Yet Another Reason to Vote for Obama

Today's Wall Street Journal has a really disturbing article about the current administration's efforts to draft regulations that would characterize birth-control pills and intrauterine devices as abortion because they work by preventing fertilized eggs from implanting in the uterus.

According to the WSJ, although many Congressional Democrats, including Barack Obama, have signed "letters of protest blistering the proposal," John McCain has "declined to comment."

Somehow I don't expect to hear from him soon on this issue.

A Philadelphia Story

I'm heading back north to Maine this afternoon (yippee!!) but not before making several stops at local purveyors to stock up on all those goodies not readily available in Otisfield, Maine.

I grab my reusable bags--no paper or plastic for me--and my large, red shopping cart and head out this morning. First stop, Metropolitan Bakery where I purchase all the available pumpernickel bread among other things. Then head across the square to DiBruno's, where I spend a large amount of money on everything that Steve loves--cheese, salami and various antipasti. Last but least, I trek down to the Reading Terminal Market to buy Jersey tomatoes and corn for tonight's dinner in Maine.

The market is bustling as always with a diverse crowd of shoppers and eaters. Before beginning my shopping, I sit down to eat my lunch across from a young Asian girl furiously typing on her computer. In front of me is a table full of nuns eating pizza and soda and having a great time. And these are no modern nuns wearing sensible shoes and tailored shirtdresses. No, these ladies are dressed in burka-like black flowing robes to the floor and full black or white wimples that show not one wisp of hair. Each ensemble is acessorized by a heavy crucifix on the front of the dress and another one hanging down from the waist. The effect is quite medieval. What's really spooky is that they are all young, early 20's at most, with clear white skin and rosy cheeks.

I ask one of them where they are from thinking perhaps they are here for some kind of convention or retreat. "We're from upstate New York," she says. "We're on vacation for a day," she adds and hands me a devotion card with a picture of a bleeding heart surrounded by a crown of thorns on the front and a prayer printed on the back. "This is what we pray every day," she says with a big smile on her face. "Would you like it?" How can I refuse.

Un Notte alla Citta con mia Figlia

I'm back on Spruce for a few days where's it's hot and sultry and I'm alone in my dark and chilly air conditioned apartment. I venture out to go the gym, of course, and to hang out whenever I can with my darling daughter, the real reason I came home. Last night, she hosted a BBQ at her little house so that everyone could see the ENORMOUS sycamore tree which took up most of her backyard and which blew over in a storm earlier this week. It now lies dramatically across several neighbor's backyards, a monument to the power of Mother Nature even in the heart of the city.

It was a beautiful night and Miss Sweet Pea Nourishment set out a lovely spread on her now shadeless deck--fresh watermelon and mint juice to mix with vodka or rum, savory crostini and yummy dips with home made pita chips. Later there were grilled burgers and portabellos with a selection of salads but I never made it that far. I skipped right to dessert--a luscious fruit tart, a juicy berry pie and chocolate mint brownies all accompanied by mint flavored whipped cream.

Such a hostess. My mom would be proud.

What is Wrong With this Picture?

Check out the front page of the NY Times today. Absolutely ridiculous, truly shameful.

Two stories get equal billing on the front page--a "lifestyle" story about anxious parents visiting their kids at summer camp and another which highlights how the Pentagon has penalized a photographer who published photos of dead soldiers on his website. Guess what article featured a large color photo above the fold?

Will I Ever Learn Italian?

Now that the weather has turned damp and dismal, I am throwing all my energies into my nascent Italian studies. A girl has got to do something when you can't run on the road or play tennis.

I've been listening to tapes and obediently answering the question, "How do you say...?" courtesy of the Michel Thomas method. Highly boring but at least I get an hour of hearing the language. Then when I go to the gym, I listen to Italian pop on my IPod. The only problem is I have to concentrate so much on deciphering the lyrics, I lose track of what I'm doing with the weights--potentially dangerous!

Last but not least, I have begun reading one of the books that Nicoletta, my Italian tutor in Rome, recommended. This is a truly humiliating experience. It takes me literally over one hour to read about 10 pages of what is probably a young adult book since I have to look up so many words. How many I will remember? Chissa ma io provo, io provo.

Man's Best Friend

I am not a dog lover and my husband is positively phobic. But in Maine we have dogs or shall I say the dogs have us.

This weekend, the Tolls are in Colorado so DD and Louie are in residence here on the deck or, once it began to rain, in my house. DD is fairly independent but Louie is a complete sissy. Once the thunder starts to roll, he scratches at the screen door, begging to be let in. He even follows me from room to room as I close the windows. I don't let him in my bedroom--he stinks!--but he sits patiently outside the door waiting until I finish working at my desk. If I'm in the kitchen, he parks himself in the middle of the floor only moving when I need to open the refrigerator or the dishwasher.

This is the closest I've ever come to owning a dog and it's certainly the closest I ever want to come. When I was young, my brother and I periodically asked for a dog but the answer from my parents was always no. Supposedly dogs would make noise and frighten patients in my father's office but, who knows, maybe my mom and dad were afraid of dogs. Like Steve.

Our Annual Fry Feast

Tonight in lieu of eating in, Steve and I made our annual pilgrimage to The Lost Gull, our local destination for all things coated and deep fried. We ordered two fried clam dinners, one with french fries and one with onion rings accompanied, of course, by tangy tartar sauce and fresh cole slaw. We ate outside at the picnic tables accompanied by swarms of mosquitoes feasting on our ankles. Aaah, the taste of fry still lingers on the palate only to be offset by two organic dates from Oasis Date Gardens.

Down in the Dirt

Jane has left me in charge of the garden. Foolish woman. Being a good friend, I went out there tonight to check it out. As directed, I looked for bugs on the eggplant leaves. I saw nothing I was willing to squash between my fingers as instructed by Jane before she left. Instead, there were swarms of mosquitoes feasting on my arms and legs. I inspected the fava bean plants. The flowers are all turning black. Not a good sign, I think, but I have no idea what to do about it. Everything else looked fine, thank god. Let's hope nothing dies before she comes back.

On the Road

Yesterday I took the Coon Road/Scribner Hill walk. It's about seven miles first through the woods and then over a winding, hilly road with not much traffic. It was a beautiful day and I was by myself so I took my camera for company. Here's some of what I saw.

Aaaaaah

Is there anything sweeter than slipping between the clean, cool sheets of a freshly made bed especially when you are completely exhausted from a full day of activity. And even better is to lay in that bed on the edge of sleep and look out through the trees to a bright half moon beating a path of silver on the lake.

And 15 minutes later...

The rain and wind came turning the lake into an angry ocean. I had a ringside view of spectacular lightening piercing the sky followed by bursts of thunder which shook the house and caused Louie to cower under the table. The only thing missing was hail and maybe we'll get that later with the next round of storms. Maine weather.

Pranzo Italiano

It's too hot to play tennis so instead we had a late and leisurely lunch outside in the woods. The menu: freshly picked arugala and radishes from Jane's garden, bufalo mozzarella and prosciutto from Hannafords (yes!), sliced avocado, olio di olivo da Italia and all of it washed down by a delightfully refreshing Reisling. Oh, yes and dessert--sweet canteloupe and cherries. Perfectto!

After all these years. . .

The man can still party.

What is so special about Fourth of July in Maine? It's not the weather which was picture perfect throughout the weekend. It's not the setting which was particularly beautiful especially when viewed at sunset on the dock. It's not the food which was abundant as always and particularly delicious this year. But, as always, it's the people--family and friends like family, young and old--who just enjoy being together whether it's in the kitchen, on the tennis court, on the lake or just relaxing on the deck, reading the papers and talking, talking, talking.

Maine Morning

I love sitting outside on the deck in the morning nursing my diet coke and reading the papers before every one gets up and the day really starts. The lake is quiet and still, no boats out yet pulling skiers or tubes full of laughing kids. I've got lots to do today in preparation for tonight's big dinner but right now it feels so a good just to be here alone overlooking the water, loving the breeze and, most of all, the silence.

The Real Thing

July 1, the real start of summer. There's no turning back now. Finally, the sun has come out and today and yesterday have been filled with tennis (7 sets in one day for Ms. Ramboette), running and just chilling on the porch while looking up at the trees full of golden light or out to the acres of diamonds dancing on the lake. Also not to be missed a gorgeous blue, red and purple sunset enjoyed with a glass of wine all alone on the dock. Tucked in my bed late at night, I even saw a starry sky, something I thought I'd never see again after all the rain. Now it's on to the 4th. . .