In Maine I cast off things. Although I am still connected to my business, I have detached myself from its daily grind. This detachment has worked wonders for my blood pressure and anxiety levels. Every day I check my messages—which is not entirely true. Actually, I have checked them every day since Kristin left for her own two weeks on a lake in Minnesota. When she was minding the store, I let her do the checking.
I have cast off reading the news. For me this has meant no daily internet trips to the Drudge Report, The Wall Street Journal, or the Washington Post. Not being reminded every single morning, afternoon and night of the manifold failures of mankind has also been a boon to my emotional well being. During the hour that I normally consume the news I have been drifting slowly across the still waters of Quantabacook doing this…
Each day I catch at least one fish like this. The rest of the time I paddle along marveling at the beauty of the natural world until I start feeling the pain in my left hip that warns me to head back to the cabin.
Pam and I go on outings from time to time, into Belfast for lunch, Camden for breakfast and shopping, or to do some sightseeing. A couple of days ago I suggested we take Lucy into town, grab some sandwiches from The Deli and eat our lunch on the grounds beside the library overlooking the harbor. Unfortunately, everyone else within a hundred miles of Camden had the same idea. Nevertheless, it was worth it. This was our bench and our view…
In the evenings the television is quiet, with the rare exception of watching the livestream of our church service, one episode of a show Pam and I like and a couple of times when Pam stayed up late to watch an episode of The Bachelorette, after I was safely asleep. But most nights we have settled into a routine of sorts. Dinner happens later here than at home. Sometimes we don’t sit down until after 7:00. Then, Pam takes her paddle board out for her sunset cruise. When she gets back an hour or so later, we settle into the comforting agenda of Pam’s cross stitching project and my novel reading—eleven and counting. Since the cabin purchase went down Pam has dropped the cross stitching in favor of surfing the internet for decorating ideas and desperately trying to settle on a name for the place. Some of her suggestions have been hysterically funny—The Gay Loon Cabin—just rolls off the tongue, doesn’t it? Last night she blurted out, “What about Birch Landing?” I thought it was beautiful. She got the idea because of the big tree that leans out over the lake near the dock which we think is a birch tree. The appropriateness of the name awaits arboreal confirmation! Besides, naming a lake house that we don’t even own yet and hasn’t even passed inspections seems a bit premature. Still, its never too early to hide these things in your heart. I wrote the following line in one of my novels a few years back:
“The privilege of naming a lake house falls to the person who cries at the closing.”
Its Pam’s job.
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