Day Tripper

It’s time for an adventure. Today we will make the 45 minute drive to Port Clyde, then take the $168(!) ferry ride on the mail boat over to Monhegen Island...population 68. This is something Pam and I say we’re going to do every year, but never manage to actually do. There are several of these wonderful islands off the mainland in Penobscot Bay...Little Dear Isle, Vinalhaven, and North Haven are others. In years past they served as either fishing harbors or plantations. Today they are home to a few hardy local families, picturesque villages, and spectacular vacation homes built by obscenely rich people from away. We will take the 10:30 ferry, and spend the day touring around, taking pictures and eating lobster. Bicycles might be involved. Today’s high temperature here at the house is expected to reach 83, while on Monhegen it should top out at 70, so the big decision will be between short sleeves and long sleeves.

Of course, to make this trip, we will have to leave this...

Easier said than done.

Vacation News

So far, in a mere eight days, we have seen several different species of wildlife. A bear, an eagle, several families of ducks, many loons, squirrels, a family of wild turkeys, and today...a mink made an appearance, dashing underneath Kaitlin as she was reading in a hammock. 

My wife has been Wonder Woman this week. Yesterday, she went for a 3.9 mile kayak trip, and upon her return, dashed back out for another hour on her paddle board. Then today, she started showing off. After towing Kaitlin and me out into the middle of the lake from her paddle board..(we were lounging around on our floats, bemoaning the difficulty we were having getting far away enough from the dock)..she decides to do a series of yoga poses on her paddle board!!

   



Kaitlin, demonstrating remarkable self awareness, declared herself the least valuable vacationer this afternoon after it occurred to her that she has done basically nothing this entire trip. Nothing, that is, except make demands of her father:

Kaitlin: Dad, could you head up to the house and get me a Chilly Willy? I like the pina colada flavored ones. Oh, and while you’re up there, could you bring me my beach towel...the fluffy thick one. This Adirondack chair hurts my butt.

Me: Of course, dear.

Kaitlin: Oh, and Dad?

Me: Yes?

Kaitlin: I’m still waiting for that Kaitlin blog!

Actually, my daughter has contributed a lot to the enjoyment of this vacation. Largely with comments like this one today at lunch...

I’m not sure I like adding bananas to my fluffernutter, making it a fluffernannernutter. They are too distracting.

Yes, it’s this sort of outside the box thinking that has made her a master teacher and molder of young minds. And yet, I had to remind myself this afternoon that she has a Master’s Degree in English literature, when I saw her pick up Jon’s binoculars to view the loons, and lift them to her eyes...backwards.

I played a round of golf this morning at my favorite local course, Rockland Golf Club. In keeping with my schizophrenic golf game, I hit every single fairway on the front nine and shot a 49, missed every fairway on the back nine and shot 38. The turkeys were not impressed...

But, the course was immaculate and I finished in a cool 2 hours and 23 minutes...walking!

Pet Peeve

One of the great benefits of an extended vacation in a place like Maine is the opportunity it provides for uninterrupted reading. I read every day, thirty minutes here, an hour there. But up here, I can read like it’s my job. So far, two novels completed, half way through a third. If you think that’s a lot, Kaitlin is on number six! 

A quick word and one pet peeve about one of the books I’ve read...

Back in 1999 a guy named Andre Dubus III wrote a novel called House of Sand and Fog, which became a National Book Award finalist and was later made into a movie starring Ben Kingsley. I found it in the book case downstairs, read the reviews and said, why not?...Ok, Dubus can write. Really well. But, never perhaps in the history of literature, has so much exquisite prose been wasted on so vile and pointless a story. Without knowing it, he wrote a novel that, if anti-government folks actually read, they would have hailed as their manifesto. Of course, this notion would never have occurred to Mr. Dubus who, no doubt, is most likely a raging leftist. Neither did it occur to any of the reviewers of this work who spent all of their time gushing over its empathy and longing. Here’s the problem...caution: spoiler alerts follow!!!

Kathy is a troubled young woman who cleans houses while living in the one thing her father gave her upon his death, a bought and paid for house in California. Colonel Behrani, is a former official associated with the autocrat, Shah Rena Pahlavi of Iran, who has just been overthrown and murdered by the radical mullahs back home. Behrani and his family had to flee the country because to stay would have meant execution. The trouble is, the Colonel is having a hard time adjusting to his greatly diminished life in America, where he works a series of odd jobs while living beyond his means to keep up appearances and to assuage his crushed ego. Lester, is a police officer with the local county who serves an eviction notice to Kathy in the first few pages of the book, for unpaid taxes. Of course, he falls for Kathy, out of the aforementioned empathy. Kathy is thrown out on the street despite claiming not to know anything about any back taxes. Meanwhile, the good Colonel, out of desperation to restore his family name and fortunes, decides to buy a house at auction with what remains of his nest egg, fix it up and sell it for a hefty profit. Naturally, his first auction yields him Kathy’s house, which he purchases for a mere $40,000. Immediately, he moves his family into the house that Kathy has been kicked out of. Like night follows day, Kathy ends up shacked up with Lester and thus begins the tragic downward spiral which ultimately results in the following:

- the murder/ suicide of Colonel Behrani and his wife

- the death of their son from a gunshot wound administered by a county policeman

- the incarceration of Kathy and Lester for the rest of their miserable lives

Halfway through the book, we discover that all of this Greek tragedy has been set in motion by the feckless and incompetent county government of San Mateo, who had been sending delinquent tax notices to Kathy’s house because of a spelling error. In fact, Kathy owed nothing to the county. Therefore, not only was she evicted illegally, the ensuing sale of her house at auction to Colonel Behrani was itself illegal! No where in this story does the county government suffer any consequences for their bureaucratic bumbling. In fact, their coffers were enriched by $40,000, and one of their employees killed a teenage boy as a bonus! Mr. Dumus doesn’t even make an attempt to address this outrage, since he’s so fixated in examining the cultural clash involved. 

Isn’t this always the way it goes in life? Some pencil pushing functionary down at the county can’t spell, and before you know it, three people are dead and two others get life in prison! But, guess who gets off Scott free? That’s right...our public servants. Like the apologists for the Soviet Union used to say...if you’re going to make an omelette, you’ve got to break a few eggs.

End of rant. No more literary criticism. My next blog will be back to vacation news. Or maybe I’ll follow my daughter’s advice and give the people what they want..a blog about Kaitlin! 

Here Comes The Sun

On the fifth day of our vacation, we finally got to see what the lake looks like in the sunshine. Yesterday was pretty much perfect. The sky became crystal clear and bright blue around 10 o’clock in the morning. The high temperature topped out at 80. Kayaks were deployed early and often and there were a couple of paddle board sightings. By late afternoon, the floats finally made an appearance. But mostly, we all just hung out on the dock reading and talking, interrupted only by either the loons or the arrival of a dog at the public boat landing a few hundred yards down the shore from us. By the time the dock was in the shade, it was a mess. We hardly had room for the cheese tray...

Since yesterday was Patrick and Sarah’s last full day with us, the plan was to cap off this wonderful day with a campfire and s’mores around this great fire pit...

But, just about the time I was about to light the fire, we heard thunder off in the distance. After consulting the weather radar, we discovered a large and menacing storm mere minutes away. No fire. But, one thing I’ve learned over the years about women, Dunnevant women in particular, is that once the idea of chocolate enters their heads, no thunderstorm in the world will deny them. So...

Yes, that’s us...toasting marshmallows over the blue flame of a gas stove...just like the pioneers used to do it! Behold the newest member of the family, unwilling to even put down her skewer while enjoying her s’more, afraid that someone will take it from her!!

So, this afternoon, I will take Patrick and Sarah to the airport, their two week honeymoon nearly over. They will fly home to Nashville to begin the rest of their lives together. Hopefully, they will always recall the time they spent here on this lake with fondness. 

This morning, we are headed in to Camden for blueberrie pancakes at Camden Deli, a morning of walking around this beautiful town and probably some ice cream at Riverducks.

We Actually Have A Plan Today

We have been in Maine now for almost three days and have enjoyed maybe six hours of sunshine. The rest of the time it has been a cloudy, fog shrouded mist-fest. On the positive side, no rain, it hasn’t gotten out of the 70’s, and no biblical plagues seem imminent. Despite the disappointing weather, yesterday was a delight. There was kayaking, the reading of books and solving of world problems down on the dock, a fantastic dinner feast featuring Paula’s wicked good campah chicken, an after dinner trip to Round Top ice cream, and a slideshow of pictures from Patrick and Sarah’s California honeymoon. Oh, and this morning...

Ok, in sharing this information, I run the risk of revealing that I have run afoul of some obscure Maine environmental regulation. If so, I’m sure my Maine buddy, Alan, will let me know all about it! Anyway, when I was out on the kayak yesterday I saw this beautiful lilly pad in the next cove over. So, I picked three of the prettiest blooms to give to the three lovely ladies in my family. Somebody put one of them in a martini glass, whereupon it almost immediately shriveled up into a green oblong shell which made it look exactly like an olive. Cute. Only, this morning, when I came down to make my coffee...

I take this as a sign. Today will be a sunnier day.

Today actually has a plan, of sorts, on the agenda. This afternoon, we will make our first run into Camden. It is 35 minutes away, the farthest we have ever stayed from this marvelous village. We will putz around in the shops, make a visit to Riverducks ice cream, and spend entirely too much time in The Smiling Cow. But, the real reason we will have come to town is to see a performance of Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night, performed outside in the beautiful amphitheater of the Camden Public Library, overlooking the harbor.

After the show, we will have dinner at one of the great restaurants that offer stunning views of Penobscot Bay and all of the stately triple masted schooners that are scattered around the harbor among the yachts, great and small. If we are lucky enough to get a table at Waterfront, we will get to see people walking their dogs down the boardwalk right in front of us. And if the moon comes out, this will be our view...

But, hey...I don’t want to give the impression that I’m living in some fantasy world where all of the stress of life has somehow vanished. Nothing could be further from the truth. Why, just yesterday the reel on my fishing pole broke. Now, I’m going to have to traipse all the way into Damariscotta and buy a new one. Oh, and there are three separate recycling bins in this house!! So confusing. Plus...the nightcrawlers I bought at the general store yesterday seem listless. Listen, people...all God’s children got problems, am I right?

A Very Cool Twenty Minutes

“We made it all the way to Maine because somebody promised us a free vacation, but nobody is here to pick us...no wait, there’s Dad!!”

Yesterday, something amazing happened. All four of my kids made it to Maine, with their luggage, with virtually no delays, cancellations, or invasive body cavity searches. We made it back to the house by 11 o’clock. It was nothing short of a travel miracle. At 7 am, all of them are sound asleep. For the next six days, we will all be here together. At this moment, we have nothing scheduled. Each day will be dealt with on its own terms. The weather will determine how we spend our time. If the forecast is to be believed, the next couple of days will involve a lot of indoor activities. But, yesterday’s forecast ended up being wrong, when the sun came out for four hours in the afternoon. So, who knows?

Yesterday morning, I experienced an amazing twenty minutes. For reasons that escape me, I woke up at 5:30. There was no point in fighting it...I was up. So, I brewed some coffee and slipped downstairs to walk down to the dock. When I emerged from the sliding glass door, I looked up and saw a magestic deer standing next to the Adirondack chairs, no more than 100 feet from me. She lifted her head, turned toward me and froze peacefully for a brief moment, her huge, dark eyes locked on me. One of her ears twitched, then she sprang off gracefully into the woods, disappearing in an instant. As I walked down the lane towards the dock, I heard the loud squawking of birds in the trees to my right, loud and frantic. The instant I stepped on to the dock, a bald eagle swooped down towards the lake in a majestic wide arc, as if he wanted to make sure I knew who he was. After passing right in front of me, he changed direction and headed around the bend. I thought...wow. Ten minutes later, a family of ducks swam by, paying me no attention whatsoever. As soon as they were out of sight, I heard my first loon call.

It was as if they were all saying, welcome back, human...welcome back to Maine.

Arrived

In the old days, when Pam and I were horrible parents, we used to lay the kids down in the floor of the van in their sleeping bags...with no seatbelts...while we made the 13 hour drive straight through the night. When we made our first stop on the New Jersey turnpike for gas, they would sit up briefly, bleary-eyed, and ask...Are we at Maine yet?

Well kids...yes, we are at Maine...

The green iron bridge over the Piscataqua River which greets you at the border was obscured by a blanket of fog and a light drizzle. Despite this dreary reception, the two day drive up this year was as uneventful a trip as we have had in quite some time. No long delays, no backups, and for thirteen hours on the road, we never saw a single accident...a first!

The weather forecast around here looks bleak for the next several days, something about which we can do absolutely nothing. The lake was fogged in yesterday, so the pictures I took outside don’t reveal much. I can imagine how delightful this property will be once the sun comes out...

It’s all there, waiting for the sun.

The house is another story all together. The downstairs looks and smells exactly like a Maine lakehouse, which is to say...perfect.

  

The upstairs is like a completely different house, decorated and appointed to within an inch of its life...

  

The bedrooms are huge and beautiful...

...with bathrooms you could double park a pickup truck in...

   

So, our home for the next three weeks will do quite nicely. Today will be a busy one. After breakfast, Pam and I will make the arduous 4 mile drive into the Damariscotta Hannaford’s for the initial grocery run. This is a very big deal, and something for which my wife is ideally suited by education, training and experience. She has her grocery app filled out, her iPad fully charged, and has that I’m on a mission, get out of my way look I have come to know and fear. By the time we are done, you could drop open any Julia Child cookbook to any random page and we will have every ingredient needed to make whatever dish happens to come up.

This evening, I will be driving into Portland to pick up Jon, Kaitlin, Patrick and Sarah who hopefully will have all landed without delays from Columbia and San Francisco. By the time we fall into our beds tonight, all six of us will be together, and at that point if it’s raining outside, it won’t matter.

Today’s To-do List

THINGS TO DO TODAY

- record compliance approved away message on my office phone

This is sort of a big deal. Whenever someone in my line of work is going to be away for any protracted period of time (two or more weeks), this must be disclosed fully to clients. You must reveal exactly how long you will be gone and give instructions for how you can be contacted in case of emergency, and also provide a back up contact. What follows is what I would like to leave as my away message:

Ok folks..for the next three weeks I will be away on vacation. You can leave all the messages you want, but I won’t be returning any calls until I return. I mean, I love you guys and all, but if you need to take ten grand out of your account so you can go to Atlantic City, you’re just gonna have to figure out how to do it by yourself. If the market happens to be in free fall, what in God’s name would you like me to do about it? I’m in Maine. Just chill out until I get back. Peace out.

My actual away message will be the picture of professionalism, and any actual emergency will get a prompt return call...cellphone service permitting...cough, cough.

- pick up life sustaining prescriptions at CVS

- cut grass

- pack for trip

This is a little harder than it sounds for two reasons. First, three weeks is a long time, and second...it’s Maine. Even though it’s summer, you just can’t throw a bunch of shorts and T-shirt’s in a suitcase and be done with it. When you wake up in the morning and it’s 52 degrees out, you’re gonna need a little something more than your Bank of Dad...a lending institution since before I can even remember...T-shirt. No, you’re going to have to pack for sunny day Maine and cloudy day Maine which means plenty of jeans and long sleeve shirts. The hardest part is deciding which outfit will be the designated camp fire outfit. That’s the one outfit you wear every night around the fire. That way, only one outfit ends up smelling like Smokey Bear after he hasn’t bathed in two months. But, as thorny as this can be for me, it’s a tedious ordeal for Pam. She agonizes over each and every outfit, every accessory, like its project runway or something. Of course her attention to detail pays off because she always looks great...while I try to explain to her why this striped polo shirt goes quite well with those plaid shorts.

- get haircut

As my Dad would have said...Actually, I think I’ll get all of them cut!

- workout

- get car detailed

This is an old habit of mine that makes zero sense. Before leaving on any road trip, I always take the car to a car wash and give it the works. I just like hitting the road in a sparkling clean vehicle. What I should do, of course, is wait until I get where I’m going to get it cleaned. Old, unproductive and illogical habits are hard to break.

- go by Hand and Stone for my monthly massage

In a master stroke of meticulous planning, I scheduled my monthly deep tissue massage for 4:00 in the afternoon of the day before a two day road trip. 

- just before drifting off to sleep tonight, whisper to Pam...Were goin’ to Maine, we’re goin’ to Maine.

Pam’s Birthday

Today is Pam’s birthday. It’s getting lost in trip preparation. She has firmly informed the family that there will be no gifts this year, no hubbub. All she wants for her birthday is for us to be together in Maine next week. Several times in the history of this blog I have published testimonials to her virtue on this day. I will refrain from such wife-bragging today. Instead, I decided to search through a thousand or so photographs to find my two favorites of her, which you see above. A word of explanation...

The first one was taken on the occasion of my 50th birthday trip to the Cayman Islands. We were on a thirty minute boat ride across the bay, headed to dinner at some restaurant on a smaller island when somebody volunteered to take this picture. I’m not sure if she has ever looked more beautiful. Maybe it was the sun, or that dress or her tan. She looks like a movie star.

The one on the right is a completely different story. This one was taken several years ago at one of her favorite places in the world...Riverducks Ice Cream. It’s a little hole in the wall in Camden, Maine that serves 12 different Maine-inspired flavors of ice cream. Each year, she makes it her goal to try all 12 before we leave for home. This was Sarah’s first trip to Maine. We were all so relieved that she fell in love with Maine, because if she had hated it, Patrick would have been forced to dump her. Anyway...just look at my wife’s face. Look at that smile. That is the smile of contentment and complete happiness. She is surrounded by everything that she truly loves in this world...and just about to devour a double scoop helping of Megunticook Mayhem.

Just a few more days, sweetie.

Happy birthday.

My Mom With a Stun Gun?

A couple of months ago, my sister sent me a text containing the following story. At the time, I was swamped in wedding prep work and didn’t have time to respond. But, some stories are just too good to ignore...

For all of you parents out there...who of us has not wished we owned a stun gun at times? Getting teenagers to wake the heck up can be like raising the dead sometimes, am I right? Here’s this poor woman, scrambling around trying to get ready for church...on Easter Sunday no less, and junior won’t budge. What’s a frantic mother to do?

Well, Sharron Dobbins of Phoenix, Arizona made a command decision...You talk about Jesus rising from the dead? I’ll raise your lazy a** from the dead right now! Zzzaappppp!!! After witnessing the incident, it took all of four minutes for Mrs. Dobbins’ other son and nephew to throw their suits on and report for duty, bibles in hand.

Unfortunately for Mrs. Dobbins, this sort of thing is frowned upon by local law enforcement who charged her with felony child abuse. In court, Dobbins explained...I only sparked that taser to get the kids up for church on Easter Sunday. I aimed it at his left leg. 

Hmmm...

My mother never owned a taser. Thank God in Heaven. 

Her technique for waking up her lazy children was to stand at the foot of the stairs at 7 AM on Saturday mornings clanging two large metal pans together and shouting...It’s 7 o’clock in the morning...half the day is gone!!

Aside from the sketchy math of this formulation, the ear-splitting racket caused by this ridiculous stunt was every bit as invasive and disturbing as a taser. It also served to remind us kids that our mother was borderline crazy and consequently not to be trifled with. The prospect of Mom owning a taser sends shivers down my spine even now, and she’s been with Jesus for four years!!

So, I read about Mrs. Sharron Dobbins of Phoenix, Arizona and I thank God that my Mother died before the mass proliferation of stun gun technology.

Trump and Putin

I don’t really want to write this blog. The subject matter gives me indigestion. I’m not an expert on the subject, just a guy with an opinion. But, that Trump/Putin news conference yesterday in Helsinki was one for the ages and to not even mention it seems like some sort of blogging malpractice. So, here goes.

When I was growing up, it was always the Progressive Left who couldn’t bring themselves to say a discouraging word about the Russians. Back in the late 60’s and all through the 70’s, the Left tied themselves in rhetorical knots making excuses for Russian behavior. The air was thick with moral equivalence arguments. In a way, this was predictable. In those days, the American Left was still enamored with communism and the great hope of Marxist ideology. The Berlin Wall was still standing. Whatever sins and human rights abuses the communist dictatorship in Moscow were guilty of were excused or ignored, because in the minds of many on the Left, it was preferable to the evils of capitalism. It was this instinctive hostility to America and our interest in favor of the Soviets that drove me away from the Democratic Party in the first place.

Oh, how the worm has turned.

Yesterday, I watched an American President with an R next to his name make excuses for a former KGB officer. I watched an American President with an R next to his name say that he preferred to believe a former KGB officer rather than the unanimous conclusions of his own national security officials. Then, this American President with an R next to his name trotted out his own moral equivalence arguments, placing his country on an even moral plane with Russia. It was an astonishing performance. If I were the head of the CIA, FBI, or any other National Security Post in his administration, I would have already submitted my resignation...because this President just threw me and my department under the bus.

To be fair, several high ranking Republicans have registered publically their disapproval, closing ranks behind the American Intelligence community. Democrats, on the other hand, have finally found a Russian leader they despise. Better late than never, I suppose.

This is just so freakin weird. The self proclaimed great deal maker, got played like a Stradivarius by a two bit thug, a man who has spent his entire life nurturing contempt for the United States of America, and working for its defeat and humiliation. But, there they were, on a stage in Helsinki, short dumpy Putin in his cheap suit and heavy jowls looking like he had just eaten a dissident, standing next to the tall, hulking, red-tied manchild, who looked exactly like a casino building developer who was double parked, wishing and hoping that one day he could be like the short dumpy man in the cheap suit.

I have officially now seen everything.

Getaway Week

Today marks the beginning of getaway week, a week spent preparing for Maine by disentangling yourself from the thickets of your life. Leaving that life for three weeks is no small feat, as it involves a clipboard full of check list items that run the gamut from lawn care to a compliance-approved away message on your business phone. Here’s just a few of the items I have so far...

-get prescriptions filled

Ok, this one irritates me since it used to not be a thing. Now that I’m 60 and in a more advanced state of physical decrepitude, making sure you don’t run out of cholesterol medicine while you’re gone is of crucial importance. One more example of the ignominy of ageing.

-meet with dog sitter

This trip to Maine is to a house that is not dog friendly, which means that Becca, the dog whisperer, must be dealt with. She recently stayed with Lucy while we were in Nashville and did a great job, so we were lucky enough to get her to do the job for this trip. She already knows Lucy, understands her idiosyncrasies and seems charmed by them. But since this is a three week gig, she will have more stuff to do...like water the grass, protecting my tomato plants from critters, etc... 

-inspect and inventory floats

Without question, this is my most crucial assignment of the week. Making sure that we have six fully operational floats is essential for a successful Maine vacation. I will need to get them out of storage, make sure they are cleaned, identitify any leaks or potential leaks, and above all else, make absolutely certain that we have an ample supply of D batteries for the inflation machine. Any failure in this protocol will result in great tumult and lamentation by the women in my family. A defective float is an unthinkable contingency too horrible to even imagine. Why, the mere possibility of a float failure is one of the things that haunts me during getaway week. When four o’clock in the afternoon arrives and it’s time for the group cocktail float, the last thing you want is to be the man responsible for a float failure. That’s why this particular list item is written in ALL CAPS and red ink.

-study route

This may seem like a strange item since this will be at least the thirtieth time I have made this drive. One would think that I would have the route memorized by now. No..no, this drive is a two day, white knuckled, bowel churning, spittle-flying nightmare where you make one mistake and you’ll find yourself in the middle of Brooklyn in a driving rainstorm during rush hour. In addition, in recent years we have gone to great lengths to avoid I-95, crafting an entirely new western route which takes us through western Pennsylvania. Miss your exit out there and the worst thing that can happen might be getting caught behind an Amish couple out for a joyride. So, yes...I will be poring over the Apple Map directions with excruciating care.

-wrap up loose ends at work

By “loose ends” I mean get everything I’m working on to a point where I can leave for three weeks without returning to a hot mess. This isn’t easy, but it’s made infinitely easier by my intrepid assistant who communicates with me via email and the occasionally snarky text, to keep me up to speed on developments while I am away. So far, no catastrophic geopolitical event has taken place while I’ve been in Maine, no freakish stock market free fall, or client death. (RAP,RAP, RAP,TAP,TAP,TAP...)- that’s me knocking on wood!!

Ok...let getaway week activities commence!

A Parenting Win?

I just saw a post from a friend of mine who is in the midst of a three week adventure with his wife and two kids, touring a half dozen of our National Parks out west. He made the observation that it felt like a parenting win.

He doesn’t know the half of it.

Choosing to spend your money on introducing your kids to the beauty of creation is world class parenting.

Spending three weeks of your summer with them, being present with them is the very definition of parenting. It communicates to them their value....Mom and Dad must love us, if they want to be with us for three weeks!!

The experiences they will have on a trip like this are worth more than a hundred creature comforts. When those girls are grown, they will both talk about that time Mom and Dad took them out west long after Mom and Dad are gone. 

Our National Parks are a treasure. They contain some of the most stunning real estate in the entire world. When we visit, we are reminded of the vastness and wonder of creation. We discover something much bigger and deeper than our day to day problems. It invites big thoughts, and stirs the imagination. Hopefully, it also instills a reverence for the natural world and a desire to protect it.

A three week camping trip with kids is no picnic. I’m sure they will get on each other’s last nerve several times along the way. But, here’s what I know. Material possessions are great. I have nothing against having nice things. I would rather drive a nice car than beat up rusted hulk. I would rather live in a nice house than a shack in the woods. I would rather have nice clothes than walk around in rags. But, there is so much more to life than...stuff. Prosperity is great but if it only results in shinier stuff, it’s wasted. If the power of prosperity is turned to providing life long experiences with the ones you love, something magical happens. Something like conversations around a campfire late into the night. Something like laughing together all afternoon in floats on the lake. Something like watching the sunset to the sound of burgers sizzling on the grill. Something like the thought that comes over you that no matter what life might have in store, there will always be these people, this family, who love you.

A parenting win?

 More like a triumph.

Thanks, golf.

Couple of days ago, a friend of mine says, Why don’t we break away Thursday morning to play golf? I was reluctant since this week has been full, the kind of schedule one has when preparing to go on vacation for three weeks. But, my appointments on Thursday were in the late afternoon so I said yes. Our tee time was at 9:30. He calls me at 8:50...How far away are you? I worked it out so we can go off of 10 if you get here early. That way we’ll have the course to ourselves. I was just leaving the house when he called, so I raced over, walked straight from the parking lot onto the 10th teebox and we were off! Three hours and fifteen minutes later, we were having lunch on the patio, smoking cigars. This, ladies and gentlemen, is how golf was meant to be played.

The fact that we never encountered another living soul on the golf course was not the only reason we finished so quickly. My friend and I have one thing in common when it comes to golf. We both play fast. We are see ball, hit ball players. Our “pre-shot routine” takes all of ten seconds. There are no ponderous debates about club selection, the vagaries of wind and yardage. You will never catch one of us tossing blades of grass in the air or gazing at the top of trees as if a better understanding of wind direction could possibly make a discernible difference in the result. That stuff is reserved for guys who play golf for a living. My friend and I would much rather spend our time talking trash, questioning each other’s manhood, planting seeds of doubt by reminding each other of the hazards of each shot...Alright Dougie, don’t worry about that lake. You hardly ever slice and besides, you’re too weak. You probably don’t have enough length to even reach the water! Or even better, our pre-putt advice...Hey, don’t hit this one too hard. If it rolls past the hole it might go all the way off the green. On the other hand, if you don’t hit it hard enough it it might roll back to your feet! 

I hate everything about golf except actually playing the game. I never practice, never “work on my game.” I don’t warm up before a round. All of that bores me to tears. What I love about golf is the fact that I’m outside for four hours in a beautiful setting with good friends. My cell phone is turned off. Sometimes there’s a friendly wager on the table. I get to smoke a cigar. You get to disengage from the real world for a while, escape fluorescent lighting, and return to a more natural setting. It frees you up. You find yourself having real conversations. 

I shot an 86. Played pretty well. My friend played out of his mind and shot 82. He still has manhood issues.

The real world was waiting for me back at the office. It never goes away. But yesterday, I escaped it for a few glorious hours.

Thanks, golf.

Why Maine?

My first Maine vacation of 2018 commences in 10 Days. Pam and I will drive up over two days, have one day to buy groceries and set up, then both sets of kids will fly in to Portland. All of us will be together for the first week, then Kaitlin and Jon will stay for a second week, then Pam and I will have the place to ourselves the last week.

I’ve spent lots of time in this space extolling the virtues of Maine, although all the words in the world can’t properly communicate it’s charms. Maine has to be experienced. To that end, I have selected some of my favorite photographs from my years of vacations there. My hope is that they will communicate in ways that words cannot, the delights of the place. So, why Maine?

The beauty. The serenity. The food. The weather. The wonder. 

That’s why.

The Letter

I received a letter in the mail about a week or so ago. A real, old fashioned letter, hand addressed in cursive, with a stamp in the top right hand corner instead of the metered postage stripe common to mass mail. The trip to the mail box has lost all of the romance it had when I was a kid. I would send away for stuff all the time, from cereal box offers of spy decoder rings to requests for autographed pictures of my favorite athletes. You never knew if this would be the day when that 8x10 of Joe Namath would come! Now, everyday it’s the same...random bills, coupons for discount pizza, slick little catalogues from bizarre stores I’ve never heard of like JJill, along with the ubiquitous Kohl’s circular and a ton of Bed, Bath and Beyond 25% off coupons. During an election cycle, my mail becomes a month long primal scream of propagandized bulls**t. Getting the mail has become a depressing exercise, a symbol of yet another charming grace that has been taken from us by technology. So, this letter, this hand written address, this plain white envelope got my attention.

I opened it and found two single spaced typed pages...a serious letter. I had received it the very day that Pam and I had gotten home from Nashville and the wedding. It was in the stack of mail that had come while we were away. I had slumped down in my recliner, completely exhausted. After the first paragraph, I hastily glanced at the second page to see who it was from. Instantly, a knot arrived in my throat.

It’s going to be difficult to describe the contents of this letter without it sounding like self promotion. But, I will give it a try.

It was written by a young woman who was in the large youth group that I served over a decade ago as a teacher and adult leader. I have largely lost track of her, since she and her husband and child have moved to another city. She was writing to thank me for what she described as the pivotal roll I had played in her development, and to list for me the many lessons I had taught her in those days. She spoke of conversations we had had which shaped her and still today are with her as she leads a department of 100 employees in her job. I was overwhelmed by her words, astounded that she would, after all these years, take the time to write such a thing. I sat in my chair, trying to recall the specific details. Some of them came easily, others, not so much. But, I remember this girl. She was the one everyone loved, but who had a hard time loving herself.

To hear her tell it, I was this towering pillar of wisdom and righteousness. Nothing could have been further from the truth. I was an uneven leader at best. I was often rough on the kids, short tempered, and improperly blunt. Half the time I was the ring leader of ill-considered pranks that wound up getting kids in trouble. I could be dismissive and insensitive at times. In other words, I was the ultimate imperfect vessel. The fact that I was able to be used by God to have an impact on a group of kids despite those shortcomings remains in my mind, a miracle. My Dad always used to tell me that people who say they can’t become active in ministry because they aren’t spiritual enough, don’t understand ministry or spirituality. I believe his exact words were...God can hit a straight lick with a crooked stick.

I was the mother of all crooked sticks.

But, apparently, along the way some straight licks were hit. That this beautiful, accomplished professional woman, mother and wife would take the time to write me a letter of thanks all these years later is something I will never forget.