This Time it was my Turn at the ER

This one will be hard to explain without sounding like an idiot. But any blog worth its salt can’t be all self-promotion all the time. Every once in a while you have to admit to incompetence. So, this afternoon I spent an hour or so in the emergency room with a three-pronged hook submerged in my forearm…

It’s not really a long story. I was on the dock casting one of my favorite lures when on my backswing it got entangled in Lucy’s collar. When I turned to unhook her it released on its own and flung itself at warp speed right into my left forearm. I was wearing a long sleeve shirt at the time so I couldn’t see how deeply it was hooked. I sat down and began trying to yank it out like I’ve done many times before, only this time it wouldn’t budge. Instead, each time I yanked it seemed to hurt more and plunge deeper. At this point I managed to walk to the cabin where I thought it might be wise to cut the sleeve of my shirt off so I could see what I was up against. That’s when I learned that the hook had embedded itself rather deeply and the tip of the hook was coming out of the skin a quarter of an inch to the side. This explains why it wouldn’t come out. At this point I thought it might be wise to call Pam’s cellphone to let her know about my predicament. She was in Belfast buying our dinner at Hannaford’s. I completely botched the explanation on the phone—something I’m quite good at, she told me later—but soon she was driving me to the Pen Bay Emergency Room, where one of the doctors actually volunteered to take my case because she was dying to see how somebody could hook themselves with a fishing lure that required a doctor to remove. Dr. Lu was quite impressed with the wound and showed up armed with wire-cutters and a pair of pliers. 

My first words to her were, “Doc, do you think you can save this lure? It’s one of my favorites” She smiled broadly, numbed my arm and sat about clipping the hook in two then sliding the jagged edge out. After a tetanus shot and an antibiotic prescription I was on my way back to the lake, the Dunnevant family’s second adventure at Pen Bay in less than a year.

Unfortunately I ruined a perfectly good long sleeve shirt and that lure is going to need some work.

Lake life is not for the feint of heart.

The Presidential Debate Debacle

Ok, so last night there was a presidential debate that I didn’t watch because, well…ewww. Look, I’m in Maine and there are certain privileges and responsibilities that come with it, primarily the fact that you never intentionally expose yourself to things that have the potential to inflict mental, emotional, existential or physical trauma to either you or your loved ones. At the very top of the list of such things would be presidential debates. So, Pam and I abstained. Instead Pam busied herself with her cross-stitch project while I tore into a paperback I found in the house library entitled The Couple Next Door. Two chapters in it dawned on me that I had already read this book a couple years ago, sprawled out on the exact same sofa! It was Deja-vu all over again.

While all of this excitement was happening the wind began to pick up. The gusts seemed to shake the house. The weather people had been calling for a clear but (very) windy day on Friday, so maybe the wind had arrived early, I remember thinking right before going to bed. When I woke up this morning at 5:00 it was still howling. The thought occurred to me, maybe it’s an ill-wind that blows across this lake. Perhaps something terrible has happened somewhere and this howling wind was our warning. The next thing that popped in my head after the “something terrible” thing was—“wait, there was a presidential debate last night!”

After brewing some coffee and trying to summon up some courage, I decided to do my civic duty and find out how the debate went. Maybe one of them had a heart attack on stage. Maybe Trump spontaneously exploded in the middle of one of his outrageous whoppers, or perhaps Biden wandered off the stage asking why he wasn’t given any bingo cards. 

To educate myself I travelled the slow internet to several different platforms that I barely trust and a couple more that I don’t trust at all but each had the same basic theme—“the president bombed” Sure, Trump told one laughable lie after another. One fact-checker counted 30 from his Orangeness, while tallying only 9 from Biden. But the big story was that Democrats are left in full panic mode over what to do about their nominee. 

Then I made the grave mistake of watching some video highlights of the event. I’m not sure I will ever recover. Something close to a miracle will be needed to rescue our Republic from the coming unprecedented election debacle. The world’s most powerful economic and military power is about to have an election featuring a congenitally lying convicted felon vs. a doddering, slack jawed old fool who can hardly string one coherent sentence together.

This country needs to be placed in Time Out. The Republican and Democrat parties need to be sent to their rooms and told that they will not be let out until they have nominated two new candidates, neither of whom can be over the age of 60. Maybe something like Marco Rubio v. Gavin Newsome or Ocasio-Cortez v. Marjorie Taylor Greene. As terrifying as those two contests might appear to be at first glance, none of those people have criminal records and none of them are on Social Security and all four of them will actually have to live with the consequences of whatever half-witted laws they inflict on the country while in office, unlike either Trump or Biden who are neither very long for this world.

There. That’s my take on our politics. Now I will have to figure out how to deal with 25 mph gusts whipping off this lake all day. I knew I should have packed those long sleeve shirts!!

Never Give up on a Sunset

There’s a lesson that this lake teaches us every year…be patient. Considering how many years we have been coming here you would think we would know it by now. But there we were last night, in class again.

Pam headed out for her sunset paddle too early. Our neighbor, Michael, took this picture with his real camera. That’s her out there with the sun still over an hour away from slipping past the horizon. 

But then it got hazy and the clouds started to thicken. By the time she returned to the dock we were both thinking that the sunset would be a dud. Suddenly, just as we settled in our chairs for the evening we noticed a brightness in the room…

None of the pictures I took were able to capture it. From this point it began to expand north and south. Multiple colors began to arrive, painting the cloud layers with new light, setting the lake on fire. You’ll have to take my word for it, or come see for yourself. 

Looking at these two photographs, its hard to believe they were taken on the same evening, on the same lake. A mere hour made that much difference. We are always surprised by this. We shouldn’t be. We watched this unfold from about 8:15 until 9:00. Every time we looked something had changed, something we hadn’t noticed before, something new and astonishing. 

The experience has gotten me thinking, sometimes a dangerous thing. How often have I given up on something prematurely, some thorny situation, a difficult project, even another human being? Suppose I had just stepped back and given the situation time to grow? Would a bit of patience have rewarded me? Living on this lake forces you to be patient. There is no other option. The weather changes on a dime, so you wait until it blows over because it always does. Yesterday started calm, turned windy, started with clear blue skies only to have a torrential downpour rumble through for 30 minutes in the middle of the afternoon, then clear out again. By nightfall, the lake was once again as still as glass. Patience.

Back home I tend to want everything five minutes ago. I have a difficult time waiting for anything. Why should I? Nearly everything a human being could want or need is available to me after a two minute drive. I have become accustomed to instant gratification. FedEx and UPS are on my payroll and my internet is as fast as lightening. But not up here. It takes time to do anything. There are two photographs in this blog. It will take a while to download. Might have to try several times before it works. The result of it all is that I am slowing down. Step by step my pace of living is starting to match my enviroment. This morning I will finish my second Kristin Hannah novel in the four days since we arrived. My screen time has plummeted and with it what feels like a burden is lifting.

Hitting Our Stride

We have hit our stride here on Quantabacook. The skies have cleared, Lucy has had her first swim, I’ve read my first book, caught my first fish, and I have cooked a couple meals on the grill. I have not left the lake since arriving here 3 days ago, Pam has only twice to pick up groceries. I suppose at some point we will head into Camden for breakfast or something, but there’s no rush. Pam has been busy with a new cross-stitch project. We are two matches into our annual Rummikub competition. If this all sounds a little, well…boring, then you just don’t get it. And, that’s ok. Lake life in Maine isn’t for everyone.

If Lucy could talk she could probably explain the vibe a lot better than I can. This was from yesterday afternoon. The sun had finally come out so I took the kayak out for some fishing and of course, she jumped off the dock after me before Pam could stop her. She had waited long enough apparently.

On my way back in I was surprised by the silent, sudden appearance of these two loons who popped up out of the silken waters maybe 15 feet in front of me. They stared at me for a moment then lowered their elegant necks and disappeared without leaving the slightest ripple on the water’s surface. Magical.

I took this one this morning around 5:45, the first blue sky morning since we arrived. This is looking south, down towards Loon Landing. Today I will kayak down to the dam to fish. I will stop by and see if Keith and Carolyn are home. On my way back I will paddle against the western shore looking for Fernwood Cottage where we will be spending 4 weeks in July. We are told by the constantly changing weather forecast that today and tomorrow the high temperature will be 83, with highs falling back into the 70’s after that.

We will manage…somehow.

Lucy’s Magic Blanket

There are only two days that we “work” in Maine. Arrival day and departure day. Everything else is relaxation and the long slow process of undoing the damage that the rest of the year does to our dispositions. Today, being arrival day, was a work day.

After two days and 14 hours on the road covering 850 miles, we arrived at the Fraternity General store to pick up the sandwiches we had ordered twenty minutes earlier from Pam’s cellphone. Then another four minute drive to Summer Dreams. It was 62 degrees and misting rain. Lucy was excited and agitated at once. Before unloading the car, we reveled in this delightful cabin, walking through every room reacquainting ourselves with its charms. Then we sat down and ate lunch while Lucy paced around the house. 

Once we got the car unloaded, Pam drove to Hannaford’s in Belfast to buy groceries from the meticulous list she had compiled as soon as we got on 295 outside of Portland. I stayed at the cabin unpacking while Lucy roamed and sniffed every square inch of the place, letting out an occasional mournful whine at the fact that Mom had left. When we are in Maine, while Lucy doesn’t mind being left alone, she does not at all like it when one of us leaves. She believes that it is her job to keep all three of us together. Last night at the hotel, we had a two room suite, so Lucy plopped herself down near the interconnecting doorway so she could keep a sharp eye on both of us at the same time!

Pam finally got back from the grocery store, to Lucy’s great relief, but still she was not completely relaxed. She continued her nervous wandering around the house.

Then Pam unpacked Lucy’s designated light teal blanket, the one that we always use to cover sofas where Lucy intends to sleep. She knows this blanket through and through. She knows the look, the feel and the smell. Pam covered the sofa in the front room of the house, the one where Pam and I sit at night, the one that faces the lake. As soon as the blanket was in place, Lucy found it and launched herself up. Finally, she knew her place. Her blanket had arrived and now she was home…

This progression didn’t take long. She is sleeping through her usually etched-in-stone dinner hour.

The next couple of days promise to be chilly and rainy. This is not bad news. There is beautiful weather in the forecast later in the week. Rainy weather at the beginning of a trip gives us time to slow down, time to get acclimated to a different way of living. Our neighbor saw me out on the dock earlier, recognized me from past years and said, “Welcome to Maine.” I think that maybe all of us need a special blanket that tells us where we belong, something that reminds us that we are home and all is well.

Officially Geeked

I’ve got a long to-do list today. We are 48 hours out from the trip and today I’ll do most of the harder physical things that need to be done before we leave. That way, Thursday’s activities will have a smaller chance of throwing my back out. Such are the adjustments I’ve learned to make as I have gotten older. Driving 860 miles over a day and a half makes demands on my back, hamstrings, and nerves that were never a thing back in the day. Now, I have to get a massage the day before I leave. Grrr…

I will cut the grass today, the comprehensive deluxe package including trimming and gathering up sticks and pine cones. I have to leave the place spotless before I hand over maintenance to Cash-Man, my neighbor’s strapping boy who will be responsible for its care and feeding while I’m gone. Cash and his two adorable sisters have been my “practice grandchildren” and I their practice Grandfather for over ten years now. I must say that the three of them are getting harder and harder to buy presents for when we are in Maine. They’ve gotten so stinking big and their tastes have changed. 

Lucy heads to the groomers this morning. I’ve been telling her for days now and she is pumped. Nothing like a trip to the doggie beauty parlor for her special Maine cut.

I still have some last minute things to get buttoned up at the office, so I will go in this afternoon for a bit and say my farewells to everyone. Unlike the aforementioned practice grandchildren, the girls at the office are super easy to buy for. They all want blueberry jam, and maple syrup and anything else edible.

I will make one last visit to the Thrift store to bring treats to the saints who volunteer there every day.

I will then start packing my stuff, and trying really hard to look like I’m thinking it all through carefully instead of merely throwing a bunch of random t-shirts and gym shorts in my suitcase. I do this to impress Pam who has for days now been methodically laying out a variety of potential outfits all over several beds in our house. She packs for Maine like a NASA engineer making a flight plan to Mars. Although it should be noted that while I have on occasion forgotten things due to my ADHD packing style, it was my wife who left every single one of her bathing suits at home one year and her contacts the next year. Of course she would counter with something like—“ perhaps if I didn’t have to check up on your unorganized mess of a suitcase, I would have been less distracted.” Excellent point.

The time is growing short. The excitement is building. And I can hardly believe I am still this geeked up over a trip I have made at least 40 times in my life.

My Father’s Day Gifts

For Father’s Day, I got to video chat with each of my kids, who still insist on living in other states despite the manifold blessings to be had by living closer to their mother and me. Be that as it may, it was wonderful seeing their faces and catching up. Kaitlin called while her and Jon were driving somewhere in Columbia. Patrick called from his living room, sitting next to Sarah, only to have their Golden boy Frisco pounce between them when he first heard Pop’s voice. Adorable.

So, they both bought me special Father’s Day gifts. I dare say that no father out there got better gifts than I did. This is because my children know me so well. Why? Well, it’s basically the fact that I’m not very complicated. I’m pretty easy to figure out, I’m nobody’s enigma…just your basic garden variety Dad. Consequently, each of them gave me perfect gifts, both of which reflected the personality of the giver. First up…Kaitlin.

Cannot wait to read this since I’ve heard nothing but good things about it. Of course she took special care when sending this photograph to include the fact that Ms. Hannah’s book has 122,951 ratings, while mine has…8. Oversight? Coincidence? I think not. Then she included a gift card to Barnes and Noble with a special reminder to me…

This particular apple came to rest against the very stump of the tree.

Then there’s my only son, Patrick. His gift was uniquely satisfying since it includes some of the finest things on earth…

That’s right. This is exactly what it looks like…2 pounds of bacon, a pound of sausage patties, a pound of loose country sausage and a pound of loose Chorizo, all from a local Nashville meat store, shipped in dry ice directly to my doorstep. He knows full well my love of any kind of meat derived from pigs. He also loves nothing more than supporting local businesses while giving the finger to national chains—a chip off the old block! The only downside to this fabulous gift is that it will most likely arrive the same day we leave for Maine.

So, I hope all you dads out there had a wonderful time yesterday. I certainly did!

Like a Child…

This photograph was taken on July 7, 2019. It was 8:30 in the evening after a long delightful day of fishing, kayaking and lounging on floats in the cool water of Quantabacook. I was standing on the deck at Loon Landing, and took this picture with my cellphone. I remember walking out to that chair on the dock after I took the picture. I watched the sky travel through the stages of light until it was finally just an orange flame just above the tree line across the way. I watched the water bugs dancing on the water’s surface making it look like it was sprinkling rain. I heard the hum of insects high in the pines on the shore behind me, then the plaintive call of loons coming from the southern end of the lake. It was a cool night. I wore long sleeves

This is not an uncommon sight on Quanty. Happens all the time. It’s one reason we hesitate to make plans that involve leaving for too long in the evenings. We don’t want to miss it, even though it seems we have had a front row seat for this majesty hundreds of times. It doesn’t grow old. We never get accustomed to these sunsets. They always manage to leave us breathless. I never want to be the guy for whom looking upon this kind of beauty becomes passé. I always want to feel a bit like a child on Christmas morning when this happens.

Don’t you?

Sneaky Self Awareness

Sometimes self awareness sneaks up on you. This was the case a few minutes ago after I posted about the Independent Book Review I received yesterday. When I happened to scroll down through my feed it dawned on me just how much of a one trick pony I have become lately. Practically everything I’ve posted has had something to do with the book. I suppose it’s understandable but still a bit off-putting. So, I will seek to remedy this by switching themes. Instead of bombarding you with all things A Life of Dreams, I will begin very shortly to beat you guys over the head with all things Maine for the next six weeks or so.

Pam and I are in the home stretch of Maine-prep. Each day we are able to check more items off the to-do list. We have now officially entered the check Maine 10 day weather forecast every five minutes phase. (Hint: it’s cooler.). Pam’s car has been cleaned and inspected. The staging areas around the house have started to form. Meanwhile, over at the Friends of Quantabacook Facebook page we are getting teased with photographs.

Totally unfair, but what can you do?

So, consider yourselves warned. This space is about to be transformed into all Maine, all the time Blog. For this I make no apolgies.

Top Ten Things I don’t want to see on the inside of my hardcover books

I am told by informed sources that my long awaited order of the hardcover edition of A Life of Dreams will be delivered to my doorstep between noon and 2:00 pm today, Tuesday, the 11th of 2024. This delivery will kick off a fevered scramble to deliver them all before Pam and I depart for Maine on the 21st of June. When I open the boxes, my heart will be in my throat, since the last time I opened such a box was such an unmitigated disaster. What follows are my Top Ten List of things I DO NOT want to see between the covers:

10. The author’s named spelled incorrectly.

9. A 25% discount coupon for Donald Trump’s God Bless the USA Bible.

8. My 2013 tax return.

7. A product placement on the inside fly leaf from CoffeeMate with the tagline, A Life of Creams.

6. Right after the title page a note that says, “We’ve been trying to contact you about your car’s extended warranty.”

5. Poetry. Anyone’s poetry. Any kind of poetry.

4. A fund raising letter from Joe Biden.

3. Prose. Any kind of prose not written by me.

2. An invoice.

And, the Number 1 thing I DO NOT want to see between the covers…A language other than English.

A Hope Thrift Story

Pam and I worked the afternoon shift at Hope Thrift this past Saturday. Almost every time we work there something special happens. When we got into the car to drive home, Pam told me the following story.

Pam was working the checkout counter like she always does when a young lady came up with a shopping cart full of children’s books. Pam asked her if she was a teacher and the lady said yes. She would be starting her first year of teaching this coming fall in Chesterfield County. She was buying up children’s books for her classroom library. Pam, being a lifelong teacher herself, started telling her how glad she was to see her going into teaching, pursuing such a noble calling. The young lady seemed so thrilled that she had found such a large collection of books for only $66. 

At this point a middle aged man in line close by had been listening to their conversation and interrupted with, “Excuse me, are you a teacher?”

“Not yet,” she replied. “But I will be this fall.”

Then the man looked at all the books stacked on the counter and asked, “Does your school reimburse you for these”?

She answered shyly, “No, I don’t think so.”

Then the man removed a credit card from his wallet and handed it to Pam. “Well, these books are on me today.”

This brand new teacher was overwhelmed and at first had that What is happening? expression on her face. Pam thanked him for his generosity, and that new teacher had an experience she will never forget. A stranger had valued her and her chosen profession. It meant the world to her.

I’ve had several people ask me, “why does your church run a thrift store??” This is why. It’s a place for people to come to find great bargains on necessary items that people need. It’s a place where people can bring things they no longer need or have outgrown so someone else who does need those things can find them at very reasonable prices. But it’s more than that. It’s a place where connections are made, a place where people find blessings, an environment infused by the principle of joyful generosity.

You should come by for a visit. Better yet, become a volunteer. 

Curbing My Enthusiasm

Is It Just Me?

Ok, I need to know something. Is it just me or is the same thing happening to you?? Two days ago, around 6:30 in the morning when I opened my iPad my Facebook feed was crawling with what has seemed like a thousand ads for every weed-infused consumable product you can imagine. And it was not just Facebook. Instagram was the same way. At first there must have been a dozen different brands of cannabis laced seltzer water in every flavor known to man. They were all pitched as alternatives to alcohol—“Great buzz without the hangover!!”

Then today it was gummies—hundreds of varieties of chewable weed with clever names and the promises of something called guilt-free euphoria. I swear today I’ve lost count of the competing brand names. It’s like all of a sudden the hemp business went on a date with a Madison Avenue ad man and BAMM!!

Each of these ads reminds me that their products are “legal in 46 states” but do come with the warning that if you use the gummies or drink their seltzer water you will not pass a drug test.

So, what’s the deal? Have you guys noticed this over the past few days, or am I being targeted by an out of control algorithm? 

News About “A Life of Dreams”

It doesn’t seem possible but it’s been an entire month since the launch party for A Life of Dreams. Many of you have contacted me to let me know how much you enjoyed the story. Others have taken the time to write a review. Both have meant the world to me as I navigate the tricky waters of being a first-time author. At 66, I’m not accustomed to being a rookie at anything, so this has been an adventure.

For all of you who ordered a hardcover, I have news. I am told that they are scheduled to be shipped the week of the 10th of June. That’s next week!! This means that I will be hustling to get all of them in the hands of their rightful owners before Pam and I leave for Maine on the 21st of June. This printing fiasco has been the only hiccup of the publication process…but what a disaster! Hopefully when they finally arrive they won’t have 25 pages of someone else’s book sandwiched somewhere inside!

For your edification, the book is now for sale on three major outlets in addition to my website…

…Barnes & Noble, Kindle, and Amazon. If you are one of the kind folks who wrote a review, it would be wonderful if you placed it on all three sites. 

So far I have no idea how the thing is selling, and I won’t know until the first week of July when the first sales report is generated. I’m cautiously optimistic.

Cheesy Baked Beans

As many of you know, on occasion Pam asks me to fix dinner. Usually she does most of the prep and my job is simply to put everything in the oven at the right time, set the table and have it ready to serve when she gets home. Thus was the case the other night when I was tasked with grilling up some brats on the grill to serve with Pam’s famous baked beans which she had already mixed up and placed in the Pyrex dish for me to pop in to the oven for 30 minutes prior to go-time. Everything was going swimmingly, after all, I have done this enough times to know the drill. But then…

Ok, every now and then I get out of my lane. Such was the case on an evening last week as I stood over the rich, dark brown dish of baked beans. I saw the bacon in there, the diced green peppers and onions floating around in that tantalizing brown sauce, the tangy aroma of Worcestershire sauce thick in the air.  I remember thinking, “That really looks brown.” Then a wild thought came into my head. When I had opened the fridge to get the beans I had noticed a container of fresh parmesan cheese by itself in the corner. I am something of a cheese freak. I love all kinds of cheese, by itself or slathered on top of basically anything. In a flash of inspiration I thought, “You know, those beans could use a little color…the yellow of the cheese would be perfect…and cheese makes everything better, right?” Before I could stop myself, there I was sprinkling a handful of fresh Parmesan cheese over the top of the beans. It looked amazing. I thought of how proud Pam was going to be of me and my culinary initiative. 

She got home and sat down at the table. I served up the brats and placed the cheese-soaked beans in little glass bowls and set them down in front of her. At first she didn’t even notice. We said the blessing and then turned on our show that we were watching. Eventually Pam placed a spoon into her bowl of beans and when she withdrew it there was a long string of cheese hanging off both sides of the spoon. Her reaction was not what I expected.

Pam: What is this? What the heck? What’s wrong with my beans??

Doug: There’s absolutely nothing wrong with those beans!! Thats some cheese I added. What do you think?

Pam: (giving me the kind of look one might give someone upon discovering that they had used Miracle Whip instead of Mayonnaise on the BLT’s) Why on Earth would you ruin my beautiful baked beans by putting cheese in them??!! What were you thinking?

At this point I realized that offering an excuse that included my idea that the dish needed some color would be problematic. So, I immediately backed off of defense and went for damage control instead…

Doug: Have you tasted them? The cheese makes them creamy!

Pam: Creamy?? Nobody wants creamy baked beans. Who ARE you??

This was over a week ago. You would think she would be over it by now. But just a while ago she asked me if I had any ideas for dinner. When I didn’t answer right away she adds—“And you better not say cheesy baked beans”

Ok, ok. I get it. Never monkey around with a woman’s recipes. But I’m still thinking that cheesy baked beans needs to be given a chance. They might end up being the next big thing, like fried Brussels sprouts. Whoever thought that would happen?

When You’re in the Midst of it…

You just had a novel published. You should be all in on all things A Life of Dreams. But there’s a problem. You find yourself fully immersed in your latest effort, the one you’ve been writing off and on since the end of last summer. The story won’t leave your head. It lives there rent free. Even when you’re not writing, you’re thinking about it. There was an entire month that went by without a single line. Then it hit you while you were doing pushups one morning and suddenly it was off to the races for a couple weeks.

Now you find yourself at a devilishly tricky scene. It’s crucial to the story, it will determine how the story’s arc turns out. This is the scene that will determine what kind of story this ends up being, and you are fully aware of the stakes. The writing starts to feel like labor. You stand up and walk around the room while looking at the computer screen from different angles, as if this new perspective will conjure the right words out of the atmosphere. You feel the breeze of an inspiration, sit back down and pound out two sentences, then one more. Yes. That was good, you think to yourself. I’m getting closer, you say aloud. Then it’s off to the kitchen for something to drink. 

You feel a twitch coming on in each extremity. There’s energy pulsing through you. The story is percolating. You can almost feel it in your fingertips. But, you can’t bring yourself to sit back down at your desk. Instead, you take a break by walking upstairs to the recliner in your room where you check on the day’s box scores. This takes your mind off the story. Suddenly there’s just too many possibilities flying around in your head, so many different ways for the scene to go. Your brain has reached capacity overload. So you shut the laptop and think about Maine for a while.

After a while you open it and start writing this post. Maybe if I try to describe what’s going on in my head, greater clarity will be found.

Nope.

You go back to the story and read the 2100 words you’ve written in chapter 19. You like it. You really like it. But you always like the stories when you are in the midst of writing them. Whether anyone else will is another thing altogether. But at this point you’re not writing something with the goal of having strangers like or dislike it. You’re writing because you’ve got this story in your head and there’s absolutely nothing you can do to make it go away…except sit down and write. It is while writing, during that confounding, magical time when you think that maybe writers are a little bit nuts. The whole process reminds me of one of our candidates for President…its like having a worm inside your head.

The Greatest Email of the Year!

This morning there was a very special email in my inbox from On The Water In Maine. I’ve been waiting all year for this one. It begins like this:

“This is the email you have been waiting for! There are now 3 weeks or less until your vacation in Maine!”

Thus begins the happiest time of the year for Pam and her husband. Soon various staging areas will pop up around the house, mostly on the dining room table, as Pam begins to execute her meticulous packing protocols for the trip. The other day she laid out three new bathing suits on the bed, took a photograph, and sent it to me in a text with the words, “Ok, I’m packed and ready to go to Maine.” 

Lucy is getting hyped too. A couple of weeks ago I started reminding her that she would be heading to Maine soon. She always pays close attention when I mention the “M” word, so she is pumped.

This summer will be a little weird in that it will be the first time that neither of our kids will be there since…ever. Kaitlin and Jon will be on a trip to England/Scotland/Ireland celebrating their tenth wedding anniversary, and Patrick and Sarah will be coming up for our fall trip. We do have guests coming so we won’t be up there for six weeks by ourselves, but it will feel different without the kids. Different, but still freaking fabulous.

Here’s the plan: weeks one and two will find us at the enchanting Summer Dreams, one of our favorite camps on Quantabacook. I’ve lost count how many times we have stayed there, but its always delightful…

Yeah…that will do quite nicely. After two weeks of this, we will pack up all of our stuff and head to the other side of the lake for four more weeks at a place we have never stayed before, Fernwood Cottage. A word of explanation seems in order since regular readers of this space will be wondering why we aren’t staying at our beloved Loon Landing. Well, it seems that the owners of that property decided (without consulting me!!) that they will be staying at LL for the entire summer!! The nerve! Fortunately, Tif and Meg, the dynamic duo at OTWIM came to our rescue with this property…

I think we will manage.

So, in a mere 21 days we will depart Short Pump for six weeks in Maine where seldom is heard a discouraging word and the skies are not cloudy all day. At least that’s the plan.