Pick Your Poison

Pam and I wanted to try a new restaurant that had popped up on the ever expanding complex of shops and stores that have metastasized on Broad Street, west of Short Pump. Wood and Iron, its called. As we drove out there Pam asked this question, “Why are they constantly building more buildings out here when there are so many empty spaces in the buildings that are already here?” This is what is known as a rhetorical question and it is unanswerable. First off, the word they in her question is instructive, referring as it does to the faceless, nameless developer behind each new project that carves itself into the landscape. My only answer was something like, “Why, indeed?”

When Pam and I first moved to Short Pump, there wasn’t much out here. Thirty nine years ago there was Short Pump Elementary School, that auto repair shop with the crashed airplane lodged in its roof and a couple of general stores. Now, its a mass of retail stores, strip malls, restaurants and gas stations. And that crashed airplane was finally laid to rest several years ago. But the question remains…why has there been such an explosion of construction. Well, this is what commerce does, it expands. Some will call it progress. Some will laud the convenience of having practically everything you could ever want or need within ten minutes of your house. This is true. Convenience is convenient. But in the new era of online shopping, I can buy virtually everything offered by every store in greater Short Pump from the comfort of my sofa—buck naked. Aside from the horrible mental picture I just painted for you, it does make Pam’s question all the more relevant.

So, I decided to test an hypothesis that has been brewing in the fertile soil of my warped imagination which is—despite the endless choices offered to me in Short Pump for shopping, eating and entertainment, which buildings do I actually patronize? How many of the 2000 stores and shops have I ever actually entered, and how often do I do so? With the handy assistance of my credit card statements over the past few months, here is what I have found for the time period between August 15th and September 15th:

Publix in Short Pump Village—13 visits

Various restaurants—12 visits

CVS, corner of Cox and Broad—4

Sunoco gas, corner of Three Chopt and Church—4

Lowe’s—2

That’s it, the sum total of institutions that I have visited more than once in the past 30 days. There were a few other places where either Pam or I visited just once:

Jiffy Lube

Flagstop Carwash

Cutz for Guys

Staples

Dog Crazy Groomers

Judging by this list, Pam and I are most interested in…food. We spend most of our time and money either buying groceries to make food, or going to places where they cook it for us. In this way I don’t think we are different than most people. Of course the above lists only include places where there is evidence that we spent money. Obviously there are other places we go frequently and spend no money:

Hope Church—8 visits

Hope Thrift store—three visits

My office—20 visits

So, the question remains, why the endless construction and expansion of choices? Pam and I might not be good examples but the answer is because its what the people want. Developers don’t spend their money unless they can do so for a handsome profit. Businesses don’t expand unless there is substantial evidence that such expansion will be profitable. If you are one of those people constantly decrying urban sprawl and complaining that there are no more beautiful fields in Short Pump filled with grazing cattle, I would suggest that you stop buying stuff. Oh, and don’t complain if you have to wait an hour and a half for a table at your favorite restaurant after the board of supervisors changes the zoning laws to prohibit new construction.

Or, if you’re really fed up with all the convenience/congestion of Short Pump, move out to Fluvanna County or Louisa. I hear there’s virtually no congestion and you have to drive twenty minutes to pick up a prescription. 

Pick your poison.

One Seat. No Waiting.

A camp came up for sale on a lake we love in the Mid-Coast area yesterday. Pam sent me the link apparently because she hates me. It was a very tiny, run down, dilapidated shack measuring 250 square feet. It featured this bathroom…

What’s the asking price, you say? $390,000. But at least we wouldn’t have to scrub the toilets.

Yeah, so…we are never gonna find a place to buy. That’s ok though. At least the places we rent have indoor plumbing.

On a side note, I woke up this morning with a headache for the fourth consecutive day. The previous three days it went away after a cup of coffee. Not so today.

On a second side note, my wife is the hardest working woman in Short Pump. For the past three weeks or so she has been juggling chainsaws like an ace. First, she has spent countless hours working on stuff for the Home Owners Association of our neighborhood. Along with that comes her job of creating wedding invitations for a dear friend of ours, a job that requires long hours on artsy websites doing God knows what late into the night. Then yesterday she went into school to start setting up her classroom for her job as an interventionist at an elementary school. She is a phenom and the best thing about it is…she has no idea that she is a phenom. If you know her…you know.

Grateful

Every morning when I open my iPad there’s a picture displayed from the vast archive of photographs stored in its memory. This morning it was this one…

I took it in late September of 2017. It might have been on our first extended Fall trip to Maine. Pam is standing on the deck at Loon Landing in the late afternoon preparing to cook dinner. In so many ways this is quintessential Maine-Pam. There she is in her red flannel shirt, wearing slippers and an apron, head tilted to one side with a fist on her hip—the way she does when I annoy her by taking her picture. The sun is beginning to set, its light becoming powerful as it shines across the water bathing the house in yellow. There is no railing on the deck to block the magnificent view, just beautifully manicured flower boxes along the edge. Every year the boxes are different, Carolyn May’s creativity and imagination on display.

The reason this photograph is so special is that it captures something important. This is my wife at rest and at peace. There isn’t even a shadow of worry on her face, just a contented and playful smile. There is no place on earth she would rather be, nothing she would rather be doing. I get to do this for her twice a year now. Of all the investments I have made in my life, there is none that produce returns as beautiful and valuable than this.

It is said that modern humans know the price of everything and the value of nothing. In most cases its true. But not this. The value of these experiences far outstrip whatever it cost ten fold. In eleven more days we will do it again. We are so grateful.

What Is Retirement?

I am in, for the lack of a more precise definition, the retirement business. I have spent the last 41 years helping people invest their money so that one day they could afford to retire. Since I am now in my middle 60’s, so are the majority of my clients. Therefore lots of them have retired. I have not, and the question of when and how this will happen is still very much undecided. But I have had a front row seat watching people retire and observing the results. It has been a fascinating experience, one that has caused me to ponder foundational questions like—What is retirement?

In the history of civilization retirement is a very new phenomenon. For centuries our ancestors knew nothing of the concept. People worked from the time they were children until they literally couldn’t get out of bed in the morning. Most people didn’t live long enough to reach the golden age of 65. Like leisure, which wasn’t even a word until 100 years ago, retirement only came around as a concept in the last 75 years or so. The dirty little actuarial secret about the creation of Social Security under FDR was the salient point that the life span of the average worker back then made the prospect of the government having to fork out a retirement check to a worker for 15-20 years nearly impossible. It never occurred to the designers of Social Security that the program could possible go broke because of the mind boggling advances in science and medicine that would greatly extend the average human life. The assumption was that workers would pay in to the system for a few decades then die before they ever collected a dime in retirement, while the survivor benefits paid to the spouse would last just a few short years. You will find no references to the concept of retirement in the histories of antiquity. There is nothing about it in the Bible. Yet, in the year 2023 it is on the lips of practically every business news channel commentator. Entire magazines are devoted to it, not to mention the fact that AARP is the single most powerful lobby group in the country. But this post is not about the business of retirement or a discussion of the actuarial facts upon which it is based. I want to discuss what actually happens to people when they retire. What are the emotional and psychological benefits and deficits involved? I have literally seen it all.

I have seen some people come alive in retirement. They flourish free from the constraints and pressures of work. They discover new passions and revisit old ones. Some travel, others devote time to their hobbies, still others become happily immersed in the lives of their grandchildren. Many of these “flourishers” become professional volunteers, spending their new free time at hospitals, food banks and churches. It sounds exhausting, but they seem to love their new lives.

But others have a different experience. Faced with loads of free time they become adrift. The first six months of their retirement is spent doing all the home projects they had put off for years, or they go on that trip they had always wanted to go on but didn’t have the time. But after that they wake up to the reality that there isn’t really a driving reason to wake up in the morning, no purpose or cause that requires their participation and talents, a form of depression sets in like a mild layer of fog on the lake every morning. The good news is that many of these folks eventually snap out of their funk. With the encouragement of others they realize that they need to develop a plan for their lives post-career. Some of them take jobs at hardware stores or grocery stores part time as a way to stay busy and meet new people. Others become part time consultants in their old industries for a few hours a week. Still others find new interests and pursue them with vigor.

But for others, retirement is a disorienting and debilitating experience. Stripped of their work, these folks find it difficult to find purpose. They no longer feel a part of anything important. For them what starts as a mild depression becomes more like despair. They become withdrawn from old friends and family. Inevitably—they get sick. Even people who had always been healthy and robust—get sick. At this point I should probably say that in my observations, it doesn’t seem to make much difference how comfortable or well off people are in their retirement when it comes to which outcome they experience. I’ve seen extremely wealthy people fall into despair and people on very tight budgets flourish and vice versa.

All of this analysis is what I have observed watching nearly 70 different people from every background imaginable enter their retirement years. It makes me ask myself this question—Which will I be? Will I be one who flourishes or the one who falls into despair? What about you? My answer is a guarded one. I do believe that everyone thinking about retirement needs to have a plan—not just the financial kind, but rather an emotional one. You should be able to answer this question…What is the thing that will energize me every day to get out of bed? What will your daily schedule be? What will be on your agenda each day of the week? What will be your to-do list goals? Yes…you will need a to-do list. Why? Because we were not created for sloth. Rest, like any other good thing, is only beneficial in moderation.

One more observation, if I may. This is purely a matter of opinion and preference but—don’t go to one of those “communities” that cater to only people of a certain age. Make sure you have a healthy relationship with people much younger than you. Your attitudes and disposition eventually reflect what is around you. You spend too much time around old people you will become much older much quicker. Find some young couples with children to love. Pour yourself and your talents into helping and supporting those exhausted parents around you in the midst of raising their kids in this crazy confusing world. After all—that was you not so long ago. Those kids need your love and advice, the wisdom of your experience. I can think of nothing more fulfilling than being in the encouragement business. Its hard to be that person if you’re walled off in a retirement community surrounded by a bunch of geezers.

It has been a humbling experience watching people retire. I like to think that I will flourish when its my turn. But I’ve seen enough people who were better than me struggle mightily. Knowing the right thing to do is not the same as doing the right thing. It takes courage and intentionality to craft a good life in retirement. It isn’t for the feint of heart.

The Groomers

Ever since we returned from Maine a month ago life has felt chaotic. There was a medical procedure and the accompanying health concerns. At work it seems like a game of whack-a-mole, new business to write and dear, long time clients passing away, plus all the playing catch-up that comes with taking six weeks off. The next two weeks will be even more hectic, as we try to get everything done in time to go back for our Fall trip. In case you are beginning to become annoyed—I am not complaining. However chaotic life becomes as a result of two trips to Maine in one year, I’ll take it.

One of the things we do to prepare for Maine is taking Lucy to the groomers. The rest of the year, Lucy’s grooming needs are taken care of in-house. But if you’re staying in someone else’s cabin for weeks on end, you want your Pup to have as little excess hair as possible along with short and smoothly ground nails. I will not tell you how much this grooming costs because I would be irretrievably embarrassed. Be that as it may, it had to be done. 

Usually, the groomers tie a doggie bandanna around her neck—to help assuage the shock of the bill they just handed you. But this time there was no bandanna. Instead, there was this:

They put bows in her hair right behind her ears. We can’t decide if she likes them, is embarrassed by them or clueless of their existence. But Pam has decided that with the price we paid these people, the bows are staying in until they fall off. We will get our money’s worth.

In other news…I am in the process of closing down The Tempest on Blogger and recreating it on Wordpress. Patrick is helping me with the nuts and bolts of the process and I am doing a terrible job of following up because of the aforementioned chaos, however it will eventually get done. So very soon, The Tempest will have a completely new look and feel, but unfortunately the same insipid content!!

Miscellaneous Thoughts of an Aging Man

5:30 in the morning is a good time for reflection. Its quiet and the cares of the day have not made themselves known. You drink your coffee and slowly come to life. You think. You question. In a couple of hours there won’t be time for such thoughts. Here are just a few that I have pondered this morning.

1. Why are so many of our leaders so old? Our President shuffles along with an unsteady gate, mouth agape and slow witted at the microphone. Yesterday, the Senate Majority leader Mitch McConnell froze during a press conference for the second time in two months, staring eerily into space, silent as the grave for several minutes while his aides came along side to whisper in his ear. A US Senator from California clings to power despite deterioration of her mental and physical health. Although the United States is by far the youngest major power in the world as a nation, our leaders look like escapees from a Nursing Home.

2. The Front Runner for the Republican Party Presidential nomination and a former President of the United States has 97 pending felony charges against him, and is himself 77 years old. The previous sentence is one that I never thought I would write at any point during my life.

3. There is a professional baseball player out there who turned down a contract offer that would have paid him 400 million dollars over the next ten years, every dime of it guaranteed. Who does that? Juan Soto better hope he doesn’t slip on the stairs at his house and blow out his knee.

4. Aging has not at all been what I expected it to be. When I was a much younger man I would look at people in their 60’s and think, “Why are old people so grumpy, mean and set in their ways?” But over the last couple of years the aging process has manifested itself differently for me. The physical part sucks. When stuff starts breaking down, its no fun. Your body tries to warn you but you don’t listen. The other day the kid next door wanted to play some one on one. I took him on and although I managed to win, when it was over the kid went on about his day like nothing had happened. Me, on the other hand, spent twenty minutes in the jacuzzi to regain feeling in my extremities! But the physical is one thing, what has happened to my thinking and attitudes is what has been a whole other story. Instead of getting more set in my ways, I have begun to question my ways more than I ever have. I’m always thinking, “Why do I do this? Why do I think this way? Why have I always done things this way?” Its not that I am rejecting my earlier ideas or habits necessarily, but I am inspecting them more closely. Its difficult to explain. Some old habits and preferences haven’t changed at all, but others have. There are publications I used to read without much scrutiny or criticism which now I find myself questioning…wait a minute, that’s not true! At one time in my life I could be very unyielding about certain things. Now I find myself much more willing to listen. I’m growing much more contrarian with age. I’m much more suspicious of conventional wisdom. Groupthink still repulses me but as I get older I am much more likely to notice that groupthink in my own views. And there’s another thing…

The other day I was meeting with a client and was telling her a story about something her deceased husband had done for me many years ago. Right in the middle of the telling I suddenly choked up—in front of a client!!!—to the point where I had to pause the story to gather myself. Its not even the first time this has happened recently. This NEVER would have happened when I was 40. I have never been overly sentimental…until I turned 60 or so. Now, sentimentality rears its strange head at the oddest times and for the oddest reasons.

Don’t misunderstand. I still have my “get off my lawn” moments. I’m still stubborn about certain things. But there has also been a slow transformation in the way I think. Its as if the more I know, the less I think I know. Maybe thats not the best way to say it. Perhaps its closer to this—the more I know, the more I realize I don’t now.

Pete’s Preaching Today

Pete is preaching today. At my church you never know who will be in the pulpit from one week to the next. Most of the time its David Dwight, but there are three or four other guys who take turns. Today it will be Pete Bowell. I know this because it was my turn to prepare the discussion questions for the sermon this week, so I received his notes on Monday. I had seriously considered calling Tera Fleming, the coordinator of this project, and telling her that I couldn’t do it this week. I didn’t feel up to it honestly. But then I started to feel guilty for disappointing Tera by shirking my responsibility, so I opened the email and read through Pete’s sermon notes.

I can picture him delivering this message. This one is right in his wheelhouse. The topic is anxiety, precisely, why it is that we humans constantly worry about everything. The scripture is from the 6th chapter of Matthew’s gospel, right in the middle of the famous Sermon on the Mount. As fate would have it—if you believe in fate—crushing anxiety was the very thing that almost caused me to bail on this responsibility this week. Had I followed through on the bailing I would have missed my encounter with the words of Jesus in Matthew 6: 25-34. It was exactly what I needed to be confronted with this week. The worry and anxiety had become debilitating, it felt like I was wearing a thick and heavy winter coat in the midst of a heat wave. Reading this passage and Pete’s thoughts, along with a few encouraging and wise texts from Tera brought me back into a place of relative strength and peace.

So, there are many lessons to be taken from this experience. First, don’t shirk your responsibilities. It was my turn to do the discussion questions. My mood of the moment was irrelevant to that responsibility. Second, the scriptures are alive with the power to inform and correct, no matter how many times you have read them. They are new every morning.

So, I will listen closer than usual this morning to Pete’s words. He will make me laugh out loud at least once. He will add things that weren’t in his notes. But I will come away from it feeling more confidence and less fear. 

National Dog Day…what a racket!!

What a racket. Dogs, who already have the cushiest life on Earth, have somehow finagled a way to earn an exclusive day on the calendar. Like they actually needed an official day. Anyone who has a dog will tell you that every single day is Dog Day. No matter what bizarre, hair brained, cock-eyed stunt they pull they know that at the end of the day they will still get their dinner, a couple of treats, plenty of “good boy’s” and tummy scratches. And now they need more fawning devotion?

Dogs spend 14 hours a day asleep in a variety of shameful poses usually hogging an entire sofa in the process. When they are finally able to rouse themselves from repose they spend another hour searching the yard for the exact perfect spot to relieve themselves. Then there’s the endless growling and barking at the unfortunate man and women who had the nerve to walk their dog on the street in front of the house. Who could forget the ever vigilant warning woofs whenever any delivery man shows up with a box in hand—even though half the time the box contains yet another toy for her?!

Although it isn’t fair to accuse all dogs of the following behavior, our Lucy adds several more wacko traits to the list. First there is the strange meal time protocol that she established years ago whereby she insists upon complete stillness and silence from everyone in the house during her mealtime. You heard that right. When Lucy eats her morning and evening meal she refuses to begin until both of us are seated. It doesn’t matter where we are seated, just that we are not standing. This is non-negotiable. Then there is her psychotic relationship to the stairs in our house. 

Although neither of us can recall any bad stairway experience in Lucy’s entire existence, whenever she is upstairs and we want her to come downstairs, she insists upon an escort. The only exception to the Psycho Stair Rules is when a visitor arrives at the front door. Then its full speed ahead. The second exception is that none of the Psycho Stair Rules apply to any set of stairs in Maine, no matter if they are scary steep and into the darkest abyss, Lucy is convinced that all stairs in Maine lead to a lake. Lastly, there is her supernatural hearing that manifests itself whenever one of us begin eating a bowl of ice cream. No matter how quiet and stealthy I am and no matter where I hide in the house to eat the ice cream—as soon as I near the bottom of the bowl and my spoon makes that tinging sound when I begin scraping the bowl’s bottom, Lucy miraculously appears, as if by teleportation, at my feet with that irresistibly forlorn expression on her face:

Does she look like she needs a National Dog Day? She needs a psychiatrist, that’s what she needs!

But, like all dogs, Lucy is loved deeply and profoundly by everyone who knows her. Despite the considerable work and inconvenience that dogs bring to our lives, they bring something else that is almost impossible to find these days, let alone quantify—joy. 

A Wearisome Day

There are days in every life that feel wrong. From the moment you wake up something seems amiss. You stare longer into the mirror trying to identify the cause but you look the same, just a bit older. You complete your routine without incident. You drink your coffee and get out the door at the regular time. You tell yourself you should eat something but you have no appetite. You head to the office and don’t remember anything about the drive when you arrive. The air seems tepid as it stirs around you somewhere between humid and refreshing. The place is empty when you unlock the door.

There are a couple messages blinking at you from the phone on the credenza. You feel overwhelming dread at what awaits although you have no reason for such pessimism. The messages were both benign. You feel momentarily like a fool. You glance at your agenda for the day and there is nothing there which would justify the great unease that you have felt since 5:45 in the morning. You pour a second cup of coffee and settle in to the work.

You meet with your assistant and find it difficult to pay attention. You can’t afford a wasted day at this point. There is a lot to do, several appointments to plan for. You need to prepare a presentation. There are two clients with review documents that need to be assembled. Suddenly the tasks at hand feel leaden, too much for you. Its a ridiculous notion. You could do all of this in your sleep. You need something to eat. You pick over the offerings in the conference room but take nothing.

You begin returning calls and checking off agenda items. Nearly everything goes perfectly. You skim through the moderate number of business emails and find nothing of significance. You open up two news articles that are appropriate to your industry and skim through the first few paragraphs of each while nausea begins to build. Even though you should read each through to the end you can’t make yourself do it. 

You think of several volunteer tasks you have taken on later in the week and realize that one of them you will need to bow out of because of an unavoidable scheduling conflict. The other one you have plenty of time to do but the thought of it feels daunting even though its anything but. In fact, it happens to be something you love to do. You have to find a way to shake off this inexcusable and self-indulgent melancholy.

It is 2:45 in the afternoon and you are as unmotivated as it is possible to be. You find yourself at the Cadillac dealer having the battery replaced in your key fob. The attendant has to speak your name twice to get your attention. He hands it back to you as good as new and you can’t remember giving it to him. It occurs to you that your mind has been consumed with a minor health procedure that you are dealing with in less than a week. Yesterday you were at the doctor’s office for a preliminary checkup in preparation for the main event next week and from the second you arrived there the smell of the place has brought back twenty year old memories, none of them good. Its total nonsense to equate one with the other. Complete foolishness. But the mind has thoughts of its own and try as you might sometimes you are powerless against them.

Dinner will help. I will grill steaks. There will be tomato pie. Tomorrow will be a new day.

Free

It took a while. It was a rough transition, a difficult re-adjustment. But I am completely back in Short Pump mode, fully immersed in the life I have built here. Then, early this morning I stumbled across this photograph:

There was no identifying time or date. I recognize the dock and lake to be Loon Landing on Quantabacook. Could have been anytime in the last seven or eight years. It doesn’t matter really. It was a sunset and I thought to take a picture of Pam and Lucy admiring the beauty. But for some reason this morning it nearly brought me to tears. Its why we keep going back. Its why we spend so much money borrowing other people’s houses for insanely long stretches of time—for these transcendent moments of beauty that have the power to transform us, to make us better people for having witnessed them.

Of course, moments of beauty can be found everywhere, even Short Pump. But most of the time we are too preoccupied with our routines to notice them here. If I were better at living in the moment I would see them all around me. But I’m not, so I go to Maine where it is exceedingly difficult not to live in the moment. That’s where moments like this one come out of nowhere and stop you in your tracks.

How much would you pay for that sunset? There isn’t enough money in the world and besides—its free.

Welcome Back!

We were welcomed back into the Old Dominion yesterday afternoon at 2:00 by 95 degrees and stifling humidity. The rest of the day was taken up by the grinding slog of unpacking, laundry and reacquainting yourself with the place that has been your home for the past 27 years. Its surprising how quick you lose the rhythm.

Last night, my neighbors welcomed us back in town with the arrival of fire trucks next door and a warning text—“No worries. Its just that the smoke detectors all are going off and won’t shut off and since we left the kids at home by themselves for the second time in history we are being extra cautious and we had to cut our nine holes of golf short good thing for Stu since I was kicking ass and we called a friend from West Creek to check it out so he’s probably there by now and we are on our way home and should be there within ten minutes and how was Maine?” Nothing screams “welcome back” like the Henrico Fire Department.

Early this morning I set about doing my kitchen routine but was surprised by major lapses in my level of awareness. As is my custom I first turned my attention to the coffee maker and began going on muscle memory without thinking until…I looked at the carafe and wondered—Wait, how many cups of water do I use? In Maine, I had to use 6 cups and two heaping 2 tablespoon scoops of Coffee on the Porch to make it strong enough for my tastes. But, what did I use at home? I was momentarily flummoxed. Once it came to me I continued, only to ruin the first attempt by not pushing down on the filter hard enough to engage the dripping device—which produced a pot of coffee filled with grounds! I quickly poured it out and did a redo. The resulting cup of coffee was too weak. Eventually it will come to me.

Then I started to empty the dishwasher. There wasn’t much in it so that went smoothly and just a bit too quick. Something wasn’t right. Then it dawned on me that I had forgotten that our dishwasher has that slide out tray in the top for flat items. It was full of silverware and measuring spoons. I suppose I can be forgiven this lapse since the dishwasher at Loon landing—bless its heart—is only 15 inches wide!!

There are many things about this house that we both desperately missed, nothing more so than our large walk-in shower with the powerful hand held shower head. When I stepped in this morning it felt a little bit like I imagine heaven will be like. I was so pumped to be in such a large space that I went a little overboard with shampoo enthusiasm resulting in a pulled muscle in my neck. Small price to pay!

Then, my last chore of the morning before heading to church was a quick trip into the office to get a head start on Monday morning. When I arrived one of the first thing I noticed was this highly unusual sight…

I immediately texted one of the younger associates who I routinely harass a short message—“So, I come in for the first time in six weeks and discover that you have once again left your urine sample on the water fountain”

He promptly replied that it couldn’t have been him since he was at the beach all week. I will need independent confirmation of this convenient alibi. 

Thankfully, the sheriff is back in town!

Last Summer Post From Maine

Today is packing and cleaning day. Pam just took a kayak out for her morning paddle and I just took Lucy for her morning perambulation. After grabbing a bite to eat I might go out for one last fishing paddle this morning. But after that we will begin the process of attempting to leave Loon Landing better than we found it, which is hard to do since its always spotless when we arrive. I’ll cut the grass, rake the adorable little beach at the water’s edge and make sure that there is no evidence of Lucy’s existence anywhere on the property. Pam will be doing the same thing on the inside of the cabin, a much harder task what with Lucy’s fur bunnies everywhere. But by the time the sun sets tonight everything will be perfect. Friday morning early we will meander up Fire Lane 12 for the last time of 2023. I will be choked up and Pam will shed a few tears. It happens every time.

This particular four weeks was typical in many ways. We hosted Jon and Kaitlin for a week and Ron and Paula for another week. But it was different in one respect—all the lake house purchase drama. If it had worked out it would all have been worth it. Since it didn’t, we feel like we needed another week to replace the one that got devoured by all the anxiety! But, all is well. We will be back in another six weeks for our Fall adventure on Hobbs Pond, just about fifteen minutes from here.

Last night we had a fabulous dinner at Ports of Italy in Rockport. We heard from some friends of ours who spent all day out on Monhegan Island on our recommendation, and they loved it! That’s always a relief. You rave about a place that is magical to you and you hope that your friends agree and that it lives up to the hype. In this case it did which was wonderful to hear.

As sad as we always are to leave the lake, there are things we miss about home. We miss our friends, our church, even my office and the unique relationships I have with everyone there. We miss our neighbors, especially the three pups next door for whom we have presents from the finest toy stores in Camden. We miss our house, which upon our return always seems gigantic! I miss my yard and the yard work it requires. I’m weird that way. I miss my recliner since it fits me and no one else. I miss our well-tuned routines.

But, the minute we arrive home, we will begin counting down the days until our next trip north.

Integrity is Destiny

A good night’s sleep has done wonders for my disposition. Although I am still disappointed about the lake house, I am less so and the feelings aren’t as raw. I have also had time to reflect on a few things, a few second thoughts about what happened that have brought more clarity.

First, many times in my life I have been disappointed about some outcome which I had convinced myself was a disaster only to later learn how lucky I had been. With the passage of time comes new information that make you profoundly grateful for unanswered prayers. I have said as much to my kids at various times when they have been upset about one thing or another—“Just wait and see, someday you will thank God you didn’t get that job because a much better one came along!” Its easier to hand out that type of sage wisdom to others than to accept it yourself.

Secondly, I have discovered what I have always known to be true—everything in a properly operating system of human interaction depends on personal integrity for success. Let me explain. Yesterday in this space I threw a lot of shade at the regulatory scheme of the Federal Housing Finance Agency, and while I take none of it back, I didn’t mean to trash all regulation. In fact we were huge beneficiaries of a governmental regulation yesterday—housing inspectors. The town of Liberty, Maine insists that all homes, new or old, be inspected by licensed building experts before a purchase. It was just such an inspector who saved Pam and I from a world of trouble and expense. He explained his role to us this way—“When I inspect a house I do so as if I were buying it myself. I am working on your behalf here, trying to insure that the property you are buying is safe and properly built according to the building codes of this County.”

But, what if he were corrupt? Suppose Todd was in an unholy alliance with the builder to look the other way on violations and short cuts in exchange for payoffs and bribes? All the best intentions of regulation would be rendered useless if not for the personal integrity of Todd. My dad once told me that “integrity is destiny.” Perhaps nothing he ever told me has been proven more true more often than that statement.

So Pam and I are grateful that somewhere years ago somebody came up with the idea of building inspections, and that when we needed one, we got Todd, a man of integrity.

Dodging Bullets

Winston Churchill once said, “Nothing in life is so exhilarating as to be shot at with no result.” Less famous and far less celebrated people refer to barely avoiding something disastrous as, “dodging a bullet.”  This morning Pam and I had an experience which combined dodging a bullet and having your dreams crushed simultaneously. Put another way…this morning’s inspection didn’t go well.

The events leading up to the inspection had been tumultuous. We discovered the deleterious effects of a little known regulatory change implemented in April of 2022 that made the purchase of second homes far more costly and difficult, which featured among other things exorbitant points and higher interest rates. The purpose of this regulation was to discourage the purchase of second and third homes by people who already have homes in favor of those who have yet to buy their first. It was also enacted because of a home shortage in the land and to prevent the rich getting richer in the real estate market. Which is all very well and good except for two salient points. One, what first time home buyer will be buying a lake house in Maine as their first home? And two, this regulation—as thousands of other regulations in the past have—misses its target by a country mile. The real rich pay cash for their second and third homes!! But, I digress.

This unpleasant discovery caused lots of soul searching on our part but we finally crunched the numbers again for the 89th time and made peace with this new reality. The last hurdle to clear was this morning’s inspection. Todd greeted us stiffly at the door and proceeded to go about his job with diligence and an eye for detail. I would learn later what I suspected at the onset…Todd was ex-military. As we followed him around the exterior of the house we kept hearing him use phrasing like  that’s a cost cutting move, and I wouldn’t have done it this way, and that won’t do. After nearly an hour of this he kindly took Pam aside and suggested that if we decided at any time that we had seen enough he would cancel the rest of the inspection and only charge us for his time. This is known in the inspection trade as a fire engine red warning flag!! Tiffany turned to us at this point and made our decision far easier with this blunt assessment, “I’m sorry but I just can’t let you buy this house. It will be a money pit.”

So this two week white knuckle thrill ride is over. We have dodged a bullet. We are also very disappointed. In many ways we had already taken possession of the place in our hearts. But so many red flags had crept up over the past several days we both knew that there was a chance it wouldn’t work. When that worry becomes reality its hard to take.

But take it we will. Its not the end of the world. We will be back in six weeks for our fall trip, and as long as On The Water In Maine stays in business we will continue to rent every summer and fall for as far as the eye can see. Maybe something else will pop up when we least expect.

A Culinary Recap

Our time here is drawing to a close. Friday we will hit the road for good old Short Pump. Now seems like just as good a time as any to memorialize our culinary greatest hits of Maine 2023. The following photographs represent some of the highlights. There were lots of old favorites but also some new places we discovered this year. As a result of all this deliciousness, there will be just a bit more of us returning than there was that left—an annoying souvenir, but worth every calorie!

There was soooo much more, but I only have so much bandwidth here at Loon Landing!

My Decision Making Process

Its been nine days since our contract was accepted for the as yet unnamed cabin on Lake Saint George. I’m told I have three more days to back out of the deal without consequence. The inspections take place on Tuesday morning, the day before the deadline. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t apprehensive. This is a big decision with long term ramifications for us both now and in the future. For therapeutic purposes I will flesh out the battles raging in my head on this gorgeous Sunday morning in Maine.

Ever since I wrote the last tuition payment check for my kids’ educations in 2011 I have been playing catch up on saving for retirement, trying to make up for the years that the higher education locust devoured. The fruits of that effort have been considerable. Now I find myself within striking distance of some sort of retirement, although what that will look like is yet to be determined. In the back of my mind over the past five years I had also been making plans for the purchase of a lake house. But, with each passing year the prospects of us ever finding a place that satisfied all of our criteria seemed impossible. Both Pam and I had for all intents and purposes given up. As is often the case in life, as soon as you stop manically longing for something, the thing shows up on your doorstep.

Enter the cabin on Lake Saint George. The list of positives is impressive:

Stunningly beautiful lake

Three bedrooms

Two full and spacious bathrooms

Brand new construction

Private location

A full acre of land

Only 38 minutes from Camden, 26 minutes from Belfast

The list of negatives contains only two items that I can think of:

More money than I ever planned to spend on a lake house

Doesn’t sit thirty feet from the water’s edge.

That’s it….basically a money thing. Because not only is the cabin more expensive than I had planned, it will require additional upgrades over the next few months and years. First thing will be the construction of a proper deck off the back. Then an expansion of the cabin’s minimalist dock. Then landscaping of a safe and beautiful pathway down to the water. Finally, we will finish off the basement which will include the addition of a half bath. All of these things will add to the cash outlay required to finish the place to our liking and specifications.

Which brings me back to what I said earlier. Why have I been squirreling away money like a…like a..well, a squirrel for the past 12 years? For my retirement. And, what is retirement? Its not just saving so you will have money to live on once you stop working. Its also saving for what kind of life you want to live once you get there. For us that life will always include Maine and providing a sanctuary for my family, a place for us to gather to relax and recharge, a place to make memories, together.

So when I consider it all, the unruly witches brew of positives and negatives, I come to this conclusion:

My life has always been intricately linked to risk. I chose a high risk occupation. I chose to pursue that occupation as my own boss. Even riskier. During my life I have learned that money is nothing more than a tool. Its never been a goal, only a means to an end. I could spend money on a whole host of things with lesser purpose than a lake house in Maine. I can afford this place, despite all of my concerns about the cost. If I buy it and five years later come to the conclusion that it was a mistake, it won’t be the first one I’ve ever made. Besides, five years from now a lake house with three beds, 2 and a half baths, a lovely deck, beautiful landscaping and a grand dock sitting on the cleanest lake in Maine could be sold at an obscene profit.

So, unless Tuesday’s inspections reveal that the cabin was built on the ancestral burial grounds of the Penobscot Indians, or worse the entire place was built with inferior materials from China…we are all in.

Naming the Place

Today marks the end of week five. A week from tomorrow we will be on our way home. The next seven days will fly by, filled with inspections, dreams and doubts. Everything we left in Short Pump is waiting for us, the good, the bad, and the ugly. Our time here has been reliably restorative, as always.

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.

Lucy’s Advice

Our last guests left for home yesterday. Its just Pam, Lucy and me now. The warmer, stormy weather of early July has given way to nearly a week of traditional Maine summer weather, mid-70’s sunshine with virtually no humidity. This morning it was 53 when I awoke at 6:00. Tomorrow morning I’m told to expect 50. I’m not sure I will ever become accustomed to this scene in the early morning…

I never want to get to the place as a human being when this doesn’t thrill me. If I ever start to take beauty like this for granted it will be time for me to assume room temperature and make room for someone younger and less jaded. It no longer seems fashionable to say but I believe that all of us should be grateful to live in such a beautiful country.

Progress is being made with the lake house. Inspections have been scheduled for Monday morning at 9:30. On that same day we will meet with a contractor to discuss decks, docks and finishing the basement. Meanwhile Pam has a zillion decorating ideas doing battle inside her adorable head and now has Wayfair on speed dial.

So, here’s the plan. We will leave Loon Landing for the last time on Friday morning the 11th of August heading back home where I will return to my profession with greater clarity and focus—since I will be doing it a few years longer than previously thought. I will work for six weeks with vigorous purpose. Then, on Thursday the 21st of September, Pam and I will leave Richmond with both of our vehicles packed to the gills with every Maine-themed item Pam has accumulated over the past forty years. We will arrive at our brand new empty lake house on Friday the 22nd where we will commence a three week getting to know you staycation. The time will largely be spent acquiring enough basic furniture to make the place presentable for prospective renters for the 6 weeks next summer we have allocated for them. Pam will have three full weeks to place her stamp on the property. My time will be spent buying yard working tools and putting them to proper use on our large sloping slice of the Maine woods that meanders from our back door down to the lake. By the time the three weeks are over we will have blisters where we didn’t even know we had skin. I will be much poorer. Hopefully all of the physical labor will help us shed the extraneous weight that this six weeks have added. It occurs to me that there may not be a bed to sleep on when we arrive. What am I thinking? No doubt Pam will have made the purchase and arranged for its delivery the day we arrive!

Since we signed the papers I have had a couple moments when I’ve thought, “What in the Sam Hill are you doing, Dunnevant? Just when you were about to celebrate being debt free for the first time since you were 19 years old, you go and buy a lake house—at 66 years old!!” Usually, I share these doubts with Lucy. When I do she looks at me like I’ve got two heads and says…

“Stop being drama queen. You got this.”

Still Pinching Ourselves

Ever since our first four week stay here in 2016 we have dreamed of having our own place. Over the past seven years we have probably looked at over five thousand candidates on Redfin and Zillow. We have taken tours of a dozen places during our yearly treks to Maine. Nothing ever had the requisite magic that we were looking for, or if it did it was either way out of our price range, two hours away from Camden, or on a tiny uninspired lake. Pam and I had gotten to the place where we figured that we would just rent for the rest of our lives, not an altogether unhappy option. But there was still a longing for ownership, a place of our own that we could shape into the perfect escape, not just for us but for our family, the living and the ones not yet with us.

Over a year ago Pam saw a place on Redfin that she was interested in but I was not. It was too expensive and brand new and very much not my idea of what a Maine lake house was supposed to look like. Then the price was lowered, a couple of times and Pam was intrigued enough to send Tif a text last week, “Why is this place still on the market while the place we walked through yesterday already has an offer despite the fact that it’s a hundred years old and on a puddle of a lake?” This inquiry led to us making the 22 minute drive to Lake Saint George to check out in person what we had been examining on our computers for months. Five days later we have a contract in place pending inspections, closing date sometime in the middle of September. We could not be happier but it feels very much like a dream.

Our last two weeks here will be filled with a thousand details. There will be the inspections, obtaining quotes for dock improvements, landscaping and deck additions. Pam’s brain is filled with ideas about everything from soup to nuts. The kids are all thrilled and have already floated ideas of month long work from home stays next summer. I can already tell that this adventure will be non-stop work for the next several years, exactly the type of thing I have been searching for—a new challenge. 

I will post no photographs of the house now. There is much to be done. But I will post the money shot that clinched the deal. All Pam and I have ever cared about in our lake house quest has been…the lake. You can repair and improve cabins. You can’t repair or improve a lake. This one is breathtaking. Lake Saint George has every single thing we have always looked for in a lake, and seeing as how we spend 80% of our time either in it, on it, or staring at it, this view sealed the deal.

So, now we begin this new adventure with a combination of excitement and gratitude with a bit of fear sprinkled in. A huge debt is owed to Tif Ford for her patience, toughness and wisdom, and to Keith and Caroline May for the inspiration of their beguiling Loon Landing, without which we would never have even entertained the idea of a place of our own. When we pull onto Brierley Lane to leave in two weeks it will be with a lump in our throats at the thought that we will never stay at Loon Landing again.

But, we will be just down the road, a short drive away secure in the knowledge that we already have two incredible neighbors.

A Quandary

Yesterday morning Pam and I drove out to Lake St. George to see a cabin of interest. This has become a common occurrence over the past four or five years. We will find a cabin on Redfin that looks interesting, then make a visit only to be disappointed—real estate photography being the single most misleading form of communication in the modern world. Usually what disappoints us is the lake. No matter what might be wrong with the cabin, generally speaking cabins can be fixed. You can’t fix a lake. This place on Lake St.George was the exception. The lake was sensational, the view from the dock stunning. We were both mesmerized. As we scanned the horizon from the dock we saw not a single cabin. We did see several docks along the shore but no cabins, which gave the impression of privacy and solitude, never a bad thing. Although the lot leading down to the dock was still a mess and nowhere near finished, the potential for landscaping was everywhere, future magic bursting forth everywhere we looked. The following three pictures were taken from left to right as we stood on the end of the dock…

To make the shoreline even more magical, a few of Pam’s favorite leaning trees added to the ambiance…

But…and there is always a but. There’s a problem with the cabin that goes beyond basic bricks and mortar. We first saw this place on Redfin almost a year ago. The asking price was $750,000. A year later its $699,000, and the place still isn’t finished. This is that rarest of commodities in mid-coast Maine—new construction. But this place seems to be being built by some dude who is serving as his own architect and doing the work at night and on the weekends. Almost everything about the place is half done, a thousand projects nearly finished. In some places the workmanship seems superb, in other places puzzling. On our visit which was unannounced, every door to the place was unlocked and the inside strewn with tools and supplies of every kind. The floor plan is odd and disjointed, making you wonder, “where in the world would you actually live in this place?” Beautiful kitchen, lovely bedrooms, large and well designed bathrooms…but no living space that we could discern. But that lake….

So, at this point we are in a quandary. This cabin is a mere 37 minutes from Camden, 26 minutes from Belfast, on a lake with a fabulous reputation for beauty and cleanliness. The lake has that magical quality so lacking in most cabins. Its big enough for our needs, and although not the campy style of our imaginations, you turn Pam loose with a reasonable decorating budget and that would be remedied in a New York minute. In its present state of completion it is still overpriced, and the sketchiness of the builder is something that gives me pause, the length of time this place has been on the market is troublesome. So at this point our irreplaceable barracuda real estate queen, Tif Ford, is snooping around for the story on the builder and other background information on the cabin like a pissed off FBI agent. 

But, that lake!!

Sunday Morning

Sunday morning. The sky is clear. No fog blankets the lake so I can see the the pine needles settled in the gutters of the dance hall on the far side of the lake, .3 miles away. I can make out the roof line of the farm house on the hill beyond the north end, over four miles away. The first loon of the day has made his appearance fifty yards from the end of our dock. I took my coffee there an hour and a half ago just as the mist lifted. There isn’t a ripple anywhere to be seen, the surface of the lake as still as glass. Even Lucy is silent as she follows my cast, the plop of the spinner entering the water produces as echo and I almost feel like I should apologize to someone. I don’t catch anything and its just as well.

I wake up early here, even earlier than at home. For one thing, the sun comes up earlier and takes forever to set across the way in the evening. But it isn’t the daylight that wakes me so early, it’s something else, harder to define. On some level I don’t want to miss the morning, its beauty and the tranquility of the water. Later on the wind will stir it up, the clouds will pass over, the weather will come, the boats dragging screaming children will send wakes everywhere. The lake will look far different then than it does now.

The very first time I ever had breakfast at the table on the deck at Loon Landing I looked out at the lake and this was my view…

Nothing spectacular. There are much more photogenic vistas to be had from this property. But this one captivated me then as it still does today. It is as if I’m inside of a painting gazing out at the world, the lake bordered with lush trees and shrubs. The hanging chair in the foreground is one of Pam’s favorite spots to read a book on her Kindle.

After breakfast I have to decide what I will busy myself with today. I’m leaning towards taking the boat out and circumnavigating the 8 mile perimeter of the lake. I might bring my fishing gear along in case I get tempted. I’ll take some pictures. First, I’ll have to wait a couple hours for Pam to come back from her morning paddle. The conditions right now are perfect for her. She will be gone an extra long time.

Its Sunday. In about an hour my church will be gathering for worship. They will be live-streaming the service. We won’t be watching live, but later tonight we will gather around after dinner to watch with my sister and her husband who are staying in the guest house this week. We will look for our nephew Isaac in the praise band. We will listen to one of our pastors, probably David Dwight, deliver another message in the series on The Sermon on the Mount. The irony is not lost on me that our pastors chose a series on the most influential and transformative words ever spoken at the very time when I am in the most influential and transformational place on earth. I will be paying closer attention than I usually do. I find that my heart is more tender, more receptive to truth up here. There are fewer distractions, I suppose, but its more than that. Maybe it has something to do with being surrounded by so much beauty. Observe the magnificence of creation long enough and you start to feel everything artificial in your life draining out of your soul. 21st century life is filled with so much plastic, so many things that aren’t real. But you don’t even notice it until you come to a place where all the trash feels terribly out of place.

A couple days ago I was down at the dam fishing. I had been standing barefoot in the chilly water for an hour when I hooked into a magnificent little small mouth bass. He fought hard never once breaking the water. I lifted him out of the water and the sun shone off his dark scales. He was a perfect fish, perfectly made, expertly sculpted in the depths somewhere. We had a brief conversation. I apologized for any inconvenience my skills as a fisherman had caused him. Then I dropped him gently into the white rapids beneath my feet. 

I whispered a prayer of thanks that I get to be in this place, that I get to bear witness to the created world. I will continue to let it reshape my thoughts for three more weeks. It won’t be enough, but it will be a start.

Sorry For the Oversight

When you’re in Maine its easy to forget your responsibilities. Spend a few days fishing, eating lobster, and gawking at sunsets and before you know it, three weeks have gone by and you haven’t posted a single Dad Joke. While many of you have handled this oversight with patience and grace, there are others for whom my Dad Jokes are essential to their mental stability and overall well being (Sherri Matthews).

So, this morning I got up a little earlier, dug a little deeper and prepared the following longer than usual list for your edification and Sherri’s mental health…

NASA recently sent a number of Holsteins into orbit for experimental purposes. They called it the herd shot 'round the world.



Two boll weevils grew up in South Carolina. One took off to Hollywood and became rich and famous. The other stayed in at home and never amounted to much. Naturally he became known as the lesser of two weevils.



Two vultures boarded a plane each carrying two dead raccoons. The stewardess immediately stopped them and said, "I'm sorry sir, only one carrion per person.

“Two Eskimos in a kayak were chilly, so they started a fire which sank the craft. This proves the old adage - you can't have your kayak and heat it too.



A group of friars opened a florist shop to help with their belfry payments. Everyone liked to buy flowers from the men of God, so their business flourished. A rival florist became upset that his business was suffering because people felt compelled to buy from the friars. He went to the friars and asked them to cut back on their hours, or close down, to help him save his business. The friars refused. The florist went to them again and begged them to close their shop; again, they refused. So, the rival florist hired the biggest, meanest thug in town - Hugh McTaggert - he went to the friars' shop, beat them up, destroyed their flowers and trashed their shop. He told the friars that if they didn't close down for good, he'd be back. Completely terrified, the friars closed up forever.

This proves that Hugh, and only Hugh can prevent florist friars.


My Son in Law’s Fish Story

So, the son in law had a moment yesterday. 

This year was the first time that he has driven up to Maine. In the past they always flew in to Portland which greatly limited what they could bring along from home. Since they drove he was able to bring his own, brand new, never before used fishing gear. I must say that it has been quite entertaining and informative watching him figure out how to manage this gear, kind of like watching a toddler attempting cold fusion. But like with everything else Jon is nothing if not persistent. In no time at all he had managed to bait his own hook! Two days later he managed to reel in his first catch…a minnow-sized perch of which he was very proud. What a difference a day makes. Yesterday he was out there doing his best Roland Martin impersonation! But, I’m getting ahead of myself.

So, yesterday I decided to take out the power boat that Keith May graciously left for my use. My plan was to head up to the marshy cove about a mile north of our camp. I cautiously asked Jon if he wanted to come along. He agreed and before long there we were on approach to this grassy place which features large fish jumping completely out of the water for as far as the eye could see. Immediately I began reeling them in…while Jon was still fiddling with his reel…

These photographs, for long time readers of this space, will be quite familiar, since they have been quite common from my summer weeks in Maine. Like taking candy from a baby. But, I was about to witness Jon Manchester…unleashed.

Upon leaving this cove I maneuvered the boat to another favorite spot and instructed Jon to cast his line towards a specific white rock that looked awfully fishy. His first attempt at this cast only missed by a hundred yards. However, just about the time I was preparing a lecture concerning proper casting technique, the kid had made his second attempt and absolutely nailed it, three feet from the aforementioned white rock whereupon, a bass devoured the float bait I had lent him. After a semi-heroic battle, there he was sitting in the front of the boat, transformed into a fishing expert!!

What can I say? The kid is a quick study.

Of course, as soon as we get back to our dock he began regaling us about some alleged huge fish he had caught when he was a 9 year old Boy’s Scout back in Ohio. When Kaitlin and I asked where the photographic evidence was that might corroborate his story we were informed that this was back in the days before digital photography and consequently no picture exists…to which his own properly skeptical wife replied, “ahh…how convenient”.

Except for a pair of sunburned legs, we survived our first fishing trip with many great stories to tell, a few which are actually true.

Pam’s Birthday

Today is this woman’s birthday. She has been by my side for the best part of 40 years now. It is always difficult to describe her to anyone who hasn’t had the opportunity to meet her. “Are you married?” a stranger will ask. “Tell me about her”

I start with the usual compliments about her beauty, grace and intelligence. I sprinkle in a few antidotes about her legendary talents of organization, hospitality and computer skills. But eventually it occurs to me that the best way to describe Pam Dunnevant is to list the things that she hates, the relatively short list of people and things that annoy her. After all, you can tell an awful lot about someone by knowing who their enemies are. So, here goes…

1. Heat and Humidity

Nothing in all of God’s creation bothers my wife more than sweat. Heat and humidity can transform her from literally the most agreeable woman of all time to a raving lunatic in mere minutes. Anyone who enters our house has no doubt noticed the brisk temperature which she insists upon during all four seasons. Early in our marriage this was a battle line between us, but she prevailed over three decades ago. Now, when I walk into my office at work I crank down the thermostat by force of habit, much to the squealing complaints of everyone else in the building. Pam, after all, is a Maine girl who never signed a peace agreement with heat and humidity when she moved to Virginia all those years ago. She has fought a pitched battle with it for most of her life, especially each morning when she is fixing her hair. And while she truly loathes H & H in Virginia, the level of hostility ratchets up to dizzying heights when it visits her in Maine. 

2. Making a Grocery List

I’m not sure its fair to say they she hates this. Its more accurate to say that she finds it extremely annoying. Pam is not the ind of person to just…go the grocery store. She is a planner. Each trip to the store must have an agenda, a plan. This means she must first plan the meals for the week, a time consuming process for a detail oriented woman like my wife. But, she employs an impressive list of tools to manage the process including a gadget on her cell phone that organizes her list to coincide with the floor layout at Publix. Yeah, I know. This is next level stuff. She is constantly asking me, “Is there anything you need at the grocery store?” My answer is always some form of, “not that I can think of,” which is a constant source of annoyance for her. She often reminds me to add things I need to the digital grocery list by telling Alexa. There are certain words you have to say for it to work and I always seem to foul it up so I make her system a spotty enterprise.

3. Making Decisions

Pam married someone who is highly intuitive. I have always been a very decisive person. I make decisions based only partly on the facts. The most forceful driver for me has always been something hard to quantify…my gut feeling. For Pam, there is no such thing as a gut feeling. Gut feelings are things for which one purchases antacids. Her mind is an analytic marvel of spreadsheets and Google-Doc imaginings that produce mountains of data, so much in fact that she becomes paralyzed, or paralysis by analysis. On the plus side, this woman has never gone off anywhere half cocked.

4. Rude People

I hesitate to use the word “people” here since my wife loves practically everyone. Perhaps I should have said, rudeness. Pam is someone who was raised by her parents to have manners. I’m aware that this particular term has fallen out of favor of late, but it very much defines Pam. So when she observes rudeness in others it infuriates her. I know what you’re thinking, “Wait Doug, you’re not exactly what anyone would describe as polite. What did she see in you??” Excellent point. Some of the words that have come out of my mouth over the years have caused her much wincing and gnashing of teeth. So, if you think I can be a bit rude at times, imagine how terrible I would be if I had married someone else! This rudeness thing is one of the reasons for her intense dislike of…

5. Donald Trump

Pam is the most un-political person I know. She just isn’t in to liberal vs. conservative, democrat vs. republican. It mostly bores her so she largely ignores the political world. EXCEPT when it comes to DT. His personality of rudeness, arrogance and meanness drives her insane. She can hardly bear to hear his voice or watch his image on television. For Pam it has far less to do with the man’s politics (which are troublesome enough), and far more to do with his demeanor and comportment. No manners. No empathy for anyone other than himself. No class.

So, thats about all I can think of. For all of you who know her you will understand me when I say that she is the most beautiful, kind, respectful, loving, gracious, hospitable and long suffering person I have ever known. On this day we will celebrate her by doing whatever she wants to do. Knowing her she won’t be able to decide so she’ll just say, “lets just do what you all want to do!!” But as long as none of us are rude and don’t bring Donald Trump up in conversation it will be a wonderful day!

Week Three Begins

We began week three with yet another Biblical rainstorm that raised the lake level even higher and cooled down the water temperature considerably. The weather on this trip hasn’t been the greatest, but I can remember years where Pam and I ate 17 consecutive meals outside on the deck table here at Loon Landing, so it all evens out over time. Great news is that Kaitlin and Jon arrived Saturday evening! They look great and had a wonderful couple of days exploring the coast before their arrival here. Their first full day here featured pounding rain, fog and dreariness. We spent Sunday lounging around, eating delicious food, talking, reading and napping. Then yesterday morning we headed into Camden for blueberry pancakes and some shopping. By the time we were done, the sun was out. The afternoon was spent enjoying the beautiful lake as it was meant to be enjoyed, with sunscreen and charcuterie boards. Jon finally, mercifully caught his first fish! I would have taken a picture but my cell camera isn’t made to focus on anything that small…

My daughter is fond of taking pictures which feature coffee. Any excuse will do. If the light is right she will snap a picture of her steaming mug even if the background was the county dump. So yesterday she snapped this one at The Camden Deli…

I must say that this photograph does a nice job of capturing the change that comes over us here. Those two kids look relaxed and happy because they are. Right after this was taken I walked a couple doors down and spent a small fortune at The Smiling Cow for presents for the girls back at the office. Also got to catch up with Meg, the owner of the place, who is a delight.

Tomorrow, Paula and Ron arrive just in time to celebrate Pam’s birthday, which I think will be celebrated at Archer’s restaurant on the water in Rockland. Around here, plans 36 hours out are always tentative.

I miss my boy. Patrick and Sarah couldn’t make it up this year. When we had our mid-afternoon charcuterie board we sent Sarah a picture since she was the one who introduced us to the idea several summers ago. Although I’m not sure Lucy could handle two more of her people up here showering her with love, devotion and attention! That dog is going to be impossible to live with when we get her back home!!

Not sure what the weather holds for us today. One forecast calls for sunny, another for partly cloudy and yet another for a 40% chance of storms. However, I do know what is in store for me this morning—the very rude imposition of work. There’s a state tax issue to clear up, and a handful of clients to call and a paperwork foul up to correct. Doing work up here is like farting at a funeral. It just doesn’t feel right.

PS…There’s a cabin we might take a tour of coming up soon. Will keep you advised.