A New Day

This is the latest we have ever been in Maine on vacation...October 12. Woke up this morning to this...

Then I walked out on the deck and saw this...

...a strange cloud/fog bank rolling in from the west on the still as glass surface of the lake. I’m informed that today the sun will shine brightly but the high temperature will be lucky to enter the 50’s. We are just glad that the wind has stopped blowing! I will eventually venture out on the kayak to my favorite fishing hole with my warmest clothes, hat and gloves. Thankfully the lake has been mostly abandoned by the locals so I won’t have to risk being spotted by one of them and silently mocked for dressing like an Eskimo. For many Mainers this is still shorts weather!

Our time here in this glorious place is coming to an end. We can both feel it. We both look at the forecast for our remaining days and sigh. There will be a cold rain beginning late tomorrow, but Wednesday and Thursday look delightful with sunny skies and low 60’s. Friday morning we head home, saying goodbye to Loon Landing, perhaps for the last time. One of the very few drawbacks of buying our own place up here is the fact that we will never get to stay here again. Last night, the owners—Keith and Carolyn May—invited us over to their home for dinner. We were served the most delicious shrimp and grits I have ever had by a woman who has lived most of her life a million miles from Cajun country. They have promised to keep their eyes and ears open for any property that might pop up for sale. But, we will miss Loon Landing. This is the place that inspired us to find a place of our own. It is the place that we compare every other place to during our search—sometimes a problem. Few of the comparisons go well. Nothing we have seen yet quite measures up. We go today to see a fourth cabin on a lake called Pitcher Pond, about 20 minutes from here.

I see where the foolishness of our politics continues unabated without us. Everything we left on September 24th awaits our return. There will be work to do, routines to reestablish, old rhythms to renew. I miss my pup. I miss the size and water pressure of my shower. I miss my recliner. I miss the office and the good people who work there. I miss my church, the wonderful people in my small group, my friends. But...that doesn’t mean I’m anxious to leave. In the time it’s taken me to write this blog, this has happened...

The fog bank is lifting. A loon has appeared. It’s a new day.

Sunday Comics

A Special Kind of Justice

It probably should be against the law to have the kind of day I had yesterday. Brilliant blue skies, a magnificent scenic walk though some of the most stunning real estate to be found anywhere in this country, a hot pastrami sandwich for lunch overlooking Camden Harbor, a roaring fire in the fireplace back at the cabin while watching The Evil Empire’s black heart get broken...is about as good as life gets on planet earth...

The baseball game last night was not supposed to happen, this being 2020 and all. I fully expected the opposite outcome, where might makes right, where he who spends the most money wins, where the team with all the superstars triumphs then rubs it in the faces of the losers. But there I was in the bottom of the 8th inning watching some guy named Mike Brosseau stroll to the plate against the Yankees designated wife beater, Aroldis Chapman. Brosseau, the utility infielder who earns the major league minimum salary, was the same guy who the $15 million dollar a year Chapmen had tried to hit in the head with a 100 mph fastball back in early September, for which he was suspended two games. These two men couldn’t possibly have represented their two clubs any better in such a dramatic and pivotal moment, Brosseau, the unheralded nobody, in the box against the all-star flame throwing stopper for a team whose payroll of $254,000,000 makes the paltry $72 million the Rays dole out look like government assistance. Then it happened. The nobody, the anti-prospect, the guy who had ridden the bench all game turned on one of Chapmen’s 100 mph fastballs and deposited it into the left field seats, sending defenders of truth, justice and the American way all over the fruited plain into hysterical jubilation!! Take that, 2020. 

A Bridge Too Far

Today, Pam and I were in the middle of a delightful excursion to a part of Mid-Coast Maine that we have largely ignored during our many trips here, the gorgeous Rockport Harbor, when I received a text from my friend informing me that she, her husband and grown daughter had all tested positive for COVID. I found a picnic table, sat down and got the details. They are all feeling pretty rough. Surgery that had been scheduled for this week had to be postponed (for the second time) and now all three of them have to go in to quarantine for two weeks. I don’t need to point out the dangers involved when someone, who’s immune system has been weakened by chemo for a year, gets COVID. I am worried sick about her. She ended our conversation with this...I’m not afraid of COVID either, Doug. God’s got this...to which I replied with all the honesty I could muster...Well...I sure wish God would change tactics. I think you’ve had quite enough of this shit.

I’m very aware of God’s mysterious ways and all that, and I also realize that he owes me no explanation for every single bad thing that happens in this world. But news that my friend had come down with COVID seemed like a bridge too far. I’ve watched my friend endure a living hell for over a year now. Every bad thing that possibly could have happened during her treatment, has happened. And now, when she has battled through everything and is within sight of the end of her treatment...she gets freaking COVID?? It’s devastatingly unfair, and it pisses me off. And yet, there she is, sore back, coughing, fever and pains in her joints, stuck in a house with two others that feel every bit as rotten as she does, and what does she do? Assure me that she fears nothing because God is in control. 

Pam and I continued our walk around the harbor taking pictures...

When we got back to the house, I texted her again with a question that had been rattling around my head all afternoon, “Who in the world is going to take care of you guys if you’re all three sick and in quarantine? She answered with, “Some friends we go to church with left our dinner on the porch tonight. We are doing alright...”

When things like this happen, I get angry and sometimes that anger gets directed at God. The thing is...I don’t think he minds the times when I’m most honest with him. I imagine he prefers honest anger to empty, repetitive prayers that we don’t even mean or believe. Usually when I lash out, something soon happens that reminds me of God’s sovereignty in the world. But the fact that I get angry so often is probably evidence that I’m not the world’s greatest Christian, but then again, I’ve never claimed to be. All I know is I have a good friend who is a much better person than I am, who has been sick as a dog for 14 months now and desperately needs to catch a break.

Marco Polo

Photo credits: Chip Hewette 

So, about a month or so ago my wife organized this Marco Polo group text thing among some of the Dunnevant ladies. For those of you who might not know, Marco Polo is this app that allows you to send video texts to people. Anyway, she named the group, The Hip Sisters. They’ve been going hot and heavy ever since. No guys are allowed, but sometimes Pam lets me watch some of the back and forth and I am here to tell you, these ladies talk about...everything. Sometimes it’s terribly serious and earnest where they share very personal stuff about the kids and struggles at work etc...Other times it’s silly stuff. But, do they ever go on and on. They all talk about how great it has been in bringing them closer together. The whole thing has gotten me thinking about what this Marco Polo thing might work if it were...just the men in the family. I can’t imagine anything in the world more painfully awkward than a group video text with a group of...dudes. Any group of dudes. Especially, the guys in my family. Hmmm...I wonder how it would go?

Me: Ok, since this was my idea, I suppose I should set the ground rules. The purpose of this thing is to bring us all closer together so we can, you know, like share our feelings and stuff...about life, or whatever.

...long awkward silence...

Bill: Ok, I’ll go. I feel a little constipated. Not terrible, but its been a couple of days now...

Ron: ExLax works well for me. But just one. Took two once and won’t make that mistake again...

Patrick: I’ve heard that natural remedies work far better than those corporate laxatives with their harsh chemicals. Sarah swears by baking soda and warm water.

Me: My son...the laxative expert. What do you know about being backed up? You’re too young to even know what it feels like!!

Bill: Back in my day Mom made us eat baked beans three meals a day.

Matt: Guys, I don’t think this was what they meant when they said, “talk about your feelings.”

Paul: Yeah...

Jon: I saw a red-breasted sap-sucking grouse the other day. First time ever.

Ryan: Who cares?

Patrick: Whoa dude, that’s harsh!

Ryan: Look, I’m just on this thing because Mom has made such a huge deal about it. 

Me: Listen guys, I get it. This whole thing is weirding me out too, but we’ve got to make an attempt here. Ok, how about I throw out a question for everyone to answer as a way to stimulate some discussion?

Matt: Who died and put you in charge?

Patrick: Yeah Dad...who elected you dictator of Marco Polo??

Donnie: Wait, can anybody hear me? How do you turn this thing on?

Me: Ok...how about this...does anybody have any prayer requests?

Ryan: Yeah, how about we pray for a massive collapse of the Marco Polo server?

Bill: And if that didn’t work it was broccoli for a week.

Jon: Bill, we’re not talking about constipation any longer...

Ryan: Or bird watching, thank God!

Donnie: How come everybody looks upside down on my screen?

Matt: Jenny tells me they laugh a lot over at The Hip Sisters Marco Polo.

Patrick: Well, Matt...maybe you should go join their group!

Paul: I already tried that. They have a strict NO MEN ALLOWED policy.

Bill: Isn’t that sexist?

Me: Let’s not get into politics...

Donnie: Now you are all side ways!!

Yeah...I think we’ll leave the Marco Polo to the ladies.

High Anxiety

Today was a day full of high anxiety levels all around. We are on vacation...in Maine...that’s not supposed to happen. 

It started with the cloudiness, high winds and cool temperatures. Then we headed out to tour another property, this one on Crawford Pond over in Union/Warren, Maine. From the pictures we had seen, it looked like it had great potential. So, we pulled up at the place around 11:00 just as the sun came out and bathed the entire place in warmth for thirty minutes or so. A sign? We walked every inch of the place, inside and out. Neither one of us could find much fault with it, the cabin was much nicer than the pictures had lead us to believe. Usually its the other way around with pictures. This place exceeded our expectations at practically every turn. What made things even better was the fact that the place hadn’t even been put on the market yet. Our realtor found out that the owners were prepared to sell after a family member’s death. So, we were on the inside, ahead of the mad rush for lake front property in Maine that COVID has spawned. Then, when we were about to leave, a guy pulls up the driveway and asks, “Is this the place that’s for sale?” Apparently, the owners had just posted their intentions to sell the place on FACEBOOK!!! To make matters worse, in the middle of the madness our realtor’s daughter got sent home from school with a fever and had to be taken for a COVID test.

A series of texts back and forth between us and our frantic realtor produced an offer and a letter, written by Pam, to the owners describing in heart-string pulling detail why they should sell the place to us rather than some friend, or worse, stranger on Facebook. Our realtor has called, texted and emailed with the owners this afternoon and as of this hour, there has been no word from them as to their reaction to our bid. We have tried to remain calm, cool and collected as we wait. It’s been hard thinking of anything other than this business all day. We had dinner. I watched some baseball. But in between I’ve been flipping through the 100 + pictures we took of the place, trying not to get my hopes up.

Although most of the day has been a cold, windy, dreary mess, even on bad days Quantabacook seems to redeem itself...

Now, we wait for the vibration of our cell phones, indicating a text from Tiff. Meanwhile, The Braves won, The Astros are now up two games to zero over the A’s, and the hated New York Yankees and their 10 gazillion dollar payroll are about to go up two games to one over the Rays. A minute or so ago my phone came to life with a dramatic buzz. My heart beat quickened as I reached for it only to discover that the warranty on a car I no longer owned was about to expire, and if would only call the Toll Free number, they could extend it for an unbelievably low low price!!

Grrrrrrrr.......

Rock Painting

The early morning is dreary. The sky is low and there’s a stiff breeze. But Pam and Lynn are out there in their kayaks anyway. By 9:00 0’clock it will be bright and sunny. After breakfast, the two of them will get busy with Pam’s latest thing...

Pam collected these seven rocks from all around the property yesterday, cleaned them up and let them dry overnight. Today they will paint them in cheerful colors and designs, then place them strategically around the grounds of Loon Landing for the owners to find...like Easter eggs that you can’t eat. She did this at Loon Call back in July...

In other words, this is the sort of thing that would never have entered my mind as something to do. Never. It is just yet another dimension of my wife that I admire, her endless artistic inclinations and thoughtfulness. Maybe at some point I will try my hand at rock painting. The problem will be, what sort of thing would I paint on a rock? They aren’t big enough for a dad joke. I don’t have the requisite skill to paint a picture of something. I’m not good at one word cheerfulness. Maybe irony or sarcasm...but how on so small a canvas...Wait, how about:

LUCY

 2020

That might work! I’ll publish pictures of the final products.