenting heat. Pam and I get Patrick and Sarah all to ourselves for the next three days, then we pack up and head home Saturday morning. I miss Lucy. I miss my friends at the office. But I will mourn this place on the two day drive home...

A Fabulous Day

This afternoon Pam will drive Kaitlin and Jon to the airport in Bangor. On Thursday we will do the same for Patrick and Sarah. The following morning, we will pack up and leave this place after a wonderful month. All good things, they say, must come to an end. But yesterday, we rocked it!

The day started with an excursion to the Rockland Breakwater Lighthouse, one of our favorite spots and one that Patrick and Sarah had never visited.

It’s a mile long rock wall that took 18 years to build back in the late 1800’s at a cost of a mere $750,000. It contains nearly 800,000 tons of granite. The walk ends at the stately old lighthouse.

Sarah took a great selfie!!

Then we headed into Camden for a birthday lunch at Waterfront’s.

Then it was back to the lake so these two bums could do what they do best...

After an amazing dinner prepared by the kids, it was time for the flotilla to form for another sunset cruise.

Of course, there had to be a birthday cake for the birthday girl...a whoopie pie.

And, what fabulous day in Maine would be complete without a rock painting marathon??

Maybe the best day of our entire month.

...And now I get a text that the power is out at home because a tree fell over the lines at the corner of Pump and Three Chopt. Our dog sitter can’t get the garage door open to go to work and the power won’t be back on until after lunch. Apparently we are the only people holding Short Pump together. We leave town and the whole place goes straight to hell.

The Lady of the Lake’s Birthday

Today is Pam’s birthday. It’s no coincidence that we are in Maine on this day. This place is the magic elixir that keeps her looking and feeling so young, the anti venom to the aging process brought on by 40 years of living with me. She is the Lady of the Lake up here, and everybody knows it, especially the unfortunate jet skiers from a couple weeks ago who made the mistake of trying to run over a couple of loons. Pam didn’t hesitate to track down the closest grown up in charge of these two morons and let them know in no uncertain terms about our shared responsibility to protect the wildlife at this beautiful lake, and that their jet ski behavior was totally unacceptable. She got a mumbled apology from the miscreants and that was that from those two! It was a beautiful moment and just one of the many reasons why I love this woman. 

As a tribute to her on this her...29th birthday...I have compiled my favorite pictures of her taken over the years in Maine. Because of the slow internet up here, this post might take a while to download, so by the time you read this, she might be 30.

We head out this morning to the Rockland Breakwater lighthouse, then to the Deli for lunch, back to the lake for some dock time and paddle boarding, then back to town for dinner and ice cream. At least that was the plan last night. She will have a wonderful birthday. I will see to it.

The Mystery of Crawford Pond

The fog is lifting, the lake is calm. The only sound you hear at six in the morning is the chirping of birds. Soon, I will head out to fish around the exterior of Russell Island, which we have renamed Grandad Island, in honor of my esteemed father in law. There are several patches of grass that have yielded some impressive bass this month.

On one trip I stumbled across a curious thing. At the northern tip of the island, there are two metal chairs that have been placed on the edge of the water, I suppose for sunset viewing, but it’s something of a mystery since the island is uninhabited. Upon closer inspection of these chairs, I discovered what looked like a wooden walkway, much like the walkway of a dock, only it was laying flat across the rocks at the edge of the water...

It’s old and weathered with the names of 13 people carved into the planks. This is the sort of thing that could inspire the imagination of a certain writer. What is the story here? Who are these people? Who were they? Are they dead now? Why are their names carved into this 15 foot long plank, and why is it laying at the edge of the water of an uninhabited island on an obscure lake in Maine? I parked the kayak for a closer look. I ran my fingers over the letters trying to picture their faces. 

But this curiosity isn’t unique on Crawford Pond. On the big island called, unimaginatively, 100 Acre Island, on the eastern side there is a huge rock that protrudes out into the water, large enough to park the kayak and explore. The rock juts out of the water about ten feet high and sixty feet wide. But what intrigued me the most were the three bronze plaques  that had been embedded in the front surface of the giant rock, each declaring the deaths of people who had some emotional connection to the lake, one a teenager, judging by the birth and death dates. The plaques stated the name, birth and death dates and one sentence to summarize the life lived. Lover of the Lake, Founder of Lake Association and champion of its care...

These discoveries have done nothing to discourage my conviction that every lake we have ever stayed on here is shrouded in mystery. First of all, these lakes are ancient, created by receding glaciers. Secondly, they freeze over every winter, solid and impenetrable for months. For a southerner like me, this is unfathomable and makes me wonder what the place is up to all winter. Whenever there is  a “cold snap” in Short Pump during our winter with the high temperature in the 20’s for a week or so, I glance at my weather app and notice that Searsmont, Maine can look forward to a week of single digit highs and subzero lows, making me wonder what Quantabacook looks like, and what on Earth is going on in its frozen depths. The imagination stirs, crowding out the mundane cares of the real world. Who are the 13 people carved into the weather-beaten planks? How did such a large and heavy thing find its way onto an uninhabited island? 

Inquiring minds want to know.

Quirkiness

There is a certain quirkiness to Maine. You see it everywhere in ways great and small. It’s understated, Mainers don’t make a big fuss over their quirkiness, they don’t try to market it like the folks in places like Key West do. No, here it’s subtle. If you’re not paying attention, you’ll miss it. For example, its taken us almost three weeks to catch all of the quirks on the 1.2 mile dirt road that leads to our cabin, hilariously named Tri-State Boulevard...

Someone went to the trouble of putting each of these wonderful distractions along the side of a dirt road in the middle of the very deep dark Maine woods. Then, there’s this...

This is the western most point of an uninhabited island on Crawford Pond. There are rocks hidden behind the grass. Somebody took the time to haul two old rusting metal chairs out there, wedge them into the rocks so they would sit level, just in case someone kayaking by in the evening would have a place to sit still if they wanted to watch the sunset...I guess. Or maybe they just thought they looked cool. Either way, it’s enchanting.

Each time we make the turn off of the hard surfaced road onto, er...Tri-State Boulevard...we keep a sharp eye peeled for the latest addition to the show. I’m wondering if there is another dirt road anywhere on Earth who’s official state sanctioned name includes the word, boulevard. 

Probably not.

Fine Dining and Fast Thinking

People often ask me what my favorite restaurant is in Maine. It’s a tough question. For breakfast, it’s the Camden Deli. For dinner, The Waterfront is nice. Mariners has really good clam strips, Peter Ott’s gingerbread dessert is the stuff of which legends are made. But, if I was being honest about it, I would have to admit that my favorite place to eat is...

That’s right, Hazel’s. This is the best roadside stand in the Midcoast region. Red’s Eats gets all the publicity, but Hazel’s is the real deal. Just look at that menu! Eleven different burgers, including the “Cowboy Cheeseburger” which if you order it, all the cooks inside immediately yell out YEE HAW!!! Six different hot dogs, a wide variety of seafood, all fresh and cheap. There’s even a vegetarian selection! But, what sets this place apart is there sausage offerings. I’ve had the chili cheese sausage and it was truly a religious experience—both during and after. But, the Sausage Reuben is a masterpiece...

Even my son in law agrees.

Of course, Pam always gets the lobster roll and it is always ridiculously generous...

However, our visit there yesterday was problematic, not because the food wasn’t fantastic, but rather because of a COVID related inconvenience.

We had spent a couple of hours visiting the Owl’s Head lighthouse and State Park which was gorgeous...

So, by the time we pulled into Hazel’s parking lot, I was in dire need of a bathroom break. After ordering our food, I excused myself to their famously immaculate facilities only to discover that they were temporarily unavailable, for which management “sincerely apologized.” Hmmm...quite a pickle I had found myself in. There was no way I was going to pass up a Sausage Reuben. I was going to have to man up. I went back to our table with a forced smile on my face. After our fabulous meal was over, we had to take Jon into Camden—five miles away—to pick up a prescription at Walgreens. Since public bathrooms are a rare commodity in Camden, I had to come up with a plan...fast.

ME: Ok Johnny-Boy, here’s the deal. When we get close to the Walgreens, I’m gonna let you out. Run fast out of the oncoming traffic, pick up your prescription and meet us at The Deli. 

JON: Drop and roll...got it!

PAM: But honey, Camden Deli’s bathroom is for customers only!

ME: That’s correct. Which is why you’re going to buy two Whoopie-Pies to-go while I’m in the can!

I used the facilities, Jon ran all the way from Walgreens to catch up with us, and we walked out of their with these babies...

Which, ladies and gentlemen, is why they pay me the big money!