My Mistake

Our first taste of bad weather arrived last night. As we sat around a cozy fire, a mere ten feet from the water’s edge, we saw heat lightening across the lake flashing sporadically, revealing a bank of menacing clouds. Soon, the wind changed direction and freshened. Before long our cottage was being lashed with sheets of rain. This morning, the skies are low and cloudy, the water is up and it’s barely 50, with a stiff breeze. Not a lake day, so we will go exploring.

This morning, as I surveyed the scene, my guard dropped for a moment and I made the mistake of pulling up the news on my iPad. All of the screaming headlines were of Kavanaugh and a decades old allegation of sexual misconduct of some kind. There was wrangling over when the accuser would be heard and why the Dems withheld this information until the closing days of the hearings. Hillary Clinton, who can always be counted on at times like this to offer clueless, irony-free comments, opined that Kavanaugh’s accuser...deserves the benefit of the doubt.  Juanita Broaddrick, Kathleen Willey, Paula Jones, and Monica Lewinsky could not be reached for comment.

Setting aside the question of guilt or innocence in this matter for a minute...I’m staring to think that the most terrifying words in the English language for any judge in America are...Congratulations! The President wants to nominate you to the Supreme Court! Who, in their right mind would want to endure the kangaroo court/character assassination/clown show that is the Judicial Committee Confirmation Hearings?? Let alone, subject your entire family to it??

Listen, I don’t really have an opinion on Kavanaugh. He’s a judge, man. What do I know about legal philosophy? Nothing. And neither do any of these preening Senators, who only know what their party talking points tell them. Like all judges, the man has a paper trail of decisions and opinions, some of which I would probably agree with, some not. But, he seems smart enough and qualified by education, training and experience. Here’s what I do know...since he was nominated by a Republican President, the Dems are doing everything in their power to prevent his confirmation, including, apparently, trolling through his high school yearbook for dirt. When it’s a Democrat President’s turn, he or she will nominate someone equally qualified, and the Republicans will pull out every trick in the book to prevent confirmation. It’s the way the game is played. The fact that many years ago it was not this way is irrelevant. Many years ago, people rode horses to town, but that ship has sailed too.

So, apparently, Monday is a big day at the circus. The question everyone seems to be asking is will she show up to testify or not? If she does, it will be yet another low point in our political life, the latest in a long line of bar-lowering embarrassments, a further deterioration of public discourse.

In other words...2018.

But, come what may on Monday...I won’t be watching. My morning will be filled with a round of golf, and my afternoon with lake recreation. I’ll have to find out what happened by checking out my Facebook feed. That should be a blast!

What A Day

Yesterday in Richmond was a nightmare for a lot of people. Tornadoes were tearing through the city, trees crashing through people’s homes, roofs lifting off of buildings, and hysterical dogs being comforted in cramped laundry rooms by hard working pet sitters. While all of this was taking place, we were up here having what will go down as an all-timer...one of the best days in Maine...ever. I hesitate to write about it for the same reason that you don’t announce to the world the great news of your promotion at work while visiting a friend who is on his death bed. Timing, after all, is everything. Farting and belching is all very well and good around a campfire with your buddies, but farting at a funeral would be horrible, and nobody in his right mind would let out a long, sloppy belch during the hushed beginning of Beethoven’s ninth symphony. Time and place...there’s one for everything, I’m told.

So, at the risk of being thought an insensitive lout, I will tell about our incredible day anyway.

It started with Pam and I taking Gordon and Leigh Ann into Camden for breakfast at the Deli. We felt like tour guides, walking them around that beautiful place. We showed them the library, with its sweeping views of the harbor. We walked them down Commercial street, past the Smiling Cow and Sea Dogs. We strolled along the bay where the schooners were filling up with passengers for day cruises. We took them to the famous foot bridge beside River Ducks. It’s hard to describe how much fun it is to introduce friends to a place that you love so much.

We made it back to the lake around noon, after a quick trip to Hannaford’s to buy steak and lobster for Gordon and Leigh Ann’s 35th anniversary dinner. The skies were blue and the high temperature peaked at 76. We spent the afternoon swimming and fishing, kayaking, floating, and snacking. A couple of naps were taken. By 6:00, we all knew that at some point we were going to have to leave the dock. I mean, dinner was not going to fix itself. But, just about the time we were ready to head back to the house, the looming sunset would reveal a new color, a tapestry of soft pink, purple and red. Needless to say, dinner would have to wait.

Eventually, we enjoyed a marvelous meal out on the deck, the tenth consecutive meal we have taken outdoors. We made Gordon and Leigh Ann tell us all about their wedding day and honeymoon. Just about the time they were about to bore us to tears ( just kidding ), we decided it was time to have a fire, and s’mores...

Just a fabulous day, by any measure.

Oh, and it should be noted that Gordon claims to have caught several fish during his kayak trip around the cove, which was conveniently hidden from anyone’s view. He bragged about catching these fish with surprisingly few details. No pictorial evidence was supplied, so he asked me to take him at his word. He gets a lot of mileage out of that missionary thing. 

We Have Guests!

It’s already happened. I’ve been here less than three full days and I already have no idea what’s going on in the world. I know about Florence, but only vaguely. It made landfall. There was lots of rain. The television in the cottage has been on once, for maybe 30 minutes while I watched ‘Bama lay waste to Ole Miss. That’s it...the sum total of my knowledge of current events.

We have guests. Gordon and Leigh Ann arrived yesterday afternoon, and as you can see, have figured out this place quite well. That pea soup fog didn’t stop my wife from launching out in her kayak about thirty minutes ago to God knows where. It’s as if she has a magnet in her heart that pulls her toward the lake.

This morning, we are taking our guests into Camden for a blueberry pancake breakfast at the Camden Deli and a little walking tour of that beguiling town. Then, mid morning we will head back to the lake for a day of fishing, swimming and lounging, topped off by a steak and lobster dinner tonight on the deck to celebrate their 35th wedding anniversary.

There are worse ways to spend a day in September.

Pam’s Capital Idea

I know this has happened to you before, a memory of some delightful event or place from your past grows exponentially with each telling and the passage of time. Before long, your memory of it has mushroomed into legend. Then, when you revisit this place years later you think...Huh...that wasn’t at all as cool as I remembered. It’s like when you tell your kids what an awesome movie Billy Jack was, then you find it on Netflix one night and you make them watch it with you, and fifteen minutes in, you’re totally embarrassed by the sorry excuse for a plot and the atrocious acting. Well, I was a little worried that the same thing would happen with our second look at Loon Landing. Although it’s only been 12 months since we first came here, this place has taken on a legendary place in our Maine memories as...the absolute perfect place. Everything about it...perfect. The lake. The location. The dock. The guest cottage out back. The deck. The proximity to Camden. Everything.

Our second look yesterday afternoon insured that Loon Landing will never be dethroned from the vacation pedestal it sits upon. If anything, this place is more gorgeous than we remembered. Of course, it didn’t hurt that we arrived to blue skies and 74 degrees! But, the owner of this place (aka..the luckiest man alive on planet Earth) has done some additional landscaping that have improved the grounds, and also expanded the dock to twice its old size. There still remains a very short list of shortcomings...no closets, small bathroom, tiny kitchen...but everything about this place stirs within me a couple of emotions that I seldom ever feel in this life...envy and covetousness. If this guy would be willing to sell this place to me, I would move heaven and earth to buy it, even if it meant I could never, ever retire.

Pam deserves a shout out for coming up with a brilliant idea upon our arrival in Camden at 2:30 yesterday afternoon. Check in time wasn’t until 4:00, and we hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast. She says...How about we have an ice cream cone at River Ducks for lunch, then do a grocery run at Hannaford’s before checking in at the lake? Then, as soon as we get to the cottage, we can put all the perishable stuff in the fridge, leave everything else in the car, put our bathing suits on and spend the rest of the day on the dock?? We can unpack after it’s dark...I don’t want to miss any time on the lake! For dinner, I’ll send you up to The Fraternity Village store for Italian sandwiches, and we will eat them outside while the sun sets.

Yes, my wife understands Maine better than anyone I know. A brilliant plan, it was. We finally had unpacked everything and properly set up housekeeping by 10:00 last night. This morning, the house was super chilly at 52 degrees, and the lake was fogged in at 6:15...

But, now it’s 7:45, and it’s already lifting...

God, what a beautiful slice of creation...

Don’t Even THINKAbout Littering in Connecticut

Tales from the road...

The government of Connecticut doesn’t mess around with litterers. There I was getting off of interstate 84,at exit 31 near Southington, halfway through the sweeping turn, when I see a simple sign in red script...

$219 Fine for Littering

I’m not sure about you, but if I had been tempted to sling a mentos wrapper out of the window, I might have thought twice if I knew a $200 fine would be the result...but that extra $19 bucks would certainly have made me snap out of that temptation, for sure. I would have loved to have been in that meeting of the highways committee in Hartford...

Bureaucrat 1: Ok, we need to set the fine amounts for 2018. We can’t keep putting this off. Last year it was $197.24. Should we leave it there, lower it, raise it?

Bureaucrat 2: How many litterers did we catch last year?

Bureaucrat 3: 725

Bureaucrat 2: Ok, that means we collected $143,000. How many of those litterers were from out of state?

Bureaucrat 1: We don’t have that information. That would constitute profiling...

Bureaucrat 2: I guarandamn-tee you that most of ‘em were from New York.

(General laughter all around)

Bureaucrat 3: Well, I say we need to stick it to those bastards. How about an eleven percent increase?

(Audible gasps)

Bureaucrat 2: That’s awfully bold, Stan. Why, that would raise the fine to $219!!

Bureaucrat 3: Fortune favors the bold, Al.

Bureaucrat 1: So it’s settled then. $219 it is. Now, let’s move along to how much we should fine people for driving the speed limit in the passing lane. Last year it was $126.15....

Empathy

This blog might wind up being embarrassing for the author. If you’re not a dog person, or if you’re one of those people who think that humans project way too much importance unto their household pets, you may want to skip this one. Maybe it’s just that I’m feeling guilty about the fact that I’m about to leave her for three weeks...but here goes.

Lucy and I have this little morning routine. Almost every morning when I wake up, she is curled up at the foot of our bed, usually entangled with Pam’s legs. Sometimes she’s on the floor, but 90% of the time she’s on the bed. So, when I wake up it’s still dark outside, so as I’m walking past the end of the bed I have to wait until my eyes adjust, and when they do, I find her. Then, I do the exact same thing every single morning...I place both of my hands around her face, kiss her on the nose, scratch behind her ears and say the following:

Who is Daddy’s best girl? Lucy is. You’re the best puppy in the world.

Then I continue on to the bathroom and the rest of my day. Of course, she is sound asleep and has no response to any of this. But I do it every...single...morning.

Why?

I honestly don’t know, other than the fact that it’s comforting to me somehow. Starting your day with a positive affirmation of love...even to a dog...is mildly therapeutic, I suppose. But, it’s more than that. There’s just something about a dog, especially one as neurotic and easily frightened as Lucy, that makes you want to protect them, and what better way can you protect someone than by reassuring them of how much you love them?

A dog grabs ahold of your heart in a thousand ways. Part of it is that they are totally dependent on you for their survival. They always expect nothing but good things from you. To them, we are the most wonderful, fantastic, incredible people in the whole wide world. So, you find yourselves constantly trying to live up to their idealized expectations. I’ve said this before but it bears repeating...I want to be half as good a man as Lucy thinks I am.

Which brings a thought to mind. If we treated each other with half of the unconditional love we have for our dogs, I’m thinking that our world would be a infinitely happier place. For dog lovers like me, although I prefer Goldens, the truth of the matter is, I love all dogs, no matter the breed. When I encounter one on the street, all of them bring a smile to my face. When I see friends on Facebook putting up pictures of their new puppy, it’s always a happy time. When someone loses a dog, I feel the loss along with them. In other words, dogs produce in us a large reservoir of empathy. They make us better people.

Oh, that we could summon such empathy...for each other.

The Trees We Plant

As a married man, I have only lived in two houses, the one I’ve lived in for the past 21 years, and the first house Pam and I built 33 years ago. It was a starter home, only 1600 square feet. We brought both of our children home from the hospital to that house. But, eventually it got too small, so we had a second house built not much more than a mile from our old house. In an average week, I drive by the old place two or three times. I always glance at it with an odd sense of nostalgia.

Since we sold it, the place has had a string of short time owners. Most of them have neglected the yard, which always makes me sad. I spent so much time fussing with that yard, always had it looking great. When I drive by and see that the grass hasn’t been cut in a month I always let out a sigh. 

I bring this up because I’ve been thinking a lot about legacy lately. How would I like to be remembered? It’s strange how so much of what we do on a day to day basis is mundane and of no consequence in the grand scheme of life. Most days are indistinguishable from each other. We busy ourselves with things that seem important at the time, but ultimately matter very little. Earthly pursuits all eventually decay and wither, leaving not a trace of evidence that we were even here.

All of this was on my mind when I drove past the old house yesterday. I immediately noticed that the fence that I had built 33 years ago around the back yard had been torn down. New lumber was stacked neatly in rows. Memories flooded back of when my friend Al and I built that fence soon after we moved in. Had to have it because we had just bought our first Golden Retriever...Murphy. Once again, something I had built had vanished, leaving no evidence of my existence. Suddenly, I found myself turning the car around, driving back to take a closer look. I parked at the curb across the street. No one was home. I got out of the car and stood in the street, staring at the overgrown grass where my fence used to be. It didn’t take long for me to realize how profoundly stupid it was for me to be staring at a place I hadn’t lived in over 20 years. I abruptly turned to head back to the car when I noticed it...the huge maple tree in the front yard.

The first Spring we spent at the old house, I found a healthy, well-shaped maple sapling growing right out from the edge of the house over by the water hose. I almost just yanked it out of the ground and threw it away, but at the last minute the thought came to me...maybe I can dig this little tree up and replant it in the middle of our big, treeless front yard. So, just like that, I planted this little Charlie Brown looking thing in the front yard. It was only a little over two feet tall. It looked silly actually.

33 years later it looks like this...

So, as it turns out, we can leave a lasting legacy. I planted a tree when Ronald Reagan was in the White House. Nobody had a cell phone. Nobody had a flatscreen TV. The Washington Redskins were a good football team. Both of my parents were still alive. I hadn’t yet become a father. I didn’t even know what I was doing. I had never planted a tree before. But I planted it anyway.

Soon, I would have two children, despite the fact that I didn’t know what I was doing. I had never been a father before. But I became one anyway.

Our legacy is about the living. The trees we plant. The children we raise. The people we love.